let him go. If he is, the mayor will give him bond. I'll go on it
myself. But let's not have a row."

Now, to the mountain eye, Hale appeared no more than the ordinary
man, and even a close observer would have seen no more than that
his face was clean-cut and thoughtful, that his eye was blue and
singularly clear and fearless, and that he was calm with a
calmness that might come from anything else than stolidity of
temperament--and that, by the way, is the self-control which
counts most against the unruly passions of other men--but anybody
near Hale, at a time when excitement was high and a crisis was
imminent, would have felt the resultant of forces emanating from
him that were beyond analysis. And so it was now--the curious
power he instinctively had over rough men had its way.

"Go on," he continued quietly, and the constable went on with his
prisoner, his friends following, still swearing and with their
weapons in their hands. When constable and prisoner passed into
the mayor's office, Hale stepped quickly after them and turned on
the threshold with his arm across the door.

"Hold on, boys," he said, still good-naturedly. "The mayor can
attend to this. If you boys want to fight anybody, fight me. I'm
unarmed and you can whip me easily enough," he added with a laugh,
"but you mustn't come in here," he concluded, as though the matter
was settled beyond further discussion. For one instant--the
crucial one, of course--the men hesitated, for the reason that so
often makes superior numbers of no avail among the lawless--the
lack of a leader of nerve--and without another word Hale held the
door. But the frightened mayor inside let the prisoner out at once