Gold Part 48

On our side the line was a dead, grim silence. We stood, our weapons ready, rigidly at attention. Occasionally one or the other of us muttered a warning against those who showed symptoms of desiring to interfere.

In the meantime, three of our number had been proceeding methodically with the construction of a gallows. This was made by thrusting five small pine b.u.t.ts, about forty feet long, over a cross beam in the gable of the cabin and against the roof inside. Large drygoods boxes were placed beneath for the trap.

About this time Danny Randall, who had been superintending the construction, touched me on the shoulder.

"Fall back," he said quietly. "Now," he instructed several of us, after we had obeyed this command, "I want you to bring out the prisoners and hold them in plain view. In case of rescue or attempted escape, shoot them instantly. Don't hesitate."

"I should think they would be safer inside the cabin," I suggested.

"Sure," agreed Danny, "but I want them here for the moral effect."

We entered the cabin. The five prisoners were standing or sitting.

Scar-face Charley was alternately blaspheming violently, upbraiding his companions, cursing his own luck, and uttering frightful threats against everybody who had anything to do with this. Crawford was watching him contemptuously and every once in a while advising him to "shut up!"

Jules was alternately cursing and crying. Morton sat at one side quite calm and very alert. Catlin stared at the floor.

The moment we entered Catlin ran over to us and began to plead for his life. He, better than the rest, with the possible exception of Morton, seemed to realize the seriousness of his plight. From pleadings, which we received in silence, he changed to arguments concerning his innocence.

"It is useless," replied one of our men. "That affair is settled and cannot be changed. You are to be hanged. You cannot feel worse about it than I do; but I could not help it if I would."

Catlin stood for a moment as though overwhelmed; then he fell on his knees before us and began to plead rapidly.

"Not that!" he cried. "Anything but that! Do anything else you want to with me! Cut off my ears and cut out my tongue! Disable me in any way!

You can certainly destroy my power for harm without taking my life!

Gentlemen! I want to live for my wife--my poor absent wife! I want time to settle my affairs! O G.o.d! I am too wicked 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 h.e.l.l, 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 const.i.tuted 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 sc.r.a.pe? 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 G.o.d'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!" 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 b.e.s.t.i.a.l a dying request. Danny broke the silence incisively.

"I promised them their requests would be carefully heeded," he said.

"Give him the liquor."

Somebody pa.s.sed 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.