ed to the public hall. A man quickly
mounted the platform and nominated Pierre Delarue for presiding
officer of the meeting. The crowd responded with yells of, "Yes, yes!"
"Of course!" "Go on, Frenchy!" "Hurrah for Frenchy!" There were many
Mexicans among them, and as Delarue stepped to his place, there was a
call for an interpreter and a young half-Mexican walked to the
platform. Some one was sent to hold guard at the door, with orders to
admit "no turbulent persons." Then Delarue began an impassioned
speech, pausing after each sentence for it to be translated into
Spanish. With each flaming outburst the "hurrahs" of the Americans
were mingled with the "vivas" of the Mexicans.

The interpreter leaned far over the edge of the platform, swaying and
gesticulating as though the speech were his own, his face glowing with
excitement. The crowd yelled madly, while with flushed face, streaming
forehead, and heaving chest the speaker went on, each fiery sentiment
increasing his conviction in the righteousness of his cause, and the
cries of approval urging him to still more inflamed denunciation and
outright accusal.

Those who had gathered in Judge Harlin's office and in and about the
Palmleaf saloon were closely watching developments. Two or three men
who mingled with the Republicans, and were apparently in sympathy with
them, came in occasionally by way of back doors, and reported all that
was being said and done. Emerson Mead talked in a brief aside with one
of these men, and presently he stepped out alone into the deserted
street. The other man hastened to the hall, took the place of the one
on guard, giving him the much-wished-for opportunity to go inside, and
when, hands in pockets, Mead strolled up, his confederate quickly
admitted him, and he stood unobserved in the semi-darkness at the back
of the room. A single small lamp on the speaker's table and one
bracketed against the wall on each side made a half circle of dusky
light about the platform, showing a mass of eager, excited faces with
gleaming eyes, while it left the rear part of the bare room in shadow.

"I demand justice," cried the speaker, "upon the murderer, the
assassin of poor Will Whittaker! And I say to you, friends and
neighbors, that unless you now, at once, mete out justice upon that
murderer's head, there is no surety that justice will be done. To-day
you have seen him walking defiantly about the streets, armed to the
teeth, ready to plunge his hand