before did I see Warden
Delahunty move about so quickly as he did there when fighting for his state
and his honor. There was a strange look upon his face - to me he looked many
years younger. Altogether he fired five shots, the desperadoes firing back
at him, one bullet landing in the door casing above his head. In firing the
fourth shot he leaned too much forward and a bullet struck him in
the side. He turned around and for a minute stooped over as if he
was going to fall but suddenly jumped forward and fired another shot.
By this time he was getting weak and fell to the floor. I kneeled
down beside him and comforted him.
For a few minutes he sat in an upright position but grew weaker
and weaker, and with the words, "Oh, my Lord," he fell
backwards on the floor. At the same time the desperadoes made the
turnkey hold up his hands and deliver over the keys. Then the turnkey
went into hiding in the cellar. They opened the door leading out
into the hail and ran out into the open, firing into
the office as they ran. One bullet which was perhaps intended for
me ploughed through a large calendar hanging on the wall, cut it
in two pieces, and landed in the window casing. I wish to make mention
right here of a heroine, who was never mentioned in the newspapers,
but who deserves great credit for what she did. I do not even know
her name. I refer to the Bell telephone operator on duty that afternoon.
As the desperadoes disappeared I left the warden for a minute, told
the Bell operator what had happened and asked her to notify the governor,
the sheriff the chief of police, Mr. Hughes, manager of Nebraska
Bankers Association, and to send out a general alarm. This she did,
and did it well. I then returned to the warden. He was not bleeding
at all, but was getting weaker and weaker. Just then his brother,
John Delahunty, night yardmaster at the prison, came downstairs.
He had heard