!" said Jules with an oath; "if
not, I want you to tie a bandage on my finger; it's bleeding."

"Give me your coat, Catlin," said Crawford; "you never gave me anything
yet; now's your chance."

Danny Randall broke in on this exchange.

"You are about to be executed," said he soberly. "If you have any dying
requests to make, this is your last opportunity. They will be carefully
heeded."

Scar-face Charley broke in with a rough laugh.

"How do I look, boys, with a halter around my neck?" he cried.

This grim effort was received in silence.

"Your time is very short," Danny reminded him.

"Well, then," said the desperado, "I want one more drink of whiskey
before I die."

A species of uneasy consternation rippled over the crowd. Men glanced
meaningly at each other, murmuring together. Some of the countenances
expressed loathing, but more exhibited a surprised contempt. For a
confused moment no one seemed to know quite what to do or what answer to
make to so bestial a dying request. Danny broke the silence incisively.

"I promised them their requests would be carefully heeded," he said.
"Give him the liquor."

Somebody passed up a flask. Charley raised it as high as he could, but
was prevented by the rope from getting it quite to his lips.

"You ----" he yelled at the man who held the rope.

"Slack off that rope and let a man take a parting drink, can't you?"

Amid a dead silence the rope was slacked away. Charley took a long
drink, then hurled the half-emptied flask far out into the crowd.

To a question Crawford shook his head.

"I hope God Almighty will strike every one of you with forked lightning
and that I shall meet you all in the lowest pit of hell!" he snarled.

Morton kept a stubborn and rather dignified silence. Catlin alternately
pleaded and wept. Jules answered Danny's question:

"Sure thing! Pull off my boots for me. I don't want it to get back to my
old mother that I died with my boots on!"

In silence and gravely this ridiculous request was complied with. The
crowd, very attentive, heaved and stirred. The desperadoes, shouldering
their way here and there, were finding each other out, were gathering in
little groups.

"They'll try a rescue!" whispered the man next to me.

"Men," Danny's voice rang out, clear and menacing, "do your duty!"

At the words, across the silence the click of gunlocks was heard as the
Vigilantes levelled their weapons at the crowd. From my position near
the c