366Scar-face Charley broke in with a rough laugh.
“How do I look, boys, with a halter around my neck?” he cried.
This grim effort was received in silence.
“Your time is very short,” Danny reminded him.
“Well, then,” said the desperado, “I want one more drink of whiskey before I die.”
A species of uneasy consternation rippled over the crowd. Men glanced meaningly at each other, murmuring together. Some of the countenances expressed loathing, but more exhibited a surprised contempt. For a confused moment no one seemed to know quite what to do or what answer to make to so bestial a dying request. Danny broke the silence incisively.
“I promised them their requests would be carefully heeded,” he said. “Give him the liquor.”
Somebody passed up a flask. Charley raised it as high as he could, but was prevented by the rope from getting it quite to his lips.
“You ─” he yelled at the man who held the rope. “Slack off that rope and let a man take a parting drink, can’t you?”
Amid a dead silence the rope was slacked away. Charley took a long drink, then hurled the half-emptied flask far out into the crowd.