d to appear.

"Come to a vote, men!" This from one of the Daly gang, Shadbelly
Higgins. "Quick! is it hang, or shoot?"

"Neither!" shouted one of his comrades. "He'll be alive again in a week;
burning's the only permanency for him."

The gangs from all the outlying camps burst out in a thunder-crash of
approval, and went struggling and surging toward the prisoner, and
closed around him, shouting, "Fire! fire's the ticket!" They dragged him
to the horse-post, backed him against it, chained him to it, and piled
wood and pine cones around him waist-deep. Still the strong face did not
blench, and still the scornful smile played about the thin lips.

"A match! fetch a match!"

Shadbelly struck it, shaded it with his hand, stooped, and held it under
a pine cone. A deep silence fell upon the mob. The cone caught, a tiny
flame flickered about it a moment or two. I seemed to catch the sound of
distant hoofs--it grew more distinct--still more and more distinct, more
and more definite, but the absorbed crowd did not appear to notice it.
The match went out. The man struck another, stooped, and again the flame
rose; this time it took hold and began to spread--here and there men
turned away their faces. The executioner stood with the charred match in
his fingers, watching his work. The hoof-beats turned a projecting crag,
and now they came thundering down upon us. Almost the next moment there
was a shout--

"The sheriff!"

And straightway he came tearing into the midst, stood his horse almost
on his hind feet, and said,

"Fall back, you gutter-snipes!"

He was obeyed. By all but their leader. He stood his ground, and his
hand went to his revolver. The sheriff covered him promptly, and said,

"Drop your hand, you parlor-desperado. Kick the fire away. Now unchain
the stranger."

The parlor-desperado obeyed. Then the sheriff made a speech; sitting his
horse at martial ease, and not warming his words with any touch of fire,
but delivering them in a measured and deliberate way, and in a tone
which harmonized with their character and made them impressively
disrespectful.

"You're a nice lot--now ain't you? Just about eligible to travel with
this bilk here--Shadbelly Higgins--this loud-mouthed sneak that shoots
people in the back and calls himself a desperado. If there's anything I
do particularly despise, it's a lynching mob; I've never seen one that
had a man in it. It has to tally up a hundred against one before it can
pu