FOR LIFE AND HONOR.
A sudden, mad roar went up from the crowd on the station platform. They swayed, surged, struggled, and shouted:
"Lynch him!"
That cry was like the touching of a torch to dry prairie grass. Men climbed on each others' shoulders; men fought to get nearer the prisoner, and the mob seemed to have gone mad in a moment.
"Lynch him!"
A hundred throats took up the shout, and it became one mighty roar for blood, the most appalling sound that can issue from human lips.
The face of the menaced boy was very pale, but he did not cower before that suddenly infuriated mob. He showed that he had nerve, for he stood up and faced them boldly, helpless as he was.
Burchel Jones, the detective, looked as if he would give something to get away from that locality in a hurry.
A black scowl came to the face of Hank Kildare, and his hands dropped to his hips, reappearing from beneath the tails of his coat with a brace of heavy, long-barreled revolvers in their grasp. The muzzles of the weapons were thrust right into the faces of the men nearest, and the sheriff literally thundered:
"Git back thar, you critters, or by thunder, thar'll be dead meat round hyar! You hyar me chirp!"