ou fellows want?"

They paused, abashed by his intrepid manner. "No offense, young man. We
ain't after you. It's that Yaller Heathen.... The kind that robs us of a
chance to live."

"Po Lun has never robbed anyone of a chance to live. He's our cook ...
and my friend. You leave him alone."

"He sends all his money back to China," sneered another coming closer,
brandishing a stick. "A fine American, ain't he?"

"A better one than you," said Robert hotly. Anger got the better of his
judgment and he snatched the stick out of the fellow's hand, broke it,
threw it to the ground.

Savagely they fell upon him. He went down, stunned by a blow on the
head, a sense of crushing weight that overwhelmed his strength. He was
vaguely conscious of a tirade of strange words, of an arm at the end of
which was a meat cleaver, lashing about. The vindictive bark of a
pistol. Shouts, feet running. A blue-coated form. A vehicle with
champing horses that stood by.

"Are you hurt very bad, young feller?"

Robert moved his arms and legs. They appeared intact. He rose, stiffly.
"Where's Po Lun?"

"In the wagon."

Robert, turning, observed an ambulance. "Not--dead?"

"Well, pretty near it," said the policeman. "He saved your life though,
the yellow devil. Laid out half a dozen of them hoodlums with a hatchet.
He's shot through the lungs. But Doc. says he's got a chance."

* * * * *

Late that afternoon William T. Coleman sat closeted with Chief Ellis of
the San Francisco police. Coleman bore but scant resemblance to the
youth of 1856. He was heavier, almost bald, moustached, more settled,
less alert in manner. Yet his eyes had in them still the old invincible
gleam of leadership.

"But," he was saying to the man in uniform, "that was twenty years ago.
Can't you find a younger chap to head your Citizens' Committee?"

"No," said Ellis shortly. "You're the one we need. You know the way to
deal with outlaws ... how to make the citizens respond. Do you know that
the gang wrecked several Chinese laundries after the attack on Windham?
That they threaten to burn the Pacific Mail docks?"

Chief Ellis drew a little nearer. "General McComb of the State forces
has called a mass meeting. He wishes you to take charge...."

CHAPTER LXVI

THE PICK-HANDLE BRIGADE

Benito found his son awaiting when he returned from the Citizens' Mass
Meeting at midnight. Robert, insisting that he was "fit as a fiddle,"
had