One morning in the latter part of January I went out after a bucket of water at daylight, and happening to cast my eyes up a hillside I could see sentinels walking to and fro I could not understand it.  On returning to the house I mentioned the matter to Messrs. Boon and Bivian.  They smiled and said:  “We understand all that,” and they explained the whole thing to me.  One of them said:  “There will be some fun to-day,” and the other replied:  “Yes, a little hemp-pulling.”

“Yes,” responded the other, “that is what I meant.”  And then—­in our western vernacular—­I “tumbled to the racket.”

By the time we had breakfast over people were beginning to come in to trade, and happening to look down the street I saw forty or fifty men all well armed come marching up the street in the direction of the store They marched up to a large gambling house, called the Shades.  There they halted while some of them went in and returned, bringing with them a man by the name of Jack Gallagher.

There was a log cabin immediately across the street with a fireplace in it, and to this house they marched Gallagher and put him inside.

Leaving a strong guard around the cabin, the balance of them started out as if hunting some one else.  In a short time they came marching another man to the cabin by the name of Boone Helm, who had one hand tied up.  It seemed to comfort Gallagher to know that he was going to have company on the long trip by the short route, and “misery likes company.”

The third man was brought in a few minutes later whose name was Hank Parrish, the fourth and last that day being Clubfoot George.

They were all placed in the log cabin under a strong guard.

About the middle of the afternoon the crowd reassembled at the cabin jail, took the prisoners out, and marched them up the street.  Mr. Boone and I walked down the street by the side of the crowd, and after they had gone one block, for some reason they came to a halt, when Boone Helm sang out in the most profane language he could have uttered, saying:  “Hang me if you intend to, or I will have to go and warm my sore hand.”

They marched on up the street to where there was a new log house that had been recently built and not yet covered.  That had been prepared for this neck-tie party by placing four dry goods boxes in a row in the house.  The four men were led in and placed on the boxes and a rope placed around each of their necks thrown over a joist above and made fast to a sleeper below.

While they were tying the rope around Jack Gallagher’s neck—­his hands already having been tied behind him—­a perfect stream of oaths was pouring from his lips, and about the last words he uttered were:  “I hope to meet you all in the bottomest pits of hell.”  These words were uttered not more than a minute before the box was kicked from under him.