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 condemned men I could see the shifting components of the mob freeze to immobility before the menace of those barrels. At the same instant the man who had been appointed executioner jerked the box from beneath Catlin's feet. "There goes one to hell!" muttered Charley. "I hope forked lightning will strike every strangling----" yelled Crawford. His speech was abruptly cut short as the box spun from under his feet. "Kick away, old fellow!" said Scar-face Charley. "Me next! I'll be in hell with you in a minute! Every man for his principles! Hurrah for crime! Let her rip!" and without waiting for the executioner, he himself kicked the support away. Morton died without a sign. Catlin, at the last, suddenly calmed, and met his fate bravely.