Just as the sun dropped the sheriff entered the room.  He took the prisoner’s arm and walked quietly out with him.  There was a coil of rope on his other arm, and David cast his eyes on it with horror and abhorrence, and then looked at his father; and the look was returned with one of singular steadiness.  When they reached the little grove of mulberries, the men, one by one, laid down their pipes and slowly rose.  There was a large live oak at the end of the enclosure, and to it the party walked.

Here David was asked “if he was guilty?” and he acknowledged the sin:  and when further asked “if he thought he had been fairly dealt with, and deserved death?” he answered, “that he was quite satisfied, and was willing to pay the penalty of his crime.”

Oh, how handsome he looked at this moment to his heart-broken father!  His bare head was just touched by the rays of the setting sun behind him; his fine face, calm and composed, wore even a faint air of exultation.  At this hour the travel-stained garments clothed him with a touching and not ignoble pathos.  Involuntarily they told of the weary days and nights of despairing flight, which after all had been useless.

Lorimer asked if he might pray, and there was a simultaneous though silent motion of assent.  Every man bared his head, while the wretched father repeated the few verses of entreaty and hope which at that awful hour were his own strength and comfort.  This service occupied but a few minutes; just as it ended out of the dead stillness rose suddenly a clear, joyful thrilling burst of song from a mocking bird in the branches above.  David looked up with a wonderful light on his face; perhaps it meant more to him than anyone else understood.

The next moment the sheriff was turning back the flannel collar which covered the strong, pillar-like throat.  In that moment David sought his father’s eyes once more, smiled faintly, and called “Father! Now!” As the words reached the father’s ears, the bullet reached the son’s heart.  He fell without a moan ere the rope had touched him.  It was the father’s groan which struck every heart like a blow; and there was a grandeur of suffering about him which no one thought of resisting.

He walked to his child’s side, and kneeling down closed the eyes, and wept and prayed over him as a mother over her first-born.  They were all fathers around him; not one of them but suffered with him.  Silently they untied their horses and rode away; no one had the heart to say a word of dissent.  If they had, Lorimer had reached a point far beyond care of man’s approval or disapproval in the matter; for a great sorrow is indifferent to all outside itself.