to die. I cannot go
bloodstained and unforgiven into the presence of the Eternal! Only let
me go, and I will leave the country forever!"

In the meantime Scar-face Charley and Crawford were cursing at us with
an earnestness and steadiness that compelled our admiration.

"Oh, shut up, Catlin!" cried Crawford at last. "You're going to hell,
and you know it; but I'll be there in time to open the gate for you."

"Don't make a fool of yourself," advised Charley; "there's no use being
afraid to die."

Morton looked around at each of us in turn.

"I suppose you know you are proceeding against a regularly constituted
officer of the law?" he reminded us. Receiving no reply, he beckoned me.
"Can I speak to you alone a moment?" he asked.

"I will send for our leader," I replied.

"No," said he, "I want no leader. You'll do as well."

I approached him. In an anxious tone he asked:

"Is there any way of getting out of this scrape? Think well!"

"None," said I firmly. "You must die."

With revolvers drawn we marched them outside. A wild yell greeted their
appearance. The cries were now mixed in sentiment. A hundred voices
raised in opposition were cried down by twice as many more. "Hang 'em!"
cried some. "No, no, banish them!" cried others. "Don't hang them!" and
blood-curdling threats. A single shot would have brought on a pitched
battle. Somehow eventually the tumult died down. Then Morton, who had
been awaiting his chance, spoke up in a strong voice.

"I call on you in the name of the law to arrest and disperse these
law-breakers."

"Where is Tom Cleveland?" spoke up a voice.

The appeal, which might otherwise have had its effect, was lost in the
cries, accusations, and counter-accusations that arose like a babel.
Morton made no further attempt. He better than any one realized, I
think, the numerical superiority against him.

The preparations were at length completed. Danny Randall motioned us to
lead forward the prisoners. Catlin struggled desperately, but the others
walked steadily enough to take their places on the drygoods boxes.

"For God's sake, gentlemen," appealed Crawford in a loud tone of voice,
"give me time to write home!"

"Ask him how much time he gave Tom Cleveland!" shouted a voice.

"If I'd only had a show," retorted Crawford, "if I'd known what you were
after, you'd have had a gay time taking me."

There was some little delay in adjusting the cords.

"If you're going to hang me, get at it