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Zackland at the hands of a negro. The sending of the military further incensed them. At the trial which followed, all evidence respecting the mob was excluded as irrelevant. Robbery was the motive assigned for the deed. The whole family with which Belton lived were arraigned as accomplices, because his bloody clothes were found in his room in their house.
"Zackland." He pinned this note on that portion of the sheet where it would attract attention at once if one should begin to uncover the corpse. He did this to delay discovery and thus get a good start on those who might pursue him. Having done this he crept cautiously out of the room, leapt the back fence and made his way to his boarding place.
"Do you remember our bargain that we made about that nigger when he came about here?" asked Dr. Zackland. "No," answered the postmaster. "Well, I do. I have been all along itching for a chance to carry it out. You were to give me the nigger's body for dissecting purposes, in return for which I was to give you a keg of my best whiskey," said Dr. Zackland.
Zackland was busy stirring about over the room. He took a long, sharp knife and gazed at its keen edge. He placed this on the dissecting table near Belton's feet. He then passed out of doors to get a pail of water, and left the door ajar. He went to his cabinet to get out more surgical instruments, and his back was now turned to Belton and he was absorbed in what he was doing.
He then ordered the men to retire, as he did not care for them to remain to shoot holes in the body, as was their custom. As soon as they retired, three men sent by Dr. Zackland stole out of hiding and cut Belton's body down. Belton was not then dead, for he had only been hanging for seven minutes, and the bullet had not entered the skull but had simply ploughed its way under the skin.
To have such a robust, well-formed, handsome nigger to dissect and examine he regarded as one of the greatest boons of his medical career. The three men started to retire. "Wait," said Dr. Zackland, "let us see if he is dead." Belton had now returned to consciousness but kept his eyes closed, thinking it best to feign death. Dr.
He was, however, unconscious, and to all appearances dead. The three men bore him to Dr. Zackland's residence, and entered a rear door. They laid him on a dissecting table in the rear room, the room in which the doctor performed all surgical operations. Dr. Zackland came to the table and looked down on Belton with a happy smile.
That nigger actually had the impudence to take her book and find the place for her." "The infernal scoundrel. By golly, he shall hang," broke in the postmaster. Dr. Zackland continued: "Naturally the congregation was infuriated and soon hustled the impudent scoundrel out. If services had not been going on, and if it had not been Sunday, there is no telling what would have happened.
"You may go now," said the doctor to his three attendants, "he is certainly dead." The men left. Dr. Zackland pulled out his watch and said: "It is now 10 o'clock. Those doctors from Monroe will be here by twelve. I can have everything exactly ready by that time." A bright ray of hope passed into Belton's bosom. He had two hours more of life, two hours more in which to plan an escape. Dr.
Zackland cut off the hair in the neighborhood of the wound in the rear of Belton's head and began cutting the skin, trying to trace the bullet. Belton did not wince. "The nigger is dead or else he would show some sign of life. But I will try pricking his palm." This was done, but while the pain was exceedingly excruciating, Belton showed no sign of feeling.
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