This being the first opportunity I had ever had to see a man hung, we stayed and saw it through.  We rode up to the edge of the crowd, which was about forty yards from the scaffold where the hanging was to take place, and had been there but a few moments when we saw the sheriff coming with the prisoner, having a very strong guard of some two hundred men all well armed.  As soon as the prisoner stepped on to the platform some one handed him a chair to sit down in.

The sheriff turned to the prisoner and said:  “Mr. Gordon if you have anything to say, now you have the opportunity.  I will give you all the time necessary to say what you wish.”

The prisoner rose to his feet and brushed his hair back, apparently cool, but the moment he commenced to talk I could see the tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

I thought it a most pitiful sight.  He did not talk long, but briefly thanked his friends for their kindness towards him during his confinement, and said:  “Gentlemen, I think you did very wrong in holding out the idea to me that I would come clear, when you knew very well that there was no show whatever for me,” and took his seat.

A gospel minister then stepped upon the platform and engaged in prayer.  When he rose from praying the prisoner was weeping bitterly.  The sheriff then stepped up to him and said:  “Come, Mr. Gordon, your time is up,” and he took him by one arm and another man by the other, and when he raised to his feet they tied his hands behind him, tied a cloth over his face, led him on to the trap and the sheriff placed the rope around his neck and started down the steps to spring the trap, when the prisoner sang out:  “Come back, Meadows, come back!”

The sheriff turned and walked up to where the prisoner was, and he said: 

“Meadows, fix the rope good so it will break my neck, for I want to die quick.”

After the sheriff had fixed the rope he stepped down and sprung the trap, and from where I was I could not see that Gordon made the least struggle after he dropped.

Just as we were ready to leave here who should step up but our old friend Mr. Joe Favor, whom we had not seen for a long time.  He insisted on us going to his store, telling us where to put our horses.  So, after putting our horses up, we went around with him.

On arriving at Favor’s place we found that he had a number of his St. Louis friends with him, who had only arrived a few days previous to this.  After introducing us all around, he said:  “I want you two men to come over and take supper with me.  I have just ordered supper at the Jefferson House.”

Uncle Kit tried to excuse himself on the grounds that we were not dressed well enough to go into company, we having on our buckskin suits.  But his answer was: 

“I would not have you dressed otherwise if I could, so be sure and come with your side arms on” having reference to our revolvers and knives.  He then addressed his conversation to me for a few moments by asking what I would take to tell him the honest truth as to how many Indians I had scalped with the knife that he gave me, seeing that I still carried it.