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"Who says he isn't?" Lancaster demanded. "The mayor."

"Mayor Hansen!" Lancaster called.

Reluctantly, the politician stepped away from the crowd.

"Mayor," Lancaster instructed, "you look up into the eyes of that man on the buckboard and tell him he's not the sheriff of your town, anymore."

Together, Lancaster and the mayor looked up at Sheriff Ben Lockwood. Lancaster saw that the man was in his thirties, tall--almost as tall as he was--and fit. His eyes were strong, boring into the mayor's until the politician was forced to look away. Lancaster instinctively knew that this man would go to his death with dignity--even at the end of a rope, perhaps the most undignified death of all.

"He's guilty!" someone shouted.

"Of what?" Lancaster called back. "Does anyone even know?" He looked into the face of a man. "You, sir, do you know?"

The man looked dumbfounded.

Lancaster picked out a respectable looking woman to attack next.

"You, ma'am, do you have any idea?"

"Why, I--I wasn't even in the saloon. I mean, the courtroom." She blushed.

"But you're here, aren't you?" he asked. "You're here to watch him dance at the end of a rope? Why?"

The woman averted her eyes.

Lancaster looked at a boy of about ten next. "You son," he asked. "Do you know what he's guilty of?"

"No, sir."

"Then why are you here?"

The boy shrugged. "I jus' wanna see a hangin'."

"Look at all of you," Lancaster said, addressing the entire crowd now. "Look what you're teaching your children."

"Mister," Quitman said. "You're poking your nose in here where it don't belong. Pinnin' on that badge don't give you the right to do that"

"This man," Lancaster said, ignoring Quitman, "and his men want to take over your town, and this is the way they're going to do it. They incite a lynching, forcing you--no, letting you--lynch your own sheriff, your neighbor."

"We ain't doin' it!" someone shouted. "He is."

"But you're letting him," Lancaster retorted, "and you're watching. Once you let them do this, you'll be under their thumbs forever."

"This man is holdin' up a legal hangin'," Quitman shouted. "You gonna let him get away with that?"

"That's what I'm asking, too," Lancaster said, just as loudly. "Are you going to let him and his men turn you into a mindless lynch mob?"

"Mister--" Quitman started, but Lancaster cut him off.

"Let them decide for themselves, Quitman!"

"I do the decidin'," Quitman said. "Hennessy!"

Foolishly, Quitman identified his third man for Lancaster. Hennessy pushed through the crowd, a broad, well-muscled man whose face was covered with black stubble. He stepped forward until he was also alongside the buckboard. On his hip he sported a pistol in a well-worn holster. Quitman took two steps away, so he wouldn't be between Hennessy and Lancaster.

"Yeah, Sam?" Hennessy asked.

"You got another rope?"

"Sure do."

Hennessy gave Lancaster a long, appraising look. "He's a tall one, Sam."

"That's okay," Quitman said. "A tall man hangs from a short rope."

"Don't move, Hennessy," Lancaster ordered.

The man froze.

"These people haven't made up their minds yet, Quitman."

"I'm makin' it up for them, friend," Quitman said.

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