After the Execution.

It is mid-day over the Arroyo de Alamo.

The same sun whose early morning rays fell around the deliberating lynchers, at a later hour lighting up a spectacle of execution, has mounted to the meridian, and now glares down upon a spectacle still sanguinary, though with tableaux changed.

The camp is deserted. There are no tents, no Texans, no horses, nor yet any mules. All have disappeared from the place.

True, Uraga and his lancers are still there—in body, not in spirit. Their souls have gone, no one may know whither. Only their clay-cold forms remain, us left by the Rangers—the common soldiers lying upon the grass, the two officers swinging side by side, from the trees, with broken necks, drooping heads, and limbs dangling down—all alike corpses.

Not for long do they stay unchanged—untouched.

Scarce has the last hoof-stroke of the Texan horses died away down the valley, when the buzzards forsake their perch upon the bluff, and swoop down to the creek bottom.

Simultaneously the wolves—grand grey and coyote—come sneaking out from the thicket’s edge; at first cautiously, soon with bolder front, approaching the abandoned bodies.

To the bark of the coyote, the bay of the bigger wolf, and the buzzard’s hoarse croak, a caracara adds its shrill note; the fiend-like chorus further strengthened by the scream of the white-headed eagle—for all the world like the filing of a frame saw, and not unlike the wild, unmeaning laughter of a madman.

Both the predatory birds and the ravening beasts, with instincts in accord, gather around the quarry killed for them. There is a grand feast—a banquet for all; and they have no need to quarrel over it. But they do—the birds having to stand back till the beasts have eaten their fill.

The puma, or panther, takes precedence—the so-called lion of America. A sorry brute to bear the name belonging to the king of quadrupeds. Still, on the Llano Estacado, lord of all, save when confronted by the grizzly bear—then he becomes a cat.

As no grizzly has yet come upon the ground, and only two panthers, the wolves have it almost their own way, and only the vultures and eagles have to hold back. But for the birds there is a side dish on which they may whet their appetites, beyond reach of the beasts. To their share fall the two suspended from the trees; and, driven off from the others, they attack these with beak and talon, flapping around, settling upon the branches above, on the shoulders of the corpses, thick as honey-bees upon a branch, pecking out eyes, tearing at flesh, m............