'Stop!' shouted Litvinoff, in a voice that rang above the confused shouting of the crowd like a trumpet call.
And stop they did—and for quite twenty seconds held their tongues, to boot. Then arose a storm of indignation and derision when they saw that only one man stood in the way. They could not see who he was, and they cared little. The leaders made a forward movement, when—
'Stop!' he cried again, and his tones rose clear above the yells of the rioters, and were heard by timorous listeners on the hillside. 'Stop, and clear out of this as quick as you can get! Get to your homes, you fools!'
'Clear out yourself,' said a ringleader, 'or we'll clear you out!' But the forward movement had stopped. A parley had begun, and Litvinoff always felt that a chance of speaking meant for him a chance of winning.
'Put out that fire, and get back to your homes!' he cried. 'I've come down here to save you from penal servitude, and I mean to do it. Not a man of you gets inside this door!'
By this time all the crowd had come up, and formed a semicircle in front of him, about fifteen yards off. They could see his face better than he could see theirs, for the light of the flames behind them fell full upon him. He was deadly pale, but he looked deadly determined too. There was a dangerous gleam in his eyes, and a gleam still more dangerous from the bright blade of the axe which he had swung up on to his shoulder. Standing on the raised step of the door he looked tall and strong and bold.
Already the effect of this lion in the path made itself felt, for a faint cheer went up from the outside edge of the crowd, and a voice cried,—
'He's right. Let un be, lads—let un be, and go yer ways home.'
'All those of you who've got any sense left turn round and put out that fire. The work you've done to-night already is worth ten years in prison.'
'Then let's finish our work, lads, and earn our wages! Ten years' good feedin's better nor a month's clemmin',' shouted a burly young fellow of some six feet.