Hampton knew from long experience what this meant; these were the quickly inflamed cohorts of Judge Lynch--they would act first, and reflect later.

His square jaws set like a trap.
"All right, Bob," said the marshal.

"You're my prisoner, and there 'll be one hell of a fight afore them lads git ye.

There's a chance left--leg it after me." Just as the mob surged out of the Occidental, cursing and struggling, the two sprang forward and dashed into the narrow space between the livery-stable and the hotel.

Moffat chanced to be in the passage-way, and pausing to ask no questions, Mason promptly landed that gentleman on the back of his head in a pile of discarded tin cans, and kicked viciously at a yellow dog which ventured to snap at them as they swept past.