“Willingly, George; most willingly,” and, suiting the action to the word, the judge dropped upon his knees, and, with George and Gallagher kneeling beside him, offered up a fervent petition in behalf of the doomed men. Boone Helm was irritated at this request, and, raising his sore finger, exclaimed,
“For God’s sake, if you’re going to hang me, I want you to do it, and get through with it; if not, I want you to tie a bandage on my finger.”
While the prayer was in progress, Hayes Lyons requested that his hat should be removed. Frank Parish gave abundant evidence of deep contrition, but Boone Helm continued, as from the first, to treat all the proceedings with profane and reckless levity.
Gallagher, at one moment cursing, and at the next crying, seemed the least composed of any of the prisoners. He wore a handsome cavalry overcoat, trimmed with beaver.
“Give me that coat, Jack,” said Helm, as Gallagher rose from his knees. “You never yet gave me anything.”
“It’s little use you’ll make of it now,” responded Gallagher with an oath, and, catching at the moment the eye of an acquaintance, who was regarding him from a window of the hotel, he called to him in a loud tone,
“Say, old fellow, I’m going to heaven. I’ll be there in time to open the gate for you.”
“Halloo, Bill!” said Boone Helm to one in the crowd, “they’ve got me this time; got me, sure, and no mistake.”
Hayes Lyons begged of his captors the privilege of seeing his mistress. “Let me bid her good-bye and restore this watch to her, which is her property.” The request was refused, only to be repeated, and on being made a third time he received for answer,
“Hayes! bringing women to the place of execution ‘played out’ in ’63, when they interfered with your trial for killing Dillingham.”