On the day of the execution the largest crowd ever brought together in Kentucky on a similar occasion assembled at the little country town of Pikeville, careful and conservative estimates judging the number to have been nearly eight thousand. They came from all directions, on horseback, on foot, in wagons drawn by oxen. They came long before daybreak and from that time on until the time of the execution, after noon, the stream of visitors poured into the town. Little children even were brought along by mothers who had come to see the hanging with an eagerness with which they would have attended a circus. Is it not strange how morbidly curious most of us are? How we jostle each other so as not to lose a glimpse of misery or death? Not strange, after all--the savage of the stone age is not yet eradicated from our natures. While the crowd collected, an incident marred the generally peaceable behavior of the mass of people. Frank Phillips was "in his cups." With a revolver in each hand he walked the streets of the town, announcing that he had run the Hatfields down and that now he proposed to run the town of Pikeville. Sheriff Mayward remonstrated with Phillips, who showed fight. A number of deputy sheriffs soon disarmed him and the trouble passed without serious casualty. In the scuffle the sheriff had been severely injured. As soon as he recovered from the shock he called the guards and from that time on matters progressed without any other interruption. At that time executions were public, not behind walls or enclosures as now. A mile and a half from the town, in a natural amphitheatre, the old-fashioned gallows had been erected. The hills overlooking the scene were black with people. A few minutes past twelve the sheriff repaired to the jail and read the death warrant. Keen-eyed guards scanned the people around to detect any possible attempt at rescue. None was made. The condemned criminal listened to the reading of the warrant with the same stoicism that had marked the commission of his crimes. He claimed conversion, and hoped that "all men and women would lead good lives and to meet him in heaven, where he was going." A short time after one o'clock his lifeless form dangled from the gallows-beam. Ellison Mount had ceased to be a dread to humanity. Ignorant as the savage of interior Africa, he had no conception of the magnitude of his crimes. A criminal by nature, he was easily influenced to obey the command of those who used him as a tool. Shedding human blood was a pastime with him. However, according to orthodox teaching, he consorts now with the saints. A life of crime seems to have some compensation, after all.