a former Texan ranger, fearless to a fault; but he was wise enough to
know when he was beaten.

"I've orders not to shoot," he said, "but I warn you that all who
participate in this man's hanging will be liable for murder."

Again came Brannan's sneer. "If we're as safe as the last hundred men
that took human life in this town, we've nothing to fear." Again a
chorus of derision. The sheriff turned, outraged, on his tormentor. "You
shall hear from me, sir," he said indignantly, and wheeling his horse,
he rode off.

"String him up on the flagpole," suggested a bystander. But this was
cried down with indignation. Several members who had been investigating
now advanced with the recommendation that the hanging take place at the
south-end of the old Custom House.

"We can throw the rope over a beam," cried a tall man. He was one of
those who had pursued and caught Jenkins on the bay. Now he seized the
rope and called, "Come on, boys."

There was a rush toward the southwest corner of the Plaza, so sudden
that the hapless prisoner was jerked off his feet and dragged over the
ground. When the improvised gallows was reached he was half strangled,
could not stand. Several men supported him while others tossed the rope
across the beam. Then, with a shout, he was jerked from his feet into
space. His dangling figure jerked convulsively for a time, hung limp.

* * * * *

After the inquest Brannan met William Coleman at Vigilante headquarters.
"They were very hostile," he declared; "the political gang is hot on our
trail. They questioned me as to the names on our committee. I told them
we went by numbers only," he laughed.

"There have been threats, veiled and open," said Coleman, soberly. "King
has lost several good banking accounts and my business has fallen off
noticeably. Friends have advised me to quit the committee--or worse
things might happen."

Brannan took a folded paper from his pocket; it was a printed scrawl
unsigned, which read:

"Beware; or your house will be burned. We mean business."

A newsboy hurried down the street crying an extra on the inquest.
Brannan snatched one from his hand and the two men perused it eagerly.
The finding, couched in usual verbiage, recited the obvious facts that
Jenkins, alias Simpson, perished by strangulation and that "an
association of citizens styling themselves a Committee of Vigilance,"
was responsible.

"Eight of us are implicated, besides