In a moment more, the Klan sprang upon and overpowered Fletcher. Pistols were presented at his head, threatenings of death were made if he uttered a cry; a towel was tied tightly across his eyes as a bandage, and he was led away to the woods on the north side of Cross Plains. Upon reaching the woods, his coat and vest were removed, and he was stood up with his face pressed hard against a tree. His arms were drawn around the trunk of the tree, and tied together, and his legs were firmly secured by ropes. John Yeateman, who had charge of the proceedings of the Klan that night, then stepped forward, and told Fletcher to say his prayers, as he had but a short time to live; that it had first been the intention to give him a whipping and let him go, but that they had now decided to whip him to death. Fletcher replied by asking if there was no mercy to be accorded him, and inquired to know for what he was to be killed. The only answer to this was that they never gave mercy to the "infernal radicals, who wanted niggers to rule the country." This remark was followed by his shirt being torn completely off his back. Meantime the "executioners," who had gone for the "rods," returned, and upon the order of their leader fell to their work, cutting the back of the poor victim most dreadfully, and causing him to lose all his stoicism at last, and shriek from the effects of the blows. The "executioners" becoming exhausted, Yeateman himself seized a knife, and cutting away the garments that encased Fletcher's lower limbs, took a "rod," and commenced beating him about the loins with great ferocity. Fletcher fainted under the punishment, and as his screams had ceased, Yeateman desisted, remarking, "There's one Radical vote less, by ----." The band continued consulting together for some time, when, Fletcher being heard to groan, one of the Klan, named James Bierd, said: "He ain't finished yet; I reckon he'd better have the whole of it." Yeateman then approached the miserable victim, and having succeeded in arousing him to consciousness, asked: "Have you anything to say before you die?" Fletcher responded faintly, saying: "Write to my mother, Mrs. William Fletcher, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada, and say how and why I died." In a moment afterwards he asked: "Is there no chance to live?" The band consulted together again, when Yeateman said: "There is just one chance for you, and that is that you agree to leave the State in three hours, and never come back." Fletcher gladly gave the required promise. He was then untied, and two of the band supporting him upon either side, led him to the railroad track. The bandage was then taken from his eyes, and he was told he must walk on, and that if he looked back, he would be shot. A row of revolvers pointed at him gave evidence that he was not being trifled with, and summoning all the resolution and strength which he could command, he slowly hobbled away.