“Hang the villain! hang the wretch!” burst from the lips of some of the crowd.
“Dick Sherwood,” said old Captain Storms, the leader of the party, “if you have any thing of reason to say, say it at once; if not—”
“Certainly,” interrupted Sherwood; “I was going to suggest that some improvements be made upon that grave for my ease and comfort; but I will not occupy it long, so go your length, gentlemen. Should I ever address you again it will be under different—quite different auspices.”
The settlers grew indignant at these taunting, defiant remarks, and at once proceeded to the execution.
Four men drew the cleared limb as low as possible and held it down. To this Captain Storms tied the rope which already encircled the renegade’s neck.
Lionel Clontarf bound a handkerchief over the prisoner’s eyes, and then, at a signal from Captain Storms, the four men relinquished their hold upon the limb which arose to its natural position, and then Dick Sherwood hung between heaven and earth!
The wretched man struggled desperately, but his efforts momentarily grew feebler. The settlers stood in speechless silence and gazed upon the hanging form until it had ceased to move.
Surely life was extinct.
Finally Captain Storms advanced and placed his fingers upon the renegade’s pulse, and said in a low tone:
“He’s dead, boys, dead, dead; and may God have mercy upon his soul.”