Six executions by sheriffs, forty-six
hanged by mobs; that makes fifty-two in all."
He tapped the paper with his lean forefinger. "Probably two hundred of
these killings were local.... And in the entire history of this city
there's been exactly one legal execution. That was in 1852."
Broderick shook his head. "What are you going to do with that stuff?"
asked Broderick.
"Publish it in the _Bulletin_," returned Nesbitt decisively. "We're
going to stir things up."
They walked along together, Broderick's head bent in thought. Everywhere
people were discussing the evening's tragedy. More than once "Judge
Lynch's" name was mentioned threateningly.
About the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide.
Some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threats
against Cora. As Broderick and Nesbitt passed the door, a handsome and
richly clad woman emerged. Trickling tears had devastated the cosmetic
smoothness of her cheeks. Her eyes looked frantic. But she proceeded
calmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage. The driver whipped his
horses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some of
whom shouted epithets after it.
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