Lawrence felt all hope was gone. He was standing face to face with death. For a moment he felt faint and a deadly fear seized him. Few there be who in health and strength can face Death without a fear. As they look him in his face and his shadowy wings cover them, nature recoils and would flee from him. But it was only a moment that Lawrence feared. He gulped back the lump in his throat; his trembling nerves became as steel. He was a man--a soldier again. He had faced death on the battlefield without a quiver and he would do so now, though this was different, it was coming in such a horrible form; but he would face it. He looked into the scowling faces around him without a sign of fear. "What do yo' un have to say before we 'uns string you up?" demanded one of the men. "Nothing," answered Lawrence, "but I would be thankful if you would inform Judge Lindsly of my fate. He at least will give my body a decent burial." At this the guerrillas burst into a boisterous laugh. "That's a good one," they cried. "He reckons we 'uns bury the Yanks we 'uns hang. Young feller, we 'uns will pitch your carcass in the brush and leave it for the buzzards to pick--that is, if a Missouri buzzard will pick a dead Yank." At this sally there was another burst of laughter. Just then there came a diversion. One of the men, Cal Jones, who had been one of the party with Lamar, had missed a Federal soldier at short range, and his companions were guying him unmercifully. "Why," drawled one called Hooper, "Cal couldn't hit a barn door at fifty paces." Cal was hopping mad. "I'll bet yo 'un a hoss I ken put a ball through that Yank's heart at fifty paces," he roared. "Done," exclaimed Hooper. "Heah, boys, stop that picnic for a few moments. Cal has bet me a hoss he can plug that Yank through the heart at fifty paces the first shot." Some of the men began to demur, but Hooper, in a tantalizing tone, drawled, "Don't be skeered, boys. Cal will sure miss him, and we 'uns can have our fun afterwards." "I'll show yo' un. I'll show yo' un," yelled Cal, hopping around like a mad turkey. They now all fell in with the idea, and Lawrence was placed with his back against a tree. To him the diversion came as a welcome relief. He would now die like a soldier and not like a felon. "Hold on thar!" cried Hooper, as Jones began to pace the distance. "I said fifty paces, not fifty steps. Yo' un don't come that on me." "I am pacin'." snarled Cal. "Want to back out, do yer?" "Not much, but I'll do that pacin' myself." And he began. "No, yer don't," yelled Cal. The men were about to fight when the others interfered, saying it was only fair a third party should do the pacing. This was agreed to and the pacing duly done. Jones took his position, a huge navy revolver in his hand. Lawrence stood facing him. Not a muscle quivered as he looked his would-be executioner in the eye.