Van, having flung off half a dozen citizens, who in the excitement had felt some fanatical necessity for clutching him, faced the human wolves about him in a spirit of angry resentment. The big man from Chicago mowed his way to the pile of lumber and clambered up by the sheriff. The pile raised its occupants only well above the surging pack of faces.
"Stop your howling! Stop your noise!" roared the drummer from his elevation. "Don't you want to give this man a chance?"
[Illustration: "Don't you want to give this man a chance?">[
He was heard throughout the street.
"He's got to prove his innocence or hang!" cried someone shrilly. "A murder foul as that!"
Another one bawled: "Where was he then? Make him tell where he was at six o'clock!"
Culver's watch had been shattered and stopped at precisely six o'clock, presumably by his fall against a table in his office, when he suddenly went down, at the hands of his assassin. This fact was in possession of the crowd.
A general shout for Van to explain where he was at the vital moment arose from all the crowd. The drummer turned to Van.