But after North had gone to deliver this, Casey again sprang to his
feet, again flourished his bowie knife, again ramped up and down, again
swore he would never be taken alive. A deputy passed the door. Casey's
demeanour collapsed again.
"Tell them," he begged this man earnestly; "tell them if two
respectable citizens will promise me gentlemanly treatment, I'll go
peaceably! I will not be dragged through the streets like a dog! If
they will give me a fair trial and allow me to summon my witnesses,
I'll yield!"
And the deputy left him pacing up and down, waving his knife, muttering
wildly to, himself.
On entering the jail door Coleman and his companions bowed formally to
the sheriff.
"We have come for the prisoner, Casey," said Coleman. "We ask that he
be peaceably delivered us handcuffed, at the door, immediately."
"Under existing circumstances," replied Scannell, "I shall make no
resistance. The prison and its contents are yours."
But Truett interrupted pointedly:
"We want only the man Casey, at present," he said. "For the rest we
hold you strictly accountable."
Scannell bowed without reply. North and the deputy came in succession
to deliver Casey's messages, and to report his apparent determination.
The committee offered no comment. They penetrated to the ulterior of
the jail. Many men, apparently unarmed, idling about as though merely
spectators, looked at them curiously as they passed. Casey heard them,
coming and sprang back from the door, holding his long knife
dramatically poised. Coleman walked directly to the door, where he
stopped, looking Casey coldly in the eye. The seconds, passed. Neither
man stirred. At the end of a full minute Coleman said sharply:
"Lay down that knife!"
As though his incisive tones had broken the spell, Casey moved. He
looked wildly to right and to left; then flung the knife from him and
buried his face in his hands.
"Your requests are granted," said Coleman shortly; then to Marshal
North: "Open the door and bring him out."