Port O' Gold Part 34

"Well," said Howard, "the President's turned us down. We get no Federal aid, I understand. What next?"

Johnson stopped his pacing. "I fancy Coleman will have to answer that question. Our cue is to wait."

"'He also serves who stands and waits'," quoted Howard sardonically.

There came a knock at the door. Van Ness, arising quickly, answered it.

A uniformed page stood on the threshold bearing a silver platter on which reposed two letters. Something about the incident again aroused Howard's sense of humor. "Like a play," he muttered. "'My Lord, the carriage waits.'"

With an exclamation of annoyance the Governor stepped forward, took the two envelopes, displacing them with a bit of silver, and dismissed the boy. He opened both missives before examining either. Then he stood for a moment, a rectangle of paper in either hand, frowning.

Van Ness, peering over the Governor's shoulder, read:

We have given up hope for Mr. King's recovery. His death is a matter of days, perhaps hours.

DR. HAMMOND.

We beg to inform your Excellency that the Vigilance Committee's guard at the county jail has been withdrawn.

33, SECRETARY.

CHAPTER XLV

THE COMMITTEE STRIKES

On Sunday morning, May 18th, all of San Francisco was astir at dawn.

There was none of the usual late breakfasting, the leisurely perusal of a morning paper.

In some mysterious fashion word had gone abroad that history would be made this morning. The odd and feverish expectancy which rides, an unseen herald in the van of large events, was everywhere.

A part of this undue activity resulted from the summoning of male members out of nearly three thousand households for military duty to begin at 9 o'clock. Long before that hour the general headquarters of the Vigilantes swarmed with members.

As a neighboring clock struck noon, the Vigilantes debouched into the street, an advance guard of riders clearing that thoroughfare of crowding spectators. First came Captain James N. Olney commanding the Citizens' Guard of sixty picked men, so soldierly in appearance that their coming evoked a cheer.

Company 11, officered by Captain Donnelly and Lieutenant Frank Eastman came next, and after them a company of French citizens, very straight and gallant in appearance; then a German company. Followed at precise and military intervals a score or more of companies, with their gleaming bayonets, each standing at attention until the entire host had been a.s.sembled. Now and then some bystander cried a greeting. On the roofs were now a fringe of colored parasols, a fluttering of handkerchiefs.

One might have deemed it a parade save for a certain grimness, the absence of bands. There was a hush as Marshal Doane rode all along the line and paused at the head to review his troops. One could hear him clearly as he raised his sabre and commanded, "Forward, march!" At the sidelines the lieutenants chanted:

"Hup! Hup! Hup-hup-hup!"

Legs began to move in an impressive clock-work unison. Gradually the thousands of bayonets took motion, seemed to flow along like some strange stream of scintillating lights.

On the roof of the International Hotel the Governor, the Mayor, Major-General Sherman of the State Militia, Volney Howard and a little group of others watched the Vigilantes as they marched up Sacramento street. The Governor seemed calm enough; only the spasmodic puffs from his cigar betrayed agitation. Van Ness walked back and forth, cramming his hands into his breeches pockets and withdrawing them every ten seconds. Volney looked down with his usual sardonic smile but his eyes were bitter with hate. Sherman alone displayed the placidity of a soldier.

"Look at the d.a.m.ned rabble!" exclaimed Howard. "They're dividing. Some are going up Pacific street to Kearney, some to Dupont and ... yes, a part of them on Stockton."

"It's what you call an enfilading movement," said Sherman quietly.

In the county jail were Sheriff Scannell, Harrison his deputy, Marshal North, Billy Mulligan the jailor, and a small guard. Some of these watched proceedings from the roof, now and then descending to report to Scannell. Cora, in his cell, played solitaire and Casey made pretense of reading a book.

Presently Scannell entered the room where Casey sat; it was not a cell nor had the door been locked since the withdrawal of the Vigilante guard. Casey looked up quickly. "What's the latest news from King?"

"He's dying, so they say," retorted Scannell.

"Dave," it was almost a whisper. "You've been to Broderick? Curse him, won't he turn his hand to help a friend?"

"Easy, Billy," said the Sheriff. "Broderick's never been your friend; you know that well enough. Your boss, perhaps. But even so, he couldn't help you. No one can.... This town's gone mad."

"What d'ye mean?" asked Casey in a frightened whisper.

"Billy," spoke the Sheriff, "have a drink." He poured a liberal potion from a bottle standing on the table. Casey drained the gla.s.s, his eyes never leaving Scannell's. "Now," resumed the Sheriff, "listen, boy, and take it cool. THEY'RE COMING FOR YOU!"

At first Casey made no reply. One might have thought he had not heard, save for the widening of his eyes.

"You--you'll not let them take me, Dave?" he said, after a silence.

"You'll fight?"

Scannell's hand fell on the other's shoulder. "I've only thirty men; they're a hundred to one. They've a cannon."

They looked at one another. Casey closed his fists and straightened slightly. "Give me a case-knife, Dave," he pleaded. "I'll not let them take me. I'll--"

Silently, Scannell drew from his boot a knife in a leather sheath. Casey grasped it, feverishly, concealing it beneath his vest. "How soon?" he asked, "how soon?"

Scannell strode to the window. "They're outside now," he informed the shrinking Casey. "The executive committee's in front ... the Citizens'

Guard is forming a hollow square around them.... Miers Truett's coming to the door."

Casey drew the knife; raised it dramatically. "I'll not let them take me," he shouted, as if to bolster up courage by the sound of his own voice. "I'll never leave this place alive."

Sheriff Scannell, summoned by a deputy, looked over his shoulder. "Oh, yes, you will," he muttered. In his tone were pity and disdain.

Early Tuesday afternoon Benito and Broderick met in front of the Montgomery Block. The former had just been released from duty at Committee Headquarters, where a guard of 300 men was, night and day, maintained.

"Casey has spent most of his time writing since we captured him," Benito told his friend. "He recovered his nerve when he found we'd no intention of hanging him without a trial. Of course, if King should live, he'll get off lightly. And then, there's Cora--"

"Yes, he'll be a problem, if the other one's released," said Broderick.

"Unless King dies this whole eruption of the Vigilantes will fall flat."

Benito nodded, half reluctantly. "It seems--like destiny," he muttered.

Suddenly his head jerked upward. "What is that?"