“Mr. Gaston,” said the Marshal with the assured voice and manner of an innocent man. “Gaston, I know yo’, and will ask yo’ to save my life. I havn’t done anything to yo’. I have only done my duty as Town Marshal.”
“Y-e-s,” replied Gaston with a sneer. “Your knowing me a’n’t nothing. I don’t care nothing about your marshalship. I ha’n’t forgot that five dollars you made me pay for dipping my head in Ben’s Spring, and I’ll have satisfaction to-night, for we’re going to kill you;” and the six men all fired upon the unarmed Marshal at once.
“Oh Lord! Oh Lord!” cried the unfortunate man.
“You call on the Lord, you —— ——?” said they.
“Oh Lord! Oh Lord!” rang out loud and clear upon the midnight air, and as he uttered the words a second time they fired again, and he fell.
While his flesh still quivered, southern chivalry proceeded to draw a pair of genteel boots from his feet, and a valuable watch from his pocket; and then left him with the stars gazing into his dead face, and the witnessing angels noting testimony for the inquest of a just heaven.
Captain Doc had climbed upon a timber of the railroad trestle, and was looking through the tassels of corn which grew around him and made a friendly shade.
“By ——!” said one of the ruffians, “I reckon some of us had better go over in that cornfield. There’s good hunting thar, I reckon.”
Stealthily Capt. Doc now crept between the corn-stalks diagonally to the left, till he reached and entered Marmor’s printing office, which was, like the Justice’s office, connected with his dwelling. Here he remained an hour or more, supposing himself to be alone, and listened to the sounds of violence without, and of many men coming over the long bridge from the city, whooping and yelling like demons.
Then came blows upon the front door of the office, threatening its destruction, and our Captain made his exit through the one at the rear.