"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. "Is that right?" "Oh, say, I saw the fellow with his hand on the knife." "After we git the chap, we 'll give them people a chance to tell what they know." Brant's keenly attentive ears heard the far-off chug of numerous horses' feet. "I rather think you will," he said, confidently, his voice ringing out with sudden authority. He stepped back, lifted a silver whistle to his lips, and sounded one sharp, clear note. There was a growing thunder of hoofs, a quick, manly cheer, a crashing through the underbrush, and a squad of eager troopers, half-dressed but with faces glowing in anticipation of trouble, came galloping up the slope, swinging out into line as they advanced, their carbines gleaming in the sunlight. It was prettily, sharply performed, and their officer's face brightened.