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They took Boggs to a little drug store, the crowd pressing around just the
same, and the whole town following, and I rushed and got a good place at the
window, where I was close to him and could see in. They laid him on the
floor and put one large Bible under his head, and opened another one and
spread it on his breast; but they tore open his shirt first, and I seen
where one of the bullets went in. He made about a dozen long gasps, his
breast lifting the Bible up when he drawed in his breath, and letting it
down again when he breathed it out—and after that he laid still; he was
dead. Then they pulled his daughter away from him, screaming and crying, and
took her off. She was about sixteen, and very sweet and gentle looking, but
awful pale and scared.
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They took Boggs to a little drugstore, the crowd still pressing in around
him and the whole town following behind. I rushed over and got a good spot
at the window, where I was close to him and could see inside. They laid him
on the floor with a large Bible under his head, tore open his shirt, opened
another Bible, and then spread it on his chest. I saw where one of the
bullets had entered his body. Boggs made a dozen or so long gasps, his chest
lifting the Bible up as he drew in his breath, then letting it down again
when he exhaled. After that he lay still. He was dead. Then they pulled his
daughter from him and took her away, screaming and crying. She was about
sixteen, and looked very sweet and gentle, but awfully pale and
scared.
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Well, pretty soon the whole town was there, squirming and scrouging and
pushing and shoving to get at the window and have a look, but people that
had the places wouldn’t give them up, and folks behind them was saying all
the time, “Say, now, you’ve looked enough, you fellows; ’tain’t right and
’tain’t fair for you to stay thar all the time, and never give nobody a
chance; other folks has their rights as well as you.”
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Pretty soon the whole town was squirming and shoving and pushing people
aside to get a look through the window. But the people already in the good
spots wouldn’t give them up. The folks behind them kept saying, “Come on
now, you’ve seen enough, you guys—it isn’t right or fair for you to stay
there the whole time. Give someone else a chance to see. Other folks have
the same right to look as you have.”
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There was considerable jawing back, so I slid out, thinking maybe there
was going to be trouble. The streets was full, and everybody was excited.
Everybody that seen the shooting was telling how it happened, and there was
a big crowd packed around each one of these fellows, stretching their necks
and listening. One long, lanky man, with long hair and a big white fur
stovepipe hat on the back of his head, and a crooked-handled cane, marked
out the places on the ground where Boggs stood and where Sherburn stood, and
the people following him around from one place to t’other and watching
everything he done, and bobbing their heads to show they understood, and
stooping a little and resting their hands on their thighs to watch him mark
the places on the ground with his cane; and then he stood up straight and
stiff where Sherburn had stood, frowning and having his hat-brim down over
his eyes, and sung out, “Boggs!” and then fetched his cane down slow to a
level, and says “Bang!” staggered backwards, says “Bang!” again, and fell
down flat on his back. The people that had seen the thing said he done it
perfect; said it was just exactly the way it all happened. Then as much as a
dozen people got out their bottles and treated him.
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There was a lot of talking back and forth, so I left, thinking there might
be some trouble. The streets were full, and everyone was excited. Everyone
who’d seen the shooting was telling others how it’d happened. There was a
big crowd packed around each witness, everyone stretching their necks and
listening. One long, lanky man with long hair, a big white fur stovepipe hat
perched on the back of his head, and a cane with a crooked handle marked the
places on the ground where Boggs and Sherburn had stood. People followed him
around from place to place, watching everything he did, stooping down a
little with their hands on their thighs to watch him mark up the ground with
his cane, and nodding their heads to show they understood. He stood up
straight and stiffly where Sherburn had stood, frowning with the brim of his
hat down over his eyes, and cried out, “Boggs!” Then he brought his cane
down slowly until it was level, and said, “Bang!” staggerd backwards, said,
“Bang!” again, and fell down flat on his back. The people who’d witnessed
the shooting said he’d reenacted it perfectly—they said that that was
exactly the way it had all happened. Then as many as a dozen people pulled
out their bottles and treated him to a drink.
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Well, by and by somebody said Sherburn ought to be lynched. In about a
minute everybody was saying it; so away they went, mad and yelling, and
snatching down every clothes-line they come to to do the hanging
with.
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Well, pretty soon someone said that Sherburn ought to be lynched. After
another minute, everyone was saying it. Then they went off, angry and
yelling and ripping down every clothesline they passed to hang him
with.
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