"So I say, too," solemnly pronounced the Texan; "shootin's too good for the like o' him; a man capable o' sech a cowardly, murderous trick desarves to die the death o' a dog." Then, with an interrogating look at Crittenden, he added: "Which is't to be, lootenant?" "Neither, Cris," answered the Kentuckian. "If I mistake not, the _gentleman_ has had enough punishment without either. If he's got so much as a spark of shame or conscience--" "Conshence!" exclaimed Rock, interrupting. "Sech a skunk don't know the meanin' o' the word. Darn ye!" he continued, turning upon his prisoner, and shaking him till the links in the steel shirt chinked, "I feel as if I ked drive the blade o' my bowie inter ye through them steel fixin's an' all." And, drawing his knife from its sheath, he brandished it in a menacing manner. "Don't, Rock! Please don't!" interposed the Kentuckian, Kearney joining in the entreaty. "He's not worth anger, much less revenge. So let him go." "You're right thar, lootenant," rejoined Rock. "He ain't worth eyther, that's the truth. An' 'twould only be puttin' pisen on the blade o' my knife to smear it wi' his black blood. F'r all, I ain't a-gwine to let him off so easy's all that, unless you an' the captain insists on it. After the warmish work he's had, an' the sweat he's put himself in by the wearin' o' two shirts at a time, I guess he won't be any the worse of a sprinkling o' cold water. So here goes to gie it him." Saying which, he strode off towards the ditch, half-dragging, half-carrying Santander along with him. The cowed and craven creature neither made resistance, nor dared. Had he done so, the upshot was obvious. For the Texan's blade, still bared, was shining before his eyes, and he knew that any attempt on his part, either to oppose the latter's intention or escape, would result in having it buried between, his ribs. So, silently, sullenly, he allowed himself to be taken along, not as a lamb to the slaughter, but a wolf, or rather dog, about to be chastised for some malfeasance. In an instant after, the chastisement was administered by the Texan laying hold of him with both hands, lifting him from off his feet, and then dropping him down into the water-ditch, where, weighted with the steel shirt, he fell with a dead, heavy plunge, going at once to the bottom. "That's less than your desarvin's," said the Texan, on thus delivering his charge. "An' if it had been left to Cris Rock 'twould 'a been _up_, 'stead o' _down_, he'd 'a sent ye. If iver man desarved hangin', you're the model o' him. Ha--ha--ha! Look at the skunk now!"