He knew intuitively that his hour with Burrell had not yet come.
The two men battled with their eyes for an opening.

Lee and the others mastered their surprise at the interruption, and then began to babble until Burrell turned from the gambler and threw up his arm for silence.
"There's no use arguing," he told the mob.

"You can't do it.

I'll hold him till the next boat comes, then I'll send him down-river to St.
Michael's." He laid his hand upon the negro and made for the door, with face set and eyes watchful and alert, knowing that a hair's weight might shift the balance and cause these men to rive him like wolves.
Lee's indignation at this miscarriage of justice had him so by the throat as to strangle expostulation for a moment, till he saw the soldier actually bearing off his quarry.

Then he broke into a flood of invective.
"Stop that!" he bellowed.