the cortege. This procession is said to have been over two miles in
length. Each man wore a band of crepe around his left arm. All the city
seemed to be gathered there. And yet the time for the actual funeral
ceremony was still some hours distant.

Nevertheless the few who, hurrying to the scene, had occasion to pass
near the Vigilante headquarters, found the silent square guarded on all
sides by a triple line of armed men. The side-streets also were filled
with them. They stood in the exact alignment their constant drill had
made possible, with bayonets fixed, staring straight ahead. Three
thousand were under arms. Like the vast crowd a few squares away, they,
too, stood silent and patiently waiting.

At a quarter before one the upper windows of the headquarters building
were thrown open and small planked platforms were thrust from two of
them. Heavy beams were shoved out from the flat roof directly over the
platforms. From the ends of the beams dangled nooses of rope. After this
another wait ensued. Across the silence of the intervening buildings
could be heard faintly from the open windows of the church the sound of
an organ, and then the measured cadences of an oration. The funeral
services had begun. As though this were a signal, the blinds that had
closed the window openings were thrown back and Cora was conducted to
the end of one of the little platforms. His face was covered with a
white handkerchief and he was bound. A moment later Casey appeared. He
had asked not to be blindfolded. Cora stood bolt upright, motionless as
a stone, but Casey's courage broke. If he had any hope that the boastful
promises of his friends would be fulfilled by a rescue, that hope died
as he looked down on the set, grim faces, on the sinister ring of steel.
His nerve then deserted him completely and he began to babble.

"Gentlemen," he cried at them, "I am not a murderer! I do not feel
afraid to meet my God on a charge of murder! I have done nothing but
what I thought was right! Whenever I was injured I have resented it! It
has been part of my education during twenty-nine years! Gentlemen, I
forgive you this persecution! O God! My poor Mother! O God!"

It is to be noted that he said not one word of contrition nor of regret
for the man whose funeral services were then going on, nor for the
heartbroken wife who knelt at that coffin. His words found no echo
against that grim wall of steel. Again ensued a wait, apparently
inexplicable