Shorty got right into the hanging spirit--he always was a comical little cuss, Shorty was--pleading pitiful with the boys to let up on him; and, when they wouldn't, getting a halt on 'em--same as he'd seen done at real hangings--by beginning to send messages to all the folks he ever had. Santa Fé let him go on till he'd got to his uncles and cousins--and then he said he guessed the rest of the family could make out to do with second-hand messages from them that had them; and as it was past train-time, and the distinguished stranger in their midst--who was going on it--would enjoy seeing the show through, the hanging had got to be shoved right along. When Charley'd give his order, Carver come up--he was the Pullman conductor, Carver was, and he had his points how to manage--and steered the little man onto the back platform of the Pullman, where he could see well; and so had things all ready for the train to pull out as soon as Shorty was swung off. Wood, who'd had experience, had the rope rigged up in good shape over the cross-bar of the telegraph-pole; and Hill and Denver fetched old Shorty along--with Shorty letting on he was scared stiff, and yowling like he'd been ashamed to if it hadn't been a bunco game he was playing--and hitched him to it, with the boys standing close round in a clump so they hid the way it was done. The little man was so worked up by that time--it likely being he hadn't seen much of hangings--he was just a-hopping: with his plug hat off, and sousing the sweat off his face with his pocket-handkerchief, and singing out what was going on wasn't any better than murder, and begging all hands not to do what he said was such a dreadful deed. But nobody paid no attention to him (except Carver, he was a friendly feller, Carver was, kept a lookout he didn't tumble himself off the platform) and when Denver sung out things was ready, and Santa Fé sung out back for the Friendly Aiders to haul away, the boys all grabbed onto the rope together--and up Shorty went a-kicking into the air. Shorty really did do his act wonderful: kicking every which way at first, and then only sort of squirming, and then quieting down gradual till he just hung limp--with the kick all kicked out of him--turning round and round slow! When he'd quieted, the train conductor swung his lantern to start her, and off she went--the little man standing there on the back platform of the Pullman, a-grabbing at the railing like he was dizzy, looking back with all his eyes. And old Shorty up on the telegraph-pole, making a black splotch twisting about in the moonlight, was the last bit of Palomitas he seen! * * * * *