At just five o'clock the idlers stiffened to attention. King's figure was seen to turn the corner of Merchant Street into Montgomery. Head bent, he walked toward the corner of the Bankers' Exchange, the men on the corner watching him. When nearly at that point he turned to cross the street diagonally.

At the same instant Casey stepped forward from behind the wagon, throwing back his cloak.

LII

The same afternoon Johnny Fairfax and Keith were sitting together in the Monumental's reading-room. They happened to be the only members in the building with the exception of Bert Taylor, who was never anywhere else. Of late Keith had acquired the habit of visiting the reading-room at this empty hour. He was beginning to shrink from meeting his fellowmen. Johnny Fairfax was a great comfort to him, for the express rider was never out of spirits, had a sane outlook, and entertained a genuine friendship for the young lawyer. Although yet under thirty years of age, he was already an "old-timer," for he had come out in '49, and knew the city's early history at first hand.

"This old bell of yours is historical," he told Keith. "Its tolling called together the Vigilantes of '51."

They sat gossiping for an hour, half sleepy with reaction from the fatigues of the day, smoking slowly, enjoying themselves. Everything was very peaceful--the long slant of a sunbeam through dust motes, the buzz of an early bluebottle, the half-heard activities of some of the servants in the pantry beyond, preparing for the rush of the c.o.c.ktail hour. Suddenly Johnny raised his head and p.r.i.c.ked up his ears.

"What the deuce is that!" he exclaimed.

They listened, then descended to the big open engine-room doors and listened again. From the direction of Market Street came the dull sounds of turmoil, shouting, the growl and roar of many people excited by something. Across the Plaza a man appeared, running. As he came nearer, both could see that his face had a very grim expression.

"Here!" called Johnny, as the man neared them. "Stop a minute! Tell us what's the matter!"

The man ceased running, but did not stop. He was panting but evidently very angry. His words came from between gritted teeth.

"Fight," he said briefly. "Casey and James King of William. King's shot."

At the words something seemed to be stilled in Keith's mind. Johnny seized the man by the sleeve.

"Hold on," he begged. "I know that kind of a fight. Tell us."

"Casey went up close to King, said 'come on,' and instantly shot him before King knew what he was saying."

"Killed?"

"Fatally wounded."

"Where's Casey?"

"In jail--of course--where he's safe--with his friends."

"Where you headed for?"

"I'm going to get my gun!" said the man grimly, and began again to run.

They watched his receding figure until it swung around the corner and disappeared. Without warning a white-hot wave of anger swept over Keith. All the little baffling, annoying delays, enmities, technicalities, chicaneries, personal antagonisms, evasions that had made up the Cora trial were in it. He seemed to see clearly the inevitable outcome of this trial also. It would be another Cora-Richardson case over again. A brave spirit had been brutally blotted out by an outlaw who relied confidently on the usual exoneration. With an exclamation Keith darted into the engine house to where hung the rope ready for an alarm. An instant later the heavy booming of the Monumental's bell smote the air.

LIII

Having given this alarm. Keith, Johnny at his elbow, started toward the centre of disturbance, From it arose a dull, menacing roar, like the sound of breakers on a rocky coast. Many people, with much excitement, shouting, and vituperation, were converging toward the common centre.

As this was approached, it became more difficult, at last impossible, to proceed. The streets were packed, jammed. All sorts of rumours were abroad--King, was dead--King was only slightly hurt--Casey was not in jail at all--Casey had escaped down the Peninsula--the United States warships had anch.o.r.ed off the foot of Market Street and were preparing to bombard the city. There was much rushing to and fro without cause.

And over all the roar could be distinguished occasionally single cries, as one may catch fragments of conversation in a crowded room, and all of these were sinister: "Hang him!" "Where is he?" "Run him up on a lamp post!" "Bring him out!" "He'll get away if left to the officers!"

And over all the cries, the shouts, the curses, the noise of shuffling feet, the very sound of heavy breathing--that--the numbers of the mob magnified to a m.u.f.fled, formidable undernote, pealed louder and louder the Monumental bell, which now Bert Taylor--or some one else--was ringing like mad.

Keith's eyes had become grim and inscrutable, and his mouth had settled into a hard, straight line. Johnny's interest had at first centred in the mob, but after a few curious glances at his companion he transferred it entirely to him, Johnny Fairfax was a judge of men and of crises; and now he was invaded with a great curiosity to see how the one and the other were here to work out. With a determination that would not be gainsaid, Keith thrust himself through the crowd until he had gained an elevated coping. Here he stood watching. Johnny, after a glance at his face, joined him.

Suddenly in the entrance of Dunbar Alley, next the city jail, a compact group of men with drawn pistols appeared. They made their way rapidly to a carriage standing near, jumped in, and the driver whipped up his horses. With a yell of rage the crowd charged down, but recoiled instinctively before the presented pistols. The horses reared and plunged, and before anybody had gathered his wits sufficiently to seize the bridles, the whole equipage had disappeared around the corner of Kearney Street.

"I must say that was well done," said Johnny.

"North and Charles Duane, with Casey, inside," commented Keith, as dispa.s.sionately as though reading from a catalogue. "Billy Mulligan and his deputies outside. That is to be remembered."

A great mob had surged after the disappearing vehicle, but at least fifty yards in the rear. The remainder were following at a more leisurely pace. Almost immediately the street was empty. Keith climbed slowly down from his coping.

"What do you intend doing?" asked Johnny curiously.

"Nothing yet."

"But they're getting him away!"

"No," said Keith, out of his local knowledge. "They're merely taking him to the county jail; it's stronger."

They followed the crowd to the wide open s.p.a.ce below the county jail.

The latter was at that period a solidly built one-story building situated atop a low bluff. Below it the marshal had drawn up his officers. They stood coolly at ease. The mob, very excited, vociferated, surged back and forth. North and his men, busily and coolly, but emphatically, were warning them, over and over again, not to approach nearer. A single, concerted rush would have overwhelmed the few defenders; but the rush was not made. Nevertheless, it could not be doubted that this time the temper of the people was very determined.

The excitement was growing with every minute. Cries again took coherence.

"Hang him!" "Arrest the officers!" "Good, that's it!" "Let's take the jail!"

A man burst through the front ranks, clambered up the low bluff on which stood the jail, turned, and attempted to harangue the crowd. He was instantly torn down by the officers. He fought like a wild cat, and the crowd, on the hair trigger as it was, howled and broke forward. But Marshal North, who really handled the situation intelligently, sharply commanded his men to desist, and instantly to release the orator. He knew better than to allow the matter to come to an issue of strength.

Intensely excited, the man shouldered his way through the crowd, and, a.s.sisted by many hands, mounted the balcony of a two-story house.

Thence he began to harangue, but so great was the confusion that he could not be heard.

"Who is he?" "Who is that man?" voices cried from a dozen points.

George Frank, a hotel keeper, possessed of a great voice, shouted back:

"That is Thomas King--"

An officer seized Frank hastily by the collar. "Stop or I'll arrest you!" he threatened.

"--brother of James King of William!" bellowed Frank, undaunted.

"Bully for you!" muttered Johnny Fairfax, whose eyes were shining.

Keith was watching the whole scene from beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes sombre and expressionless. Johnny glanced at him from time to time, but said nothing.

From the balcony Thomas King continued to harangue the crowd. Little of what he said could be heard, but he was at a white heat of excitement, and those nearest him were greatly aroused. An officer made a movement to arrest him, but a hasty message from the sapient North restrained that.

At that moment a great cheer burst out from the lower end of the street. Over the heads of the crowd could be distinguished the glint of file after file of bayonets.