The Lincoln County leader. [volume] (White Oaks, Lincoln County, N.M.) 1882-189?, 1883-06-09
A Frontier Lynching.

genuine joaquin Miller sensation.
stripped of its unreal mountains,
impossible trees, and unimaginable
rocks, and done out in the bare
browns and reds ofa sullen spring
morning in the barren, desolate
gorgcs of the Rockiesl Just fol-
low the crowd as it gathers At the
postotice, and, at last, in silence
and seriousness, moves slowly over
the hill to the Jail. Everybody
knows there is death in the air.
The "'solid citizens stand at the
doors of their respective saloons
and see the mob go by, a mob in
which are their SONS and brothers.
A drunken Justice of the Peace,
old Squire O'Marar, who tried to
kill himself last week, braces
blearily up in a doorway, and calm
ly, even smiIingly, regards the
men who are about to take the
law into their own hands.
One corner of the Jail is honored
by a double row of slabs along its
sides, and around this corner clus-
ter most Of the men, according to
heirpreconcerted plain, while the
ringlcaders 20 around to the wicket
to interview Jailer Fish. They
know the answer they will get, for
Jim Fish is true as steel, and tells
them they'll get his prisoners after
they've gotten the best of him, and
not before. It's dangerous game,
but the vigilantes play to win at all
hazards. Convinced of the firm
ness of Fish's purpose, they leave
him, gather onc more around
"Murderer's Corner" and in a mo-
mcnt the cracking of tiny, creep
ing flames is heard, heavy smoke
STILES the wretched prisons, and
their criesand shouts from a terri
bic accompaniment for the short,
blows of deity welded axes cut
ting into jim Murphy's cell.
In ten minutes he is out with
ing, terror-stricken in the grasp of
q half dozen men, some Of whom,
possibly, asked him only last week
fora lob" The %jailer is forced to
busy himself in releasing his other
prisoners, and has no time now to
check the mob even if he could.
But al this wretched, dwarfed,
carrot-haired, sandy-besred ruffian
be the dapper, black-browed gam
bier, whose broadcloth was wont to
be no blackcr and smoother than
his own locksl The transforma-
tionhas indeed come, and the king
of Secret Gulch stands revealed as
the tramp who killed the French
man on Cut-Throat Flat.
How curiously the boys stare at
him as they hurry him along to the
old shaft on the hill where once
stood the wind ASS and hoist ofthe
Mory mine, out of which Jim Muir
ply swindled the widow of its dis
coyerer. The splendid new works
yonder cannot help their miserable
owner now, for it is at the mouth
ofthe deserted shaft that he meets
his tate. The MINDLESS chain still
holds the bucket over the sullen
water forty feet below, and a 200
pound weight is easily and quickly
slipped into the bucket without
Murphy's seeing it.
''I1aye you got anything to say
before you die! says Big Bill, and
Tor a moment all is silent. The
murderer's coat, hat and boot have
been striped from him for the first
time since he went to prison, three
weeks ago. His small greenish
eyes look eagerly about for a chance
TO escape, but two siX-shooters
stare him in the face. lie vents a
volley OF oaths and imprecations,
but begs nomercy, makes no denial.
Jim Murphy, alias California
Reddy," says Big Bill, "the vigil
antes Of Secret Gulch condemn you
to instant death. You know why
and it's no use to take up time
telling YOU" Half a dozen hands
bind the still struggling wretch to
the bucket, in which he is forcible
seated. Years ago he went down
this shaft at night, secretly, when
it belonged TO John Rowan's widow
to see what it had at the bottom;
and the next day he bought its
riches from the widow for a song.
Now he is to go down it again, in
broad daylight, but never to come
back.
The chain is wound up, and now,
over the yawning shaft and its
black bottom Of water, hangs the
wretch, between earth and Heaven,
and object to gods and men AT a
signal the handles of the windless
d.