Port O' Gold Part 30

Broderick shook his head. "What are you going to do with that stuff?"

asked Broderick.

"Publish it in the _Bulletin_," returned Nesbitt decisively. "We're going to stir things up."

They walked along together, Broderick's head bent in thought. Everywhere people were discussing the evening's tragedy. More than once "Judge Lynch's" name was mentioned threateningly.

About the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide.

Some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threats against Cora. As Broderick and Nesbitt pa.s.sed the door, a handsome and richly clad woman emerged. Trickling tears had devastated the cosmetic smoothness of her cheeks. Her eyes looked frantic. But she proceeded calmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage. The driver whipped his horses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some of whom shouted epithets after it.

"That was Belle Cora, who keeps that bawdy house up town," Nesbitt volunteered.

"Yes," said Broderick musingly, "she seemes to take it hard."

"She's mad about the fellow," Nesbitt waved a parting salutation and walked toward the Bulletin office.

Broderick turned homeward, thinking of the two dark figures he had pa.s.sed on Clay street where the killing had taken place. Perchance if he had stopped as he was minded, the tragedy might have been averted.

n.o.body seemed to know just how it came about. The thing was most unfortunate politically. King would stir up a hornet's nest of public opinion. Broderick reached his lodgings and at once retired. His sleep was fitful. He dreamed that Alice Windham and Sheriff Scannell were fighting for his soul.

In the morning he met Benito on the plaza and the two encountered Colonel E.D. Baker.

"I hear you're Cora's counsel," said Benito with a touch of disapproval.

Baker looked at the young man over his spectacles. He was a big impressive man whose appearance as well as his words swayed juries. He commanded large fees. It was to Broderick rather than Benito that he made reply.

"That Belle woman--she calls herself Mrs. Cora--came to me last night.

By the Lord, she melted my heart. She got down on her knees. How she loves that gambler!... Well, I promised to defend him, confound it." He pa.s.sed on shaking his head.

"Didn't mention what his fee was," Broderick spoke cynically.

"I'm informed he tried to give it back to her this morning," said Benito. "But she wouldn't take it. Made a scene and held him to his honor." He laughed.

Cora's trial dragged itself into the following January on the slow feet of countless technicalities. Every legal subterfuge was exhausted by the quartet of talented and high-priced attorneys provided by Belle Cora's questionable fortune but unquestioned affection. The trial proved a feast of oratory, a ma.s.s of contradictory evidence. Before it began a juror named Jacob Mayer accused L. Sokalasky with offering him a bribe.

Sokalasky, brought into court, denied the charge. And there it ended, save that thenceforth the "twelve good men and true" were exiled even from their families by the order of Judge Hagar. None the less it seemed quite evident as a morning paper cynically remarked, that the stable had been locked after the horses were stolen.

On January 17 the Cora jury announced its inability to agree. The trial ended minus a conviction.

Ned McGowan, James P. Casey, Sheriff Scannell and his aid, Billy Mulligan, had frequent conferences in the offices of Casey's _Sunday Times_. Broderick held more or less aloof from his political subordinates these troublous days. But Charley Duane, former chief engineer of the fire department, was their frequent consort. The _Sunday Times_ concentrated its fire chiefly on James King of William. It was his biting, unstudied verbiage that struck "The Federal Brigade" on the raw.

Early in May the _Times_ accused Thomas King, the _Bulletin_ editor's brother, of scheming by illegal means to gain the office that Richardson's death had left vacant.

To this imputation, the _Bulletin_ made a sharp reply. Among other items calculated to enrage his foe appeared the following:

"The fact that Casey has been an inmate of Sing Sing prison in New York is no offense against the laws of this State; nor is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the ballot box, as elected to the Board of Supervisors from a district where it is said he was not even a candidate, any justification why Mr. Bagley should shoot Casey, however richly he may deserve having his neck stretched for such fraud upon the people...."

There was more, but this was all that Casey read. He tore the paper into shreds and stamped upon it, inarticulate with fury. When at last he found his tongue a flood of obscenities flowed. He drew a pistol from his pocket; brandishing the weapon, he reached for the door k.n.o.b. But Doane, who had brought the paper, caught his arm.

"Don't be a fool. Put that pistol away," he warned. "The public's crazy-mad about the Cora verdict. They won't stand for shooting King."

"Listen," said McGowan, craftily, "go up there and protest like a gentleman. Try to make the ---- insult you in the presence of a witness.... Afterward--we'll see."

CHAPTER XLI

THE FATEFUL ENCOUNTER

James King of William sat with his back toward the door when Casey, still a-quiver with rage but endeavoring to control himself, entered the Bulletin office. He stumbled over the doorsill.

King turned. When he saw who the intruder was, he laid down a handful of proofs and rose. Casey glared at him.

"What do you mean," cried the politician, trying to speak calmly, "by publishing that article about me in the Bulletin?"

King transfixed him with accusing eyes. "About the ballot-box stuffing ... or your Sing Sing record, Casey?" he inquired.

"You--you know well enough," bl.u.s.tered Casey. "It's an outrage to rake up a man's past.... A fellow's sensitive about such things."

He shook a fist at King. "If necessary, I'll defend myself."

"Very well," responded King. "That's your prerogative. You've a paper of your own.... And now get out of here," he added curtly. "Never show your face inside this door again."

Later at the Bank Exchange McGowan found the supervisor cursing as he raised a gla.s.s of whiskey with a trembling hand.

"Well, did you make him insult you?"

"d.a.m.n him," was all Casey could answer. "d.a.m.n him. d.a.m.n him." He tossed the raw liquor down his throat and poured another drink. McGowan smiled.

"You can do that till Doomsday and it won't hurt him." McGowan's voice rang with contempt. "Is that all you can do? Are you afraid--"

Casey interrupted fiercely. "I'm NOT afraid. You know it. I'll get even."

"How?"

"Never mind. You'll see," the politician muttered darkly.

"You're a drunken fool," remarked McGowan. "You've no chance with King.

He's twice as big as you. He carries a derringer. And he shoots straight. Listen to me." He dragged the other to a corner of the room; they sat there for at least an hour arguing, drinking.

James King of William watched Casey's exit from the Bulletin with a smile. He recalled his wife's warning that morning as he left his home, "Look out for Casey, James."

"Pooh, Charlotte," he had rea.s.sured her. "I've far worse enemies than that prison rat."

She had merely smiled, smoothed a wrinkle from his coat and kissed him, a worried look in her eyes. Then the children had gathered round him.