His eyes dropped, and his countenance wore an expression of deep contrition. For some moments he covered his face with his hands, seemingly overcome by the dreadful announcement. At length, dropping his hands, and looking into the face of the officer, he inquired, “Can I have a minister, to pray for and talk with me?” “One shall be immediately sent for.” And when the clergyman appeared, Lane, in care of the guard, spent his remaining hours of life in attending to the affairs of his soul. While his examination was progressing, parties came in with Boone Helm and Jack Gallagher. The former had been arrested by strategy, while standing in front of the Virginia Hotel. With an armed man on either side, and one behind with a pistol presented to his head, this veteran scoundrel, bloodier far than any of his comrades, was marched into the presence of his judges. “Ah!” he exclaimed, “if I’d only had a show, if I’d known what you were after, you would have had a gay old time in taking me.” His right hand was wounded, and supported by a sling. With much apparent serenity, he sat down on a bench, and looked defiantly into the faces of the members of the Committee. “What do you want of me here?” he inquired, affecting entire ignorance of the cause of his arrest. “We have proof that you belong to Plummer’s band of robbers, that you have been guilty of highway robbery and murder, and wish to hear what you have to say to these charges.” “I am as innocent,” replied the miscreant, in a deliberate tone, “as the babe unborn. I never killed any one, nor robbed or defrauded any man. I am willing to swear it on the Bible.” Less for any more important purpose than that of testing the utter depravity of the wretch, the interrogator handed him a Bible. With the utmost solemnity of manner and expression, he repeated the denial, invoking the most terrible penalties upon his soul, in attestation of its truthfulness, and kissed the volume impressively at its close. The Committee regarded this sacrilegious act of the crime-hardened reprobate with mingled feelings of horror and disgust. “This denial,” said the president, “can avail you nothing. Your life for many years has been a continuous career of crime. It is necessary that you should die. You had better improve the little time left you in preparation.” Helm looked hopelessly around, but saw no glance of sympathy in the stern features of his judges. Beckoning to a person standing near, he whispered, “Can I see you alone for a few minutes?” The man, supposing that he was desirous of obtaining spiritual counsel, replied, “I will send for a clergyman.” “No,” was the instant rejoinder. “I want no clergyman. You’ll do as well.” Stepping into the inner room, Helm closed the door, and, turning to the man, in an anxious tone asked, “Is there no way of getting out of this scrape?” “None. No power here is available to save you. You must die.”