What might have been the event of this combat may not be said.  The parties were separated in a moment by the interposition of Forrester, but not till our hero, tearing off in the scuffle the handkerchief which had hitherto encircled the cheeks of his opponent, discovered the friendly outlaw who collected toll for the Pony Club, and upon whose face the hoof of his horse was most visibly engraven—­who had so boldly avowed his design upon his life and purse, and whom he had so fortunately and successfully foiled on his first approach to the village.

The fight was over after this catastrophe; the survivors of the guard, who were unhurt, had fled; and the parties with little stir were all now assembled around the scene of it.  There was little said upon the occasion.  The wounded were taken such care of as circumstances would permit; and wagons having been provided, were all removed to the village.  Begun with too much impulse, and conducted with too little consideration, the struggle between the military and the outlaws had now terminated in a manner that left perhaps but little satisfaction in the minds of either party.  The latter, though generally an unlicensed tribe—­an Ishmaelitish race—­whose hands were against all men, were not so sure that they had not been guilty of a crime, not merely against the laws of man and human society, but against the self-evident decrees and dictates of God; and with this doubt, at least, if not its conviction, in their thoughts, their victory, such as it was, afforded a source of very qualified rejoicing.

CHAPTER XV.

CLOSE QUARTERS.

Colleton was by no means slow in the recognition of the ruffian, and only wondered at his own dullness of vision in not having made the discovery before.  Nor did Rivers, with all his habitual villany, seem so well satisfied with his detection.  Perceiving himself fully known, a momentary feeling of inquietude came over him; and though he did not fear, he began to entertain in his mind that kind of agitation and doubt which made him, for the first time, apprehensive of the consequences.  He was not the cool villain like Munro—­never to be taken by surprise, or at disadvantage; and his eye was now withdrawn, though but for a moment, beneath the stern and searching glance which read him through.

That tacit animal confession and acknowledgment were alone sufficient to madden a temper such as that of Rivers.  Easily aroused, his ferocity was fearless and atrocious, but not measured or methodical.  His mind was not marked—­we had almost said tempered—­by that wholesome indifference of mood which, in all matters of prime villany, is probably the most desirable constituent.  He was, as we have seen, a creature of strong passions, morbid ambition, quick and even habitual excitement; though, at times, endeavoring to put on that air of sarcastic superiority to all emotion which marked the character