It was monstrous and incredible, but there it was. There was no getting round it. The man was there talking when he ought to have been dead. We all sat staring in amazement, but United States Marshal Carpenter was not a man to be euchred so easily. He motioned the others to one side, so that the prisoner was left standing alone. "Duncan Warner," said he, slowly, "you are here to play your part, and I am here to play mine. Your game is to live if you can, and my game is to carry out the sentence of the law. You've beat us on electricity. I'll give you one there. And you've beat us on hanging, for you seem to thrive on it. But it's my turn to beat you now, for my duty has to be done." He pulled a six-shooter from his coat as he spoke, and fired all the shots through the body of the prisoner. The room was so filled with smoke that we could see nothing, but when it cleared the prisoner was still standing there, looking down in disgust at the front of his coat. "Coats must be cheap where you come from," said he. "Thirty dollars it cost me, and look at it now. The six holes in front are bad enough, but four of the balls have passed out, and a pretty state the back must be in." The Marshal's revolver fell from his hand, and he dropped his arms to his sides, a beaten man. "Maybe some of you gentlemen can tell me what this means," said he, looking helplessly at the committee. Peter Stulpnagel took a step forward. "I'll tell you all about it," said he. "You seem to be the only person who knows anything." "I <i>am</i> the only person who knows anything. I should have warned these gentlemen; but, as they would not listen to me, I have allowed them to learn by experience. What you have done with your electricity is that you have increased this man's vitality until he can defy death for centuries." "Centuries!" "Yes, it will take the wear of hundreds of years to exhaust the enormous nervous energy with which you have drenched him. Electricity is life, and you have charged him with it to the utmost. Perhaps in fifty years you might execute him, but I am not sanguine about it." "Great Scott! What shall I do with him?" cried the unhappy Marshal. Peter Stulpnagel shrugged his shoulders. "It seems to me that it does not much matter what you do with him now," said he. "Maybe we could drain the electricity out of him again. Suppose we hang him up by the heels?" "No, no, it's out of the question." "Well, well, he shall do no more mischief in Los Amigos, anyhow," said the Marshal, with decision. "He shall go into the new gaol. The prison will wear him out." "On the contrary," said Peter Stulpnagel, "I think that it is much more probable that he will wear out the prison." It was rather a fiasco and for years we didn't talk more about it than we could help, but it's no secret now and I thought you might like to jot down the facts in your case-book. THE DOCTORS OF HOYLAND.