"Come, come, don't stand there preachin' to us," came the cry as the men surged closer. "We want to see 'em go up now. Our law is quicker, an' there's no chance of their gittin' away."
It was a critical moment, and Grey knew it. Before him stood these men, mad and inflamed by the poisonous trash they had been drinking. They were certainly not in a fit condition to hearken to reason. Yet sometimes such hearts could be stirred by sentiment.
"Listen," he cried, raising his right hand for silence. "In the name of the Queen, I demand protection for these men."
His words had some effect upon several of the miners.
"The Queen; God bless her," they shouted. "Long may she live."
But some had been born under other flags, and this appeal to loyalty moved them not.
"That won't do," they cried. "The Queen's all right, but she'd do the same as us if she was here. So stand back, an' let us to our job."
"Then you'll do it in the barking mouth of this," Grey calmly replied as his hand slipped to his hip, and ripped forth his revolver. "As a member of a Force whose duty it is to uphold the law of our land I shall stand by these men. Lay hands upon them at your peril."
A yell of anger burst from the miners at Grey's words and action. Their rage for the moment was diverted from Bill and his companions to the constable. They were not men to be startled or cowed by the gleam of a revolver. Instantly their hands slipped to their hips, and as many weapons flashed in the firelight.