hour you shall see
what Justice means."

Several voices cheered. Brenham, overwhelmed, inarticulate before this
outburst, turned and strode away. Broderick walked on thoughtfully. It
was evident that the people were aroused past curbing. As he neared the
city hall, Constable Charles Elleard approached him anxiously.

"There's going to be trouble, isn't there?" he asked. "What shall we do?
We've less than a hundred men, Mr. Broderick. Perhaps we could get
fifty more."

"Whatever happens, don't use firearms," Broderick cautioned. "One shot
will set the town afire tonight." He came closer to the officer and
whispered, "Make a show of interference, that's all.... If possible see
that Sheriff Hayes' pistols don't go off.... You understand? I know
what's best."

Elleard nodded. Broderick went on. Soon he heard the tramp of many feet.
A procession headed by men bearing torches, was proceeding down the
street toward the Plaza. As they neared he saw Jenkins, hands tied
behind his back, striding along in the midst of his captors. A rope was
about his neck; it extended for a hundred feet behind him, upheld by
many hands.

Diagonally across the Plaza the procession streamed. At the flagstaff a
halt was made. Samuel Brannan mounted a sand-heap and addressed
the crowd.

"I have been deputed by the Vigilance Committee," he began, "to tell you
that John Jenkins has been fairly tried; he was proven guilty of grand
larceny and other crimes." He paused dramatically. "The sentence of the
People's Court is death through hanging by the neck. It will be executed
here at once, with your approval. All who are in favor of the
committee's action, will say 'Aye.'"

"Aye! Aye!" came a thunder of voices, mingled with a few desultory
"noes." Sheriff Jack Hayes rode up importantly on his prancing black
charger. "In the name of the law I command this proceeding to cease."

"In the name of what law?" mocked Brannan, "the law you've been giving
us for six months past?"

A roar of laughter greeted this retort. The sheriff, red-faced, held up
a hand for silence. "I demand the prisoner," he shouted.

Instantly there was a quiet order. Fifty men in soldierly formation
surrounded Jenkins. "Take him, then," a voice said pleasantly. It was
William Coleman's. The guards of the forward ranks threw back their
cloaks, revealing a score of business-like short-barrelled shotguns.

Before this show of force, the gallant Hayes retreated, baffled. He was