"He is heah," said one of the men. "We 'uns have been waitin' to see what yo' un wanted to do with him."
"Hang him or shoot him, I don't care which," he growled as he turned away. "I'm tired and hungry and want some breakfast."
The Captain's decision was told, but the gang decided to wait until the men who came in with the Captain had had breakfast, so all could enjoy the sport. To the savage men the hanging or shooting of a Yankee was an enjoyable event.
When breakfast was over there was quite a discussion as to whether Lawrence should be hung or shot. Those in favor of hanging carried the day, so he was led under the projecting limb of a tree and a rope placed around his neck.
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.