Everybody
agreed that it was a righteous verdict, but now that he was sentenced
they added, "Poor fellow!"

Albert Prior was a young man who had had more of his own way than was
good for him. His own family--father, mother, brother, and sisters--had
given way to him so much, that he appeared to think the world at large
should do the same. The world differed with him. Unfortunately, the
first to oppose his violent will was a woman--a girl almost. She would
have nothing to do with him, and told him so. He stormed, of course,
but did not look upon her opposition as serious. No girl in her senses
could continue to refuse a young man with his prospects in life. But
when he heard that she had become engaged to young Bowen, the telegraph
operator, Prior's rage passed all bounds. He determined to frighten
Bowen out of the place, and called at the telegraph office for that
laudable purpose; but Bowen was the night operator, and was absent. The
day man, with a smile, not knowing what he did, said Bowen would likely
be found at the Parker Place, where Miss Johnson lived with her aunt,
her parents being dead.

Prior ground his teeth and departed. He found Miss Johnson at home, but
alone. There was a stormy scene, ending with the tragedy. He fired four
times at her, keeping the other two bullets for himself. But he was a
coward and a cur at heart, and when it came to the point of putting the
two bullets in himself he quailed, and thought it best to escape. Then
electricity did him its first dis-service. It sent his description far
and wide, capturing him twenty-five miles from his home. He was taken
back to the county town where he lived, and lodged in gaol.

Public opinion, ever right and all-powerful, now asserted itself. The
outward and visible sign of its action was an ominous gathering of
dark-browed citizens outside the gaol. There were determined mutterings
among the crowd rather than outspoken anger, but the mob was the more
dangerous on that account. One man in its midst thrust his closed hand
towards the sky, and from his fist dangled a rope. A cry like the
growling of a pack of wolves went up as the mob saw the rope, and they
clamoured at the gates of the gaol. "Lynch him! Gaoler, give up the
keys!" was the cry.

The agitated sheriff knew his duty, but he hesitated to perform it.
Technically, this was a mob--a mob of outlaws; but in reality it was
composed of his fellow-townsmen, his neighbours, his friends--justly
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