The canyon at that point was not very wide; a gentle toss would have taken a pebble easily across, and the moonlight fell uninterrupted upon the uncanny object upon which the starting eyes of the Vigilantes were fixed.
“That’s no ghost,” retorted Moravy. “Speerits ar’ some kind o’ air thet kin git over ground without noise, but that fellow rattles the pebbles; he staggers, falls ag’in’ the wall, an’ then--bless my heart! his hands ar’ tied! that’s why he can’t pick up the rope. Whar in the name of death! ar’ Louis?”
The next instant the Creole answered the excited Moravy, for something long, dark and serpent-like shot through the moonshine, and fell over the head of the object staggering along the wall.
The two men at the month of the cave darted into the canyon with exclamations of astonishment, as the Creole jerked the “ghost” from his feet, and brought him heavily to the ground.
The little old Creole would not let his companions assist his endeavours; therefore, they could do nothing but sit by and watch.
Meanwhile the Creole worked on until at last he looked at his companions in triumph.
Wild and excited, the revenger had sprung erect, and he stood before the three Vigilantes.
Did Antenat’s little eyes flash as he glanced over his shoulder at his companions?
“I’m sorry, monsieur, but you’re the pard they want in these parts,” he said, coolly, to Dan. “It arn’t often thet a fellow gits hanged twice in one night. Comrades, the lasso at Napoleon’s saddle--quick!”
Antenat’s hand moved to his revolver as he uttered the command, but the next moment with a startling cry that resembled the hoarse intonation of the tiger, the hanged Sport darted forward.
“Another rope for me to-night? Never, by the fires of Tophet! So you, too, would hang the Wolf of the Rosebud? There, Louis Antenat, take that with my compliments.”
The pistol touched the Creole’s forehead as the last word fell madly from Darrell’s lips, and the next moment a dull but horrible report filled the cavern.
Lilly and Moravy started back with cries of horror, and the lifeless body of poor Antenat, released by the Sport’s left hand, fell quivering to the ground.
“Now lift a finger, my friends, and I’ll repeat the compliment,” thundered Deadly Dan, as turning quickly but coolly upon the Vigilantes, he covered them with the weapon sprinkled with the Creole’s blood. “One hanging is my share. I’ve had that, but it was not enjoyed. I do not intend to furnish any more necks for such entertainments. Keep clear of me. Stand back! I’m still the Wolf of the Rosebud, and there’s death in my right hand!”