THE DEATH OF BARBER-THE TREATY. 
145 
in his usual dress, laid upon a table in the hotel. His look was 
one of perfect repose, with the pallor of the death sleep. The 
circumstances of his death show more clearly than anything which 
has previously transpired, the malignity, the utter heartlessness of 
the foe with whom we have to deal. This certainly convinces us 
that no mercy will be shown any who fall into their hands. 
Mr. Barber, hearing that the lives of the people of Lawrence 
were in peril, had come, with others in his neighborhood, to lend 
his aid in making good our defence. Yesterday he mounted his 
horse, and, bidding his comrades “ Good-by,” saying that he “ would 
be back in the morning,” wholly unarmed, started for his home. 
Doubtless, as he sped over the prairies on his way, he thought of 
the glad surprise his coming would give his wife after this few 
days’ absence, and with whom, on leaving for Lawrence, the bit¬ 
terness of the parting, her unwillingness for him to go, seemed 
but a foreshadowing of his sad fate. A little after he had left 
the main road, with his two friends who accompanied him, two 
horsemen rode out from a company of twelve on the California 
road, Dr. Wood being one of them. They told him to go with 
them. In reply to their several questions he said, he “ had been 
to Lawrence, was unarmed, was going to his home; ” and, putting 
spurs to his horse, rode on; but. the deadly bullet of the foul crea¬ 
ture, the tool of the administration, entered his back, and, saying 
“ 0 God! I am a murdered man ! ” he never spoke again. 
The home to.which he hasted he never reached, but his spirit 
is an avenging witness before the Higher Court, where all these 
deeds of blood are held in remembrance. 
General George W. Clarke, the Indian Agent, went on his way 
to meet Governor Shannon at the Wakarusa head-quarters, and 
there declared with horrid oaths, “ I have sent another of these 
d—d abolitionists to his winter-quarters.” 
The feeling that her husband would be murdered had haunted 
the timid wife, but friends kept this dread knowledge from her 
until this morning. 
Words can never convey the mingling emotions which moved 
the crowd, or the heart-crushing agony of the young wife. There 
were no children in the household, and all the affections had 
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