“Who are you?”

The fellow expectorated vigorously into the leaves under foot, and drawing one hairy hand across his lips, flushed angrily to the unexpected inquiry.

“Oh, tell him, Ben.  What’s the blame odds?  He can’t do ye no hurt.”

The man’s look became dogged.  “I ’m Ben Colton, if it ’ll do ye any good to know.”

“I thought I had seen you somewhere before,” said Brant, contemptuously, and then swept his glance about the circle.  “A nice leader of vigilantes you are, a fine representative of law and order, a lovely specimen of the free-born American citizen!  Men, do you happen to know what sort of a cur you are following in this affair?”

“Oh, Ben’s all right.”

“What ye got against him, young feller?”

“Just this,” and Brant squarely fronted the man, his voice ringing like steel.  “I ’ve seen mobs before to-day, and I ’ve dealt with them.  I ’m not afraid of you or your whole outfit, and I ’ve got fighting men to back me up.  I never yet saw any mob which was n’t led and incited by some cowardly, revengeful rascal.  Honest men get mixed up in such affairs, but they are invariably inflamed by some low-down sneak with an axe to grind.  I confess I don’t know all about this Colton, but I know enough to say he is an army deserter, a liar, a dive-keeper, a gambler, and, to my certain knowledge, the direct cause of the death of three men, one a soldier of my troop.  Now isn’t he a sweet specimen to lead in the avenging of a supposed crime?”

Whatever else Colton might have failed in, he was a man of action.  Like a flash his gun flew to the level, but was instantly knocked aside by the grizzled old miner standing next him.

“None o’ that, Ben,” he growled, warningly.  “It don’t never pay to shoot holes in Uncle Sam.”

Brant smiled.  He was not there just then to fight, but to secure delay until his own men could arrive, and to turn aside the fierce mob spirit if such a result was found possible.  He knew thoroughly the class of men with whom he dealt, and he understood likewise the wholesome power of his uniform.

“I really would enjoy accommodating you, Colton,” he said, coolly, feeling much more at ease, “but I never fight personal battles with such fellows as you.  And now, you other men, it is about time you woke up to the facts of this matter.  A couple of hundred of you chasing after two men, one an officer of the law doing his sworn duty, and the other innocent of any crime.  I should imagine you would feel proud of your job.”

“Innocent?  Hell!”

“That is what I said.  You fellows have gone off half-cocked—­a mob generally does.  Both Miss Spencer and Mr. Wynkoop state positively that they saw the real murderer of Red Slavin, and it was not Bob Hampton.”

The men were impressed by his evident earnestness, his unquestioned courage.  Colton laughed sneeringly, but Brant gave him no heed beyond a quick, warning glance.  Several voices spoke almost at once.