"What's the use?"
"Then," said the chief, turning to the rest of the conspirators, "you
shall draw lots to determine the executioner."
He opened a small box that was on the table, rose to his feet, and held
the box out at arm's length.
"You will come forward, one at a time," he told his fellow-plotters, "and
let not one of you look at the ball you have drawn until each man has
taken a ball and returned to his seat. Number One!"
Number One stepped forward, reached in the box and extracted a ball,
which he carefully concealed in his hand, and returned to his seat. Each
man stepped forward in turn, and then returned to his chair, with a ball
in his hand. Then the chief spoke again.
"Who has the red ball?" he demanded.
Each man looked at the ball he had drawn, and then a voice at the
opposite end of the room from Chester rang out:
"I have it!"
"Good!" exclaimed the chief once more. "Then the prisoner's fate shall be
left in your hands. You may dispose of him in whatever manner you desire.
But"--and he raised a warning finger--"see that you make no slip." He
turned to the rest of the conspirators. "The rest of you may go."
Slowly the conspirators, at intervals of perhaps a minute each, filed
from the room, and soon there was no one left save Chester, his
executioner, and the chief.
"Remember," said the chief to the one remaining conspirator, as he
prepared to take his departure, "remember that a failure to carry out the
command of the court-martial means your own death.
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