Johnny Henshaw seemed to be about twenty years old—indeed rather under than over that age. There was nothing in his features to show a trace of Indian blood. His hair was light brown, his eyes a soft, light blue, his skin fair, and his cheeks rosy. The expression of his face was gentle and pleasing. It made me heart-sick to look at the young fellow, even though he was a wolf and deserved a wolf’s fate, and to think that in the midst of health and strength and youth he was marching to a speedy death. As we came near the fatal tree, I tried to imagine what thoughts were passing in the outlaw’s mind by mentally putting myself in his place. The effort made me dizzy and sick. I felt as if I were about to fall senseless.
When we had reached the cottonwood tree, the cortége halted. A wagon was hauled up to the tree, and Johnny caused to mount it. One end of his lariat was made fast to a branch of the tree. Three or four men jumped on the wagon. Some confusion occurred in properly adjusting the noose about the victim’s neck. Johnny pushed the men from him, saying:
“Get out o’ here! I’ll show ye how a man can die!” And, fixing with his own hands the noose about his neck, he jumped into eternity!
ROUTE II.
Poor wolf! His time to howl was over.
I felt sick and faint from witnessing the scene, and had to take some of the “fighting whiskey” of Devil’s Landing to keep me from fainting. It did so. It was as good—or as bad—as a galvanic shock. I was glad, therefore, when the Misty Mountain coach drove in front of the American Hotel to take up its passengers. The stage had seven inside: a congressman, a divine, an Indian agent, three ladies, and a small boy. The gentlemen looked at me in such a dog-in-the-mangerish fashion when I popped my head in at the door to see what prospect there was of an inside seat, that I immediately withdrew it and took my seat on the box between the driver and the conductor.
“Passengers for the Stony Sierra! All aboard!” And off we go behind six good mules.
The country we travelled through was flat and uninteresting. Not a tree or shrub within the circular boundary of the horizon. Little of life, animal or vegetable, to be seen; only a stray hare—vulgo, jackass rabbit—a prairie-dog, with its sentinel owl, a prairie wolf or coyote, and an occasional hawk.
After a run of nine or ten miles, we stopped at a “dug-out” to change animals. While the change was being effected, a man in a red buggy with a white horse arrived from the west. He was evidently excited, and his horse was covered with foam.
“How d’e do, general? You seem kinder flurried. Anything happened?” asked the stage-driver.