the town, was admirably suited to the purpose. When the wagon, bearing Sterling to his doom reached the ground the whole town was in attendance. A range of hills to the south swarmed with women. Asa Barnes, a prominent farmer, a man of iron resolution and unswerving honesty, was the leader of the mob. With clinched teeth and blanched face he ordered Sterling to take his place on the seat of the wagon, and, while the desperado was as game as a peacock, he promptly obeyed. Standing on the wagon seat Sterling took off his hat, banged it down and placing his foot on it, shook his clenched hand at the sea of upturned faces, and with a volley of imprecations, said: ‘I am the best d—d man that ever walked the earth and if you will drop me down and give me a gun, I will fight any ten of you.’ Sandy Corbin, a great bluffer, who bore but little better reputation than the man with the noose on his neck, pretended that he wanted to fight Sterling single-handed. Nobody else paid any attention to Sterling’s ravings, and in a twinkling he was swung into eternity. The next day two others, a man named Brewer, a soldier at home on a furlough, and a young fellow known as Pony, met the same fate. There was much sympathy for Pony. He was a drunkard and all his delinquencies were attributed to this weakness. Just as they were ready to swing him up, two or three members of the mob told him that if he would give information as to others implicated, but who had not been arrested, they would save him. His reply was: ‘I went into this thing as a man and I will die as a man.’ There was a stir among those nearest the wagon and it was discovered that an effort was being made to save the boy from death. The traces were cut and the horses led away. The effort failed. Fifty men seized the wagon and dragged it away. The fourth to suffer the vengeance of the mob was an old gray-haired man named Moody. At the trial he strongly protested his innocence, and promised, if given a respite of twenty-four hours, he would prove an alibi. This was granted, but the witnesses were not forthcoming and the next day the old man was put to death. A priest visited him in jail, which was constantly surrounded day and night, and when he came out after administering the rights of the church to the doomed man, it was remarked by those who saw him that the priest was as pale as a ghost. The report gained currency that when asked if Moody was innocent, he refused to answer yea or nay, and, although it had not then developed that Moody could not produce the witnesses he promised, the conduct of the priest was taken as proof that Moody was guilty. During the week in which these extraordinary proceedings took place, the mob was in undisputed control of the court house and jail. Judge Lynch was perched upon the wool sack and a jury of twelve men, who had qualified under oath, in the usual form, occupied the jury box. Not the slightest effort at concealment was made by those who led or those who followed.