He noticed now that these others evinced no inclination to contest
their fates. Why should he, then? Doubtless many of them were as
innocent as he, and all loved life as well. He saw that several were
weeping silently. Others stood with bowed heads gazing at the
hard-packed earth of the factory yard. Ah, what visions were their
eyes beholding for the last time! What memories of happy firesides!
What dear, loved faces were limned upon that sordid clay!
His reveries were interrupted by the hoarse voice of a sergeant,
breaking rudely in upon the silence and the dumb terror. The fellow
was herding the prisoners into position. When he was done Barney
found himself in the front rank of the little, hopeless band.
Opposite them, at a few paces, stood the firing squad, their gun
butts resting upon the ground.
The young lieutenant stood at one side. He issued some instructions
in a low tone, then he raised his voice.
"Ready!" he commanded. Fascinated by the horror of it, Barney
watched the rifles raised smartly to the soldiers' hips--the
movement was as precise as though the men were upon parade. Every
bolt clicked in unison with its fellows.
"Aim!" the pieces leaped to the hollows of the men's shoulders.
The leveled barrels were upon a line with the breasts of the
condemned. A man at Barney's right moaned. Another sobbed.
"Fire!" There was the hideous roar of the volley.
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