The lust of blood was upon the crowd, crying to be satisfied.  But they had reckoned wrongly, and were soon to learn their error.  Every atom of the long youth’s fighting blood was raised to boiling pitch.  On the instant, the all but superhuman strength at which we marvel in the insane was his.  Like flails, his doubled fists shot out in every direction, meeting resistance at each blow.  By the dim light he caught the answering glint on sheath knives, but he took no notice.  His hat had come off, and his abundant brown hair shook about his shoulders.  His blue eyes blazed.  A figure of war incarnate he stood, and a vacant circle which no one cared to cross formed about him.  One long hand, with fingers outstretched, was raised above his head.  The brilliant eyes searched the surrounding sea of faces for those he knew; as one by one he found them, lingered, conquered.  Silence fell intense.

“Men!  Gentlemen!” The words went out like pistol-shots reaching every acute ear.  “Listen to me.  I’ve a right to speak.  Stop a moment, all of you, and think.  This is the twentieth century, not the first.  We’re in America, free America.  Think, I say, think!  Don’t act blindly!  Think!  This man is guilty.  We all know it.  He’s caught red-handed.  But he can’t escape.  Remember this, men, and think!  As you value your own self-respect, as you honor the country you live in, don’t be savages, don’t do this deed you contemplate, this thing you’ve started doing.  Let the law take its course!”

The speaker paused for breath, and, as though fascinated by his audacity or something else, friend and enemy remained motionless and waiting.  Well fitting the drama was its setting:  the darkness of night broken by the flickering lanterns; on the pony the huddled helpless figure with a running noose about its neck; the row upon row of rugged faces, of gleaming eyes!

“Ranchers, stockmen!” rushed on the insistent voice, “you know responsibility; it’s to you I’m talking.  A principle is at stake here,—­the principle of law or of lawlessness.  One of these—­you know which—­has run this range too long; it’s gripping us at this moment.  Before we can be free we must call it halt.  Let’s do it now; don’t wait for the next time or the next, but now, now!” Once more he paused, his eyes for the last time making the circle swiftly, his hand in the air, palm forward.  “For law, the law of J. L. Rankin, instead of Judge Lynch!” he challenged.  “For civilization instead of savagery—­not to-morrow but now, now!  Help me to uphold the law!”

So swiftly that the spectators scarcely realized what he was doing, he stepped over to the limp figure upon the pony, loosed the noose from around the neck, and lifted him to the ground.

“Sheriff Ralston!” he called; “come and take your prisoner!  Russell!  Stetson!  Grannis!” designating each by name, “every man who values life, help me now!”