"I move we give him a chance to save himself," said a quiet farmer from New England. "When he's in the road-agent business, he has a crowd to help him. Now, 'twould do us more good to clean them out than him alone, so let's give him a chance to leave the State if he'll tell who his confederates are. Somebody'll have to take care of him, of course, till we can catch them, and make sure of it."
"'Twon't cost the somebody much, then," said the prisoner, firmly; "an' I'd give a cool thousand for a shot at any low-lived coyote that 'ud ax me to do sich an ungentlemanly thing."
"Spoke like a man," said Caney, of Texas. "I hope ye'll die easy for that, Bill."
"The original motion prevails," said the major; "all in favor will say ay."
A decided "ay" broke from the party.
"Whoever has the tallest horse will please lead him up and unsaddle him," said the major, after a slight pause. "The witnesses will take the prisoner in charge."
A horse was brought under the limb, with the fragments of rope upon it, and the witnesses, one of them bearing a piece of rope, approached the prisoner.
The silence was terrible, and the feelings of all present were greatly relieved when Bill Bowney—placed on the horse, and seeing the rope hauled taught and fastened to a bough by a man in the tree—broke into a frenzy of cursing, and displayed the defiant courage peculiar to an animal at bay.
"Has the prisoner anything to say?" asked the major, as Bowney stopped for breath.
"Better own up, and save yourself and reform, and help rid the world of those other scoundrels," pleaded the New Englander.