"Boys," he told the crowd, checking his horse in front of them, "what's this I hear about lynching? That's tenderfoot talk. The man will be taken alive and properly tried. If he's guilty of murder, rest assured he'll get what's coming to him. But he's entitled to a fair trial and he's going to have it. There's never been a lynching in Canada and there's not going to be one now."
A storm of hostile shouts and a yell: "Who'll stop us?"
"I will. I will—and my men."
More tumult; and the crowd, hands on guns, grew threatening.
"Your men. Hell! You've only got five or six. We're twenty to one."
"There'll be no lynching all the same."
The crowd hooted. A huge puncher, built on the lines of a grizzly bear, shouted Hector down and began to harangue his companions, asking if they were afraid of one man and were going to let him dictate to freeborn citizens who had been deeply wronged.
"Look out!" shouted a little man on the outskirts, seeing the fighting look fast taking possession of Hector's face. But the words were lost in the tumult.
Hector quietly dismounted, tossing the reins to Cranbrook, who had also dismounted, and faced the big puncher.
"Another word from you, my friend, and—"