g a kind of decent
nigger, we will give him a decent hanging. Meantime, Doctor, I must
get out. To-day is Sunday and we must do our work to-morrow night. I
must get a meeting of the boys to-night." So saying, the two arose,
left the house and parted, one going to gather up his gang and the
other to search up and examine his dissecting appliances.

Monday night about 9 o'clock a mob came and took Belton out into
the neighboring woods. He was given five minutes to pray, at the
expiration of which time he was to be hanged. Belton seemed to have
foreseen the coming of the mob, but felt somehow that God was at work
to deliver him. Therefore he made no resistance, having unshaken faith
in God.

The rope was adjusted around his neck and thrown over the limb of a
tree and Belton was swinging up. The postmaster then slipped forward
and fired his pistol at the base of his skull and the blood came
oozing forth. He then ordered the men to retire, as he did not care
for them to remain to shoot holes in the body, as was their custom.

As soon as they retired, three men sent by Dr. Zackland stole out of
hiding and cut Belton's body down. Belton was not then dead, for
he had only been hanging for seven minutes, and the bullet had not
entered the skull but had simply ploughed its way under the skin. He
was, however, unconscious, and to all appearances dead.

The three men bore him to Dr. Zackland's residence, and entered a rear
door. They laid him on a dissecting table in the rear room, the room
in which the doctor performed all surgical operations.

Dr. Zackland came to the table and looked down on Belton with a happy
smile. To have such a robust, well-formed, handsome nigger to dissect
and examine he regarded as one of the greatest boons of his medical
career.

The three men started to retire. "Wait," said Dr. Zackland, "let us
see if he is dead."

Belton had now returned to consciousness but kept his eyes closed,
thinking it best to feign death. Dr. Zackland cut off the hair in
the neighborhood of the wound in the rear of Belton's head and began
cutting the skin, trying to trace the bullet. Belton did not wince.

"The nigger is dead or else he would show some sign of life. But I
will try pricking his palm." This was done, but while the pain was
exceedingly excruciating, Belton showed no sign of feeling. "You may
go now," said the doctor to his three attendants, "he is certainly
dead."

The men left. Dr. Zackland pulled ou