McKay was the center of the solemn little group that, with precise movement, passed down the steel corridors. They entered the death chamber, and it was McKay who sought to cheer his friends.
He stepped upon the trap, and the officials bound his wrists to his thighs with wide leather straps. He laughed and joked with his friends, who could not force a laugh from their dry set lips. Then, while the hangman stood waiting with the black hood, the chaplain offered up a few words in prayer.
McFadden stepped up and bade his friend farewell. Barnard then came up and in a strained manner clapped McKay on the shoulder and said, “So long, old scout,” and then stepped down, quickly concealing a small hypodermic syringe in his pocket.
Barnard and McFadden left the room and waited just outside, where they exchanged significant glances. Each knew the other had not failed in his task. A few seconds later they heard the trap drop, and for eleven excruciating minutes—an eternity—they waited.
The prison physician pronounced McKay dead and they returned. The body was cut down quickly, then turned over to Barnard and placed in a waiting ambulance, and whirled away.
Once again the experiment was being tried.
The long chance won. After a desperate effort Barnard’s work was rewarded by a slight and uncertain breathing by McKay.
McFadden noticed this, and scarcely could refrain from shouting with joy. Barnard, however, quickly assured him that the results as yet were far from certain.
The body reached the mortuary and, by well-laid plans and judicious selection of undertakers, was placed on a bed rather than the marble slab of the embalmer. Barnard watched his “patient” with close attention, while McFadden hastened to telegraph Kirk, who was waiting in Denver.