"Why, no; that can not be. Deaf Smith was slain at San Jacinto,"
remarked Judge Webb.

"There, again, your honor is mistaken," said Morton. "The story of
Smith's death was a mere fiction, got up by Houston to save the life of
his favorite from the sworn vengeance of certain Texans, on whose
conduct he had acted as a spy. I fathomed the artifice twelve
months since."

"If what you say be true, you are a madman yourself!" exclaimed Webb.
"Deaf Smith was was never known to miss his mark. He has often brought
down ravens in their most rapid flight, and killed Camanches and
Mexicans at a distance of of two hundred and fifty yards!"

"Say no more," answered Colonel Morton, in tones of deep determination;
"the thing is already settled. I have already agreed to meet him. There
can be no disgrace in falling before such a shot, and, if I succeed, my
triumph will confer the greater glory!"

Such was the general habit of thought and feeling prevalent throughout
Texas at that period.

Toward evening a vast crowd assembled at the place appointed to witness
the hostile meeting; and so great was the popular recklessness as to
affairs of the sort, that numerous and considerable sums were wagered on
the result. At length the red orb of the summer sun touched the curved
rim of the western horizon, covering it all with crimson and gold, and
filling the air with a flood of burning glory; and then the two mortal
antagonists, armed with long, ponderous rifles, took their stations,
back to back, and at a preconcerted signal--the waving of a white