When the retaken escapadoes had been brought back to El Salado, they were drawn up in line of single file, and carefully counted. A helmet, snatched from the head of one of the Dragoons guarding them, was made use of as a ballot-box. Into this were thrown a number of what we call French or kidney beans--the _pijoles_ of Mexico--in count corresponding to that of the devoted victims. Of these _pijoles_ there are several varieties, distinguishable chiefly by their colour. Two sorts are common, the black and white; and these were chosen to serve as tickets in that dread lottery of life and death. For every nine white beans there was a black one; he who drew black would be shot within the hour! Into the hard soldier's head-piece, appropriate for such purpose, the beans were dropped, and the drawing done as designed. I, who now write of it long after, can truthfully affirm that never in the history of human kind has there been a grander exhibition of man's courage than was that day given at El Salado. The men who exemplified it were of no particular nation. As a matter of course, the main body of the Texans were of American birth, but among them were also Englishmen, Scotchmen, Irishmen, French, and Germans--even some who spoke Spanish, the language of their captors, now their judges, and about to become their executioners. But when that helmet of horrible contents was carried round, and held before each, not one showed the slightest fear or hesitancy to plunge his hand into it, though knowing that what they should bring up between their fingers might be the sealing of their fate. Many laughed and made laughter among their comrades, by some quaint _jeu d'esprit_. One reckless fellow--no other than Cris Rock--as he fearlessly rattled the beans about, cried aloud-- "Wal, boys, I guess it's the tallest gamblin' I've ever took a hand at. But this child ain't afeerd. I was born to good luck, an' am not likely to go under--jest yet." The event justified his confidence, as he drew _blank_--not _black_, the fatal colour. It was now Kearney's turn to undergo the dread ordeal; and, without flinching, he was about to insert his hand into the helmet, when the Texan, seizing hold of it, stayed him. "No, Cap!" he exclaimed; "I'm wownded, putty bad, as ye see,"--(he had received a lance thrust in their struggle with the Guards)--"an' mayent git over it. Thurfor, your life's worth more'n mine. Besides, my luck's good jest now. So let me take your chance. That's allowed, as these skunks hev sayed themselves." So it was--a declaration having been made by the officer who presided over the drawing--from humane motives as pretended--that any one who could find a substitute might himself stand clear. A grim mockery it seemed; and yet it was not so; since, besides Cris Rock, more than one courageous fellow proposed the same to comrade and friend--in the case of two brothers the elder one insisting upon it.