"He used to belong to our little society once," he said; "but he ran away and gave evidence against another member, who was shot."
"What are you going to do with him?" I asked.
He made a motion with his hand in his loose neckerchief of a man being hanged.
"No, surely not!" I cried, in horror.
"You'll see," he replied, as he began to smoke.
They dragged forward the shivering wretch, who had a prosperous look about him; and as they pulled him out of the train his tall hat fell off and rattled on the iron rails. No one stopped to pick it up; it was not worth while.
The man immediately following him carried his lasso in his hand. They lost very little time; there was a tree with a convenient branch, just near the line, and in a trice they threw the rope over this and knotted the end into a noose.
Then there was a call for a priest, and there happening to be a Padré in the train, the wretched man was accorded five minutes with him as he stood.
Within three minutes more the body of the half-breed was swinging and struggling in the air; but the struggles were not for long.
The desperadoes all around me whipped out their revolvers and commenced a rattling fusillade, the mark being the body of the man swinging on the tree.