Indians, closely wrapped in their blankets, had mingled in the crowd—their stolid, inscrutable faces expressing neither interest nor sympathy in the sad scene passing before them. But under those blankets they were fully armed; under those dark, inexpressive faces there was keenest observation and intent purpose; and in a little wooded hollow, near the fatal "Gallow's Hill," a dozen or more fleet little shaggy Indian ponies were quietly picketed, waiting for their fierce, tameless riders.
The plan was perfected in its most minute details. The town officials, unsuspicious of opposition, were unarmed. The surprise was to take place at the moment of transit from the cart to the ladder. All was in readiness, and the rescue would undoubtedly have been successfully made had not circumstances wholly unlooked for chanced to prevent it.
The street was crowded with spectators, as upon the former executions; but it was clearly evident there was a change of sentiment in the lookers-on. Possibly the thirst for blood had now been satiated, and had
