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Finally he got up, and in the gray light of a cloudy November dawn made his way from his remote couch in "Heaven" to the glimmering twilight of "Hell." Mex was not in her lair, nor was the couch itself in the usual place. Cacosotte bent over Palafox and saw a corpse. "No, sir, no, sir! I deny the statement. Burr is not getting justice. Daviess is a persecutor, not a prosecutor.
Did you, Sott? ever hear any one say Burke Pierce was a liar or a foot-licker?" "I'd hate to be in the place of the man that 'u'd dare," swore Cacosotte, hastily. He had noticed the excessive drinking, with dread of the probable consequence. "I guess you would hate to rile me up even if you was a great general, dressed in uniform, and with gold epaulettes and buttons all over.
"I'll go hunt him." "You'll be back and bunk here, or will you sleep on one of the boats?" asked Cacosotte. "If it's all the same to you, I'll come back and bunk here." The night was advancing, and the great white owls were beginning a dismal hooting in the cypress trees. Upon reaching the place where the boats were moored to the bushy shore of the bayou, Turlipe called: "Hello, are you there?"
She knew it meant death, for wolf's-bane was mixed with the last draughts he had taken. Like a shadow Mex passed from the cabin into the darkness of the woods. She had prevented the man from pursuing any other woman. The hours of night wore slowly away, and Cacosotte, returning to consciousness after his anæsthetic sleep, felt renewed pain in his disabled arm.
Cacosotte and Sheldrake, roused by the report of a pistol, hurried in, staring amazedly at Palafox, Mex and the fallen Spaniard. "Carry that out," ordered Palafox, nodding toward the body. "Tie a stone to its neck and chuck it into the bayou." The two men obeyed. "Get something, Mex, and wipe up that puddle," pointing to the blood on the floor. "You must keep Hell clean."
The whimsical Cacosotte had named the several rooms "Hell," "Purgatory," and "Heaven." Sheldrake sought a sleeping couch in "Purgatory," whither Honest Moses had preceded him to "flop" in a corner. Mex stood behind the captain while he sat fumbling over a timeworn manuscript, peering at its hieroglyphics in the dim light of the candle.
Turning to look after his horse, he noticed a foot-path leading into a thicket, and having pushed his way amid the wet bushes, he came into a broader path, which brought him to a supposititious tavern, the headquarters of Palafox's gang. "A queer place for a public house," thought Arlington, reading the sign over the door. Blessed be the name of Cacosotte."
Cacosotte, yawning, rubbed his one eye, and groped his way to a slumber-rug in "Heaven." Then Mex put her brown hand timidly on the shoulder of Palafox. "One in woods not nab no! no!" she said, shaking her head violently and frowning. "What you jabbering about now? Don't you see I'm busy?" "Woman through window not big Mex look so!" She wrinkled her features, and shrank down mimicking a dwarf.
Wilson's boys done their wreck'n along by Hurricane, and stored their stuff in the cave. They carried on the Last Night-Cap game when they could get hold of a good customer." "What's that?" asked Sheldrake. Cacosotte grinned and winked at Pierce. "Your pard's too green to plug, cap." "Don't you Pittsburgers drink a las' snort before goin' to bed? Well, can't you see the pint?
As soon as he realized his condition, he sat up in bed and shouted for his nurse. "Mex!" No answer. "Mex, for God's sake come and fix my arm." No answer. No sound whatever was to be heard in the lonely cabin. "Mex, O Mex!" No response. Cacosotte waited half an hour and again called out.
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