About ten o’clock on the morning of the 23d a party of armed men, alighting from their wagons, approached the site of the massacre.  Among them were the United States marshal, William Nelson, the district attorney, a military guard, and a score of private citizens.  In their midst was John Doyle Lee.  Blankets were placed over the wheels of one of the wagons, to serve as a screen for the firing party.  Some rough boards were then nailed together in the shape of a coffin, which was placed near the edge of the cairn, and upon it Lee took his seat until the preparations were completed.  The marshal now read the order of the court, and, turning to the prisoner, said, “Mr. Lee, if you have anything to say before the order of the court is carried into effect you can do so now.”

Rising from his coffin, he looked calmly around for a moment, and then with unfaltering voice repeated the statements already quoted from his confession.  “I have but little to say this morning,” he added.  “It seems I have to be made a victim; a victim must be had, and I am the victim.  I studied to make Brigham Young’s will my pleasure for thirty years.  See now what I have come to this day!  I have been sacrificed in a cowardly, dastardly manner.  I cannot help it; it is my last word; it is so.  I do not fear death; I shall never go to a worse place than I am now in.  I ask the Lord my God, if my labours are done, to receive my spirit.”

A Methodist clergyman, who acted as his spiritual adviser, then knelt by his side and offered a brief prayer, to which he listened attentively.  After shaking hands with those around him, he removed a part of his clothing, handing his hat to the marshal, who bound a handkerchief over his eyes, his hands being free at his own request.  Seating himself with his face to the firing party, and with hands clasped over his head, he exclaimed:  “Let them shoot the balls through my heart.  Don’t let them mangle my body.”

The word of command was given, the report of the rifles rang forth on the still morning air, and without a groan or quiver the body of the criminal fell back lifeless on his coffin.

God was more merciful to him than he had been to his victims.[23]

Once one of Russell, Majors, & Waddell’s trains, upon arriving at the Little Blue River below Kearney, en route to Fort Laramie, had a little skirmish with the Sioux.  One of the party, who was going to the Fort to erect a sawmill for the government,[24] tells about it as follows:—­

I had travelled ahead of the train a mile or more, had gotten off my mule, laid down awhile, and I believe fell asleep.  On awaking I saw three Indians coming out of the brush on the creek bottom; I took a glance at them, and quietly stood where I was.  After a while they approached me; I mounted my mule and held my loaded shot-gun before me across the saddle, with my finger on the trigger.  Two formed themselves in front of me and one behind.  I paid