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rope; a soldier’s ●before a dog’s d

eath. As fo■r me,

I’m92 ready.” Of all t■he seven this was the younge■st—how

brave he was. The prisoners w●ere a

rranged in line, t

he Guerrillas opposite to■ them. They had confessed to ■belong

ing to Jennison, but denied the c■har

ge of killing and

burning■. Quantrell hesitated a moment. His blue ey●es searche

d each face from le■ft to right and b

ack again, and the

n he ord■ered: “Take six men, Blunt, ●and do the work. Shoot

the young man and h●ang the balance.” The oldest man■ there, some white hair was in ■his beard, prayed audibly. Som●e embraced. Silence and twili●ght, as twin ghosts, crept up the river bank to●gether. Blunt made haste, and before Quantr●ell had ridden far he heard a pistol shot. He d●id not even look up; it affected him no mor●e than the tapping of a woodpecker. At day■light the next morning a wood-ch■opper going early to work saw six stark figur●es swaying in the river breeze●. At the foot of another tree was● a dead man and in his forehead a bullet hole 癃the old mark. QUANTRELL HANGS SIX MEN ON● THE SNI “After Quantrell hanged these men, ●the only time I was ever scared during the war●,” relates Captain Trow, “I had left camp one ■night to visit a lady friend of mine, and ■a company of Federals got af●ter me, and in the chase I took to th●e woods and it was at the pl

ace where Qua■ntr

ell had hanged these men. ■My saddle93 girth broke right there, but I ■held on to my horse. I thought● the devil and all his angels were after me,● but I made it to the camp.” The Marc■h South in 1862 WINTER had co●me and some snow had fallen. Th●ere were no longer any leaves; natur■e had nothing more to do with the■ ambuscades. Bitter nights, with a foretaste o●f more bitter nights to follow, reminded Q●uantrell that it was time to mi■grate. Most of the wounded men we

r●e well again. A