“You have now witnessed,” said he, “a sample of justice in this soi-disant civilized country.  Two hundred dollars perhaps, have cleared a murderer; ten millions would not have done it among the Shoshones.”

“But Texas is not Europe,” replied I.

“No,” said Gabriel, “it is not; but in Europe, as in Texas, with money you can do anything, without money nothing.”

At that moment we perceived a man wrapt in his blanket, and leaning against a tree.

He surveyed the group receding to the tavern, and the deepest feelings of hatred and revenge were working evidently within him.  He saw us not, so intense were his thoughts.  It was the plaintiff whose son had been murdered.  Gabriel resumed.

“Now, mark that man; he was the plaintiff, the father of the young fellow so shamefully plundered and murdered; he is evidently a poor farmer, or the assassin would have been hung.  He is now brooding over revenge; the law gave not justice, he will take it into his own hands, and he will probably have it to-night, or to-morrow.  Injustice causes crime, and ninety-nine out of a hundred are forced into it by the impotency of the law; they suffer once, and afterwards act towards others as they have been acted by.  That man may have been till this day a good, industrious, and hospitable farmer; to-night he will be a murderer, in a week he will have joined the free bands, and will then revenge himself upon society at large, for the injustice he has received from a small portion of the community.”

Till then I had never given credit to my friend for any great share of penetration, but he prophesied truly.  Late in the night the father announced his intention of returning to his farm, and entered the general sleeping-room of the hotel to light a cigar.  A glance informed him of all that he wished to know.  Forty individuals were ranged sleeping in their blankets, alongside of the walls, which, as I have observed, were formed of pine logs, with a space of four or six inches between each:  parallel with the wall, next to the yard, lay the murderer Fielding.

The father left the room, to saddle his horse.  An hour afterwards the report of a rifle was heard, succeeded by screams and cries of “Murder! help! murder!” Every one in the sleeping-room was up in a moment, lights were procured, and the judge was seen upon his knees with his hands upon his hinder quarters; his neighbour Fielding was dead, and the same ball which had passed through his back and chest had blazed the bark off the nether parts of this pillar of Texan justice.

When the first surprise was over, pursuit of the assassin was resolved upon, and then it was discovered that, in his revenge, the father had not lost sight of prudence.  All the horses were loose; the stable and the court-house, as well as the bar and spirit-store of the tavern, were in flames.  While the Bostonians endeavoured to steal what they could, and the landlord was beating his negroes, the only parties upon whom he could vent his fury, our companions succeeded in recovering their horses, and at break of day, without any loss but the gold watch of the doctor, which had probably been stolen from him during his sleep, we started for the last day’s journey which we had to make in Texas.