Smoke? Can’t be smoke! Yes, it is! Goin’ t’ burn me up! Bang! Bang! Got one of ’em!
My God! Only one bullet left! Never take him alive! Lynch him! Might burn him! Burned coloured boy last month ’n Texas! Better not let ’em get him! Good-bye, everybody! Good-bye!
Good-bye! Good⸺ Bang …
It was some time after Bob had died before the posse dared enter the barn which by this time was burning rapidly. They feared the cessation of firing was only a ruse to draw them into the open. At last, after riddling the burning structure with bullets, a few of the more daring cautiously approached the barn, entered, and found Bob’s body. After the bullet from his own gun had entered his head, killing him instantly, his body had fallen backwards from the box on which he had been sitting. His legs were resting on the box, his thighs vertical, his body on the floor and his head slightly tilted forward as it rested against a cow-stall. His arms were widespread. The empty revolver lay some ten feet away, where he had flung it as he fell backwards. His face was peaceful. On it was a sardonic smile as though he laughed in death at cheating the howling pack of the satisfaction of killing him.
The mob dragged the body hastily into the open. The roof of the old barn was about to fall in. Before dragging it forth, they had taken no chances. A hundred shots were fired into the dead body. Partly in anger at being cheated of the joy of killing him themselves. They tied it to the rear axle of a Ford. Howling, shouting gleefully, the voice of the pack after the kill, they drove rapidly back to town, the dead body, riddled and torn, bumping grotesquely over the holes in the road. …
Back to the public square. In the open space before the Confederate Monument, wood and excelsior had been piled. Near by stood cans of kerosene. On the crude pyre they threw the body. Saturated it and the wood with oil. A match applied. In the early morning sunlight the fire leaped higher and higher. Mingled with the flames and smoke the exulting cries of those who had done their duty—they had avenged and upheld white civilization. …
The flames died down. Women, tiny boys and girls, old men and young stood by, a strange light on their faces. They sniffed eagerly the odour of burning human flesh which was becoming more and more faint.
… Into the dying flames darted a boy of twelve. Out he came, laughing hoarsely, triumphantly exhibiting a charred bone he had secured, blackened and crisp. … Another rushed in. … Another. … Another. … Here a rib. … There an armbone. … A louder cry. … The skull. … Good boy! Johnny! … We’ll put that on the mantelpiece at home. … Five dollars for it, Johnny! … Nothin’ doin’! … Goin’ to keep it myself! …
The show ended. The crowd dispersed. Home to breakfast.