in the terrifying reflections on his own awful position.  He never ceased his entreaties for life, and to see his dear wife.  The unfortunate lady referred to, between whom and Slade there existed a warm affection, was at this time living at their ranch on the Madison.  She was possessed of considerable personal attractions; tall, well-formed, of graceful carriage, pleasing manners, and was, withal, an accomplished horsewoman.

A messenger from Slade rode at full speed to inform her of her husband’s arrest.  In an instant she was in the saddle, and with all the energy that love and despair could lend to an ardent temperament and a strong physique, she urged her fleet charger over the twelve miles of rough and rocky ground that intervened between her and the object of her passionate devotion.

Meanwhile a party of volunteers had made the necessary preparations for the execution, in the valley traversed by the branch.  Beneath the site of Pfouts and Russell’s stone building there was a corral, the gate-posts of which were strong and high.  Across the top was laid a beam, to which the rope was fastened, and a dry-goods box served for the platform.  To this place Slade was marched, surrounded by a guard, composing the best armed and most numerous force that has ever appeared in Montana Territory.

The doomed man had so exhausted himself by tears, prayers and lamentations, that he had scarcely strength left to stand under the fatal beam.  He repeatedly exclaimed, “My God! my God! must I die?  Oh, my dear wife!”

On the return of the fatigue party, they encountered some friends of Slade, staunch and reliable citizens and members of the committee, but who were personally attached to the condemned.  On hearing of his sentence, one of them, a stout-hearted man, pulled out his handkerchief and walked away, weeping like a child.  Slade still begged to see his wife, most piteously, and it seemed hard to deny his request; but the bloody consequences that were sure to follow the inevitable attempt at a rescue, that her presence and entreaties would have certainly incited, forbade the granting of his request.  Several gentlemen were sent for to see him, in his last moments, one of whom (Judge Davis) made a short address to the people; but in such low tones as to be inaudible, save to a few in his immediate vicinity.  One of his friends, after exhausting his powers of entreaty, threw off his coat and declared that the prisoner could not be hanged until he himself was killed.  A hundred guns were instantly leveled at him; whereupon he turned and fled; but, being brought back, he was compelled to resume his coat, and to give a promise of future peaceable demeanor.

      Scarcely a leading man in Virginia could be found, though numbers of
      the citizens joined the ranks of the guard when the arrest was made. 
      All lamented the stern necessity which dictated the execution.