“I might have mistaken the cause of death, and supposed it to have been by the beheading. But, remembering the shot I had heard in the night, it occurred to me that another wound would be found somewhere — in addition to that made by the knife.
“It proved that I was right. On turning the body breast upward, I perceived a hole in the serapé; that all around the place was saturated with blood.
“On lifting it up, and looking underneath, I saw a livid spot just over the breast-bone. I could tell that a bullet had entered there; and as there was no corresponding wound at the back, I knew it must be still inside the body.”
“In your opinion, was the shot sufficient to have caused death, without the mutilation that, you think, must have been done afterwards?”
“Most certainly it was. If not instantaneous, in a few minutes — perhaps seconds.”
“The head was cut off, you say. Was it quite severed from the body?”
“Quite; though it was lying close up — as if neither head nor body had moved after the dismemberment.”
“Was it a clean out — as if done by a sharp-edged weapon?”
“It was.”
“What sort of weapon would you say?”
“It looked like the cut of a broad axe; but it might have been done with a bowie-knife; one heavily weighted at the back of the blade.”
“Did you notice whether repeated strokes had been given? Or had the severance been effected by a single cut?”
“There might have been more than one. But there was no appearance of chopping. The first cut was a clean slash; and must have gone nearly, if not quite, through. It was made from the back of the neck; and at right angles to the spine. From that I knew that the poor fellow must have been down on his face when the stroke was delivered.”
“Had you any suspicion why, or by whom, the foul deed had been done?”
“Not then, not the slightest. I was so horrified, I could not reflect. I could scarce think it real.
“When I became calmer, and saw for certain that a murder had been committed, I could only account for it by supposing that there had been Comanches upon the ground, and that, meeting young Poindexter, they had killed him out of sheer wantonness.
“But then there was his scalp untouched — even the hat still upon his head!”
“You changed your mind about its being Indians?”
“I did.”
“Who did you then think it might be?”
“At the time I did not think of any one. I had never heard of Henry Poindexter having an enemy — either here or elsewhere. I have since had my suspicions. I have them now.”
“State them.”
“I object to the line of examination,” interposes the prosecuting counsel. “We don’t want to be made acquainted with, the prisoner’s suspicions. Surely it is sufficient if he be allowed to proceed with his very plausible tale?”
“Let him proceed, then,” directs the judge, igniting a fresh Havannah.
“State how you yourself acted,” pursues the examiner. “What did you do, after making the observations you have described?”
“For some time I scarce knew what to do — I was so perplexed by what I saw beside me. I felt convinced that there had been a murder; and equally so that it had been done by the shot — the same I had heard.
“But who could have fired it? Not Indians. Of that I felt sure.
“I thought of some prairie-pirate, who might have intended plunder. But this was equally improbable. My Mexican blanket was worth a hundred dollars. That would have been taken. It was not, nor anything else that Poindexter had carried about him. Nothing appeared to have been touched. Even the watch was still in his waistcoat pocket, with the chain around his neck glistening through the gore that had spurted over it!
“I came to the conclusion: that the deed must have been done for the satisfaction of some spite or revenge; and I tried to remember whether I had ever heard of any one having a quarrel with young Poindexter, or a grudge against him.
“I never had.
“Besides, why had the head been cut off?
“It was this that filled me with astonishment — with horror.
“Without attempting to explain it, I bethought me of what was best to be done.
“To stay by the dead body could serve no purpose. To bury it would have been equally idle.
“Then I thought of galloping back to the Fort, and getting assistance to carry it to Casa del Corvo.
“But if I left it in the chapparal, the coyotés might discover it; and both they and the buzzards would be at it before we could get back. Already the vultures were above — taking their early flight. They appeared to have espied it.
“Mutilated as was the young man’s form, I could not think of leaving it, to be made still more so. I thought of the tender eyes that must soon behold it — in tears.”
Chapter XCIV. The Mystery Made Clear
The accused pauses in his recital. No one offers any observation — either to interrupt, or hurry him on.
There is a reluctance to disturb the chain of a narrative, all know to be unfinished; and every link of which has been binding them to a closer and more earnest attention.
Judge, jury, and spectators remain breathlessly silent; while their eyes — many with mouths agape — are attentively turned upon the prisoner.
Amidst solemn stillness he is permitted to proceed.
“My next idea was to cover the body with the cloak — as well as the serapé still around the shoulders. By so doing it would be protected from both wolves and buzzards — at least till we could get back to fetch it away.
“I had taken off the cloak for this purpose; when a different plan suggested itself — one that appeared in every way better.
“Instead of returning to the Port alone, I should take the body along with me. I fancied I could do this, by laying it across the croup, and lashing it to the saddle with my lazo.
“I led my horse up to the spot, and was preparing to put the body upon him, when I perceived that there was another horse upon the ground. It was that lately ridden by him who was now no more.
“The animal was near by, browsing upon the grass — as tranquilly as if nothing had happened to disturb it.
“As the bridle trailed upon the ground, I had no difficulty in catching hold of it. There was more in getting the horse to stand still — especially when brought alongside what lay upon the ground.
“Holding the reins between my teeth, I lifted the body up, and endeavoured to place it crosswise in the saddle.
“I succeeded in getting it there, but it would not remain. It was too stiff to bend over, and there was no way to steady it.
“Besides, the horse became greatly excited, at sight of the strange load he was being called upon to carry.
“After several attempts, I saw I could not succeed.
“I was about to give up the idea, when another occurred to me — one that promised better. It was suggested by a remembrance of something I had read, relating to the Gauchos of South America. When one dies, or is killed by accident, in some remote station of the Pampas, his comrades carry his corpse to their distant home — strapped in the saddle, and seated in the same attitude, as though he were still alive.
“Why should I not do the same with the body of Henry Poindexter?
“I made the attempt — first trying to set him on his own horse.
“But the saddle being a flat one, and the animal still remaining restive, I did not succeed.