Part 130 (2/2)

As at the inauguration of a statue--whose once living original has won the right of such commemoration--the spectators stand in respectful silence at its uncovering, so stand they under the Texan tree, while the serape is being raised from the shoulders of the Headless Horseman.

It is a silence solemn, profound, unbroken even by whispers. These are heard only after the unrobing is complete, and the dead body becomes revealed to the gaze of the a.s.semblage.

It is dressed in a blouse of sky-blue _cottonade_--box plaited at the breast, and close b.u.t.toned to the throat.

The limbs are encased in a cloth of the like colour, with a lighter stripe along the seams. But only the thighs can be seen--the lower extremities being concealed by the ”water-guards” of spotted skin tightly stretched over them.

Around the waist--twice twined around it--is a piece of plaited rope, the strands of horse's hair. Before and behind, it is fastened to the projections of the high-peaked saddle. By it is the body retained in its upright att.i.tude. It is further stayed by a section of the same rope, attached to the stirrups, and traversing--surcingle fas.h.i.+on--under the belly of the horse.

Everything as the accused has stated--all except the head.

Where is this?

The spectators do not stay to inquire. Guided by the speech of Zeb Stump, their eyes are directed towards the body, carefully scrutinising it.

Two bullet holes are seen; one over the region of the heart; the other piercing the breast-bone just above the abdomen.

It is upon this last that the gaze becomes concentrated: since around its orifice appears a circle of blood with streams straying downward.

These have saturated the soft _cottonade_--now seemingly desiccated.

The other shot-hole shows no similar signs. It is a clear round cut in the cloth--about big enough for a pea to have pa.s.sed through, and scarce discernible at the distance. There is no blood stain around it.

”_It_,” says Zeb Stump, pointing to the smaller, ”it signifies nothin'.

It's the bullet I fired myself out o' the gully; the same I've ben tellin' ye o'. Ye obsarve thar's no blood abeout it: which prove thet it wur a dead body when it penetrated. The other air different. It wur the shot as settled him; an ef I ain't dog-gonedly mistaken, ye'll find the bit o' lead still inside o' the corp. Suppose ye make a incizyun, an see!”

The proposal meets with no opposition. On the contrary, the judge directs it to be done as Zeb has suggested.

The stays, both fore and back, are unloosed; the water-guards unbuckled; and the body is lifted out of the saddle.

It feels stark and stiff to those who take part in the unpacking,--the arms and limbs as rigid as if they had become fossilised. The lightness tells of desiccation: for its specific gravity scarce exceeds that of a mummy!

With respectful carefulness it is laid at full length along the gra.s.s.

The operators stoop silently over it--Sam Manly acting as the chief.

Directed by the judge, he makes an incision around the wound--that with the circle of extravasated blood.

The dissection is carried through the ribs, to the lungs underneath.

In the left lobe is discovered the thing searched for. Something firmer than flesh is touched by the probe--the point of a bowie-knife. It has the feel of a leaden bullet. It is one!

It is extracted; rubbed clean of its crimson coating; and submitted to the examination of the jury.

Despite the abrasion caused by the spirally-grooved bore of the barrel-- despite an indentation where it came in contact with a creased rib-- there is still discernible the outlines of a stamped crescent, and the letters C.C.

Oh! those tell-tale initials! There are some looking on who remember to have heard of them before. Some who can testify to that boast about a marked bullet--when the killing of the jaguar was contested!

He who made that boast has now reason to regret it!

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