"Sure' we would! Right out on the lynchin' tree." She turned and dashed for the rear. "Ze sheriff! He must come toute suite!"
"Min," whispered Soft-soap Joe, the bartender, "he left two hours ago on a new case, otherwise they wouldn't a-dared do this."
"Mon Dieu! An' ze justice, he is intoxicate! Mother Marie, pray for him," she cried, in her own language, and she ran after the lynching party.
Once she stopped, shaking with terror at what she took to be a grizzly in the path. It was only the fighting donkey still following the master whom he had adopted. He made his way to the very center of the mob. The French girl followed and, climbing onto a barrel, faced the crowd with flashing eyes.
"Consider what you do! The judgment of le bon Dieu will be upon you!"
"Aw! Choke her off! Pull her down, somebody."
But the three or four who tried to reach Mignon on her barrel next to the bound man on the horse beneath the hanging tree, fell victim to the "greatest battling jack in the state."
"My friend," orated the old judge afterwards, in describing these events, "what mere man, however filled with tanglefoot, could face the wicked teeth, and hoofs, and kicks which had conquered wild Texas bulls, caused the mountain lion to cringe in his lair, and the invincible grizzly to flee across the Sierras?"