"Hello, Coleman, how are the Vigilants? I'm told you still preserve atacit organization."
"More of the spirit than substance," said Coleman smiling. "I hope we'llnot need to revive it."
"Not so sure," responded Gerberding. "This man here," the cigar waswaved in King's direction, "this editor of ours is going to set thetown afire."
Coleman did not answer. He went out ... wondering whether Isaac Bluxomewas in town. Bluxome had served as secretary for the VigilanceCommittee of '51.
CHAPTER XXXIX
RICHARDSON AND CORA
Business went on with at least a surface calm of new stability. Politicsbrought forth occasional eruptions, mostly twixt the Abolitionists andSlavery parties. Each claimed California. Broderick more than ever heldthe reins of state and city government. But the latter proved afractious steed. For all his dauntless vigor and political astuteness,Destiny as yet withheld from Broderick the coveted United Statessenatorship. At best he had achieved an impasse, a dog-in-the-mangervictory. By preventing the election of a rival he had gained little andincurred much censure for depriving the State of nationalrepresentation. Benito and Alice tried to rouse him from a fit ofmoodiness as he dined with them one evening in November. Lately he hadmade a frequent, always-welcome third at their evening meal.
"Cheer up, Dave," Benito rallied, as he raised a glass of wine. "We'llbe reading your speeches in the Washington reports before many yearshave gone by. Come," he said to his wife, "let's drink to the future of'The Gentleman from California.'"
Broderick smiled; his glass clinked against those of his two companions.He gazed a moment musingly at both; then quaffed his liquor with atouch of haste.
Alice Windham's eyes were troubled. "David," she was hesitant, yetearnest. "It is really necessary to associate with people such as--well,you know ... James Casey, Billy Mulligan, McGowan?"
He answered her with a vehemence close to anger. "Politicians cannotchoose their weapons. They must fight fire with fire ... or lose." For amoment the talk lagged. Then Benito, with his sprightly gossip, sent itrolling on. "Sherman has turned Jim Casey and his _Sunday Times_ out ofthe Turner-Lucas building ... for attacking the banks."
"He threatened to, some time ago," said Broderick.... "How goes it withyour law, Benito?"
"Well enough," said Windham, as his wife rose. She left them to attendthe child, which had awakened. Broderick stared after her, a broodinghunger in his eyes. Presently, he, too, arose, and despite Benito'surging, departed.
It was dusk when he reached the Blue Wing saloon, where "Judge" McGowanawaited him. A burly, forceful man, with bushy eyebrows, a walrusmoustache perpetually tobacco-stained, and an air of ruthless command."Where've you been?" he asked, impatiently, but did not wait for ananswer. "Casey's in trouble again."
"What's the matter now?" asked Broderick with a swift, half anxiousuplift of the chin.
"Oh, not his fault exactly," said the other. "Five of Gwin's menattacked him. Tried to kill him probably. But Jim's a tough lad. He laidone out, took his pistol and shot another. The rest vamoosed. Jim's injail ... for disturbing the peace," he added, chuckling grimly.
"Well, Billy Mulligan will let him out," responded Broderick. "If not,see Scannell. Do you need bail?" He reached into his pocket and took outa roll of banknotes. "You'll attend to it, Ned?" he asked hurriedly.
"Yes, yes," returned the tall man. "That's all right.... I wish ithadn't happened, though. We're none too strong ... with seven murderersin the jail.... They'll bring up Casey's prison record at theexamination. See if they don't."
Broderick turned away.
At the bar he greeted "General" Billy Richardson, deputy United StatesMarshal. They had a drink together.
"James King of William's crusading with The Bulletin," said Richardson,"he threatens to run all the crooks out of town. It's making a gooddeal of talk."
"But King's not a newspaper man," retorted Broderick, puzzled. "He's abanker. How's he going to run a journal? That takes money--experience."
"Quien sabe?" Richardson vouchsafed. "Sinton of Selover and Sinton's hisfinancial backer. Jim Nesbitt helps with the writing. You know Nesbitt,don't you? Slings a wicked pen. But King writes his own editorials I'mtold. He's got a big job on his hands--cleaning up San Francisco.... Youought to know, Dave Broderick," he laughed meaningly. "Here's tohim, anyhow."
"Don't know if I should drink to that or not," Broderick ruminated,smiling. "May get after me. I'll take a chance, though. King's straight.I can always get on with a straight man." He raised his glass.
A friend of Richardson's came up. Broderick did not know him, but herecognized at his side the well-groomed figure of Charles Cora, gamblerand dandy. "Wancha t'meet Charley," said the introducer, unsteadily, toRichardson. "Bes' li'l man ever lived." Richardson held out his hand abit reluctantly. Cora's sort were somewhat declasse. "Have a drink?"he invited.
Broderick left them together. Later he saw Richardson quit the gambler'spresence abruptly. The other took a few steps after him, then fell backwith a shrug. Broderick heard the deputy-marshal mutter: "Too damnedfresh; positively insulting," but he thought little of it. Richardsonwas apt to grow choleric while drinking. He often fancied himselfinsulted, but usually forgot it quickly. So Broderick merely smiled.
On the following day he chanced again upon Richardson, who, toBroderick's astonishment, still brooded over Cora's "impudent remark."He did not seem to know just what it was, but the offensive flavor ofit lingered.
"Wonder where he is?" he kept repeating. "Deserves to be thrashed.Confound his impertinence. May do it yet."
He was drinking. Broderick glanced apprehensively about. The gambler'ssleek form was not in evidence. McGowan came in with Casey and Mulligan.Casey, too, had been drinking. He was in an evil humor, his usuallyjovial face sullen and vengeful.
"Damn the newspapers," he exploded. "They've printed the Sing Sing yarnon me again. It was brought out at the arraignment."
"Confound it, Broderick, haven't you any influence at all? Can't youkeep such stuff out of type?"
"Sometimes--if I know about it in advance. I'm sorry, Jim."
"They tell me King of William's going to print it in the _Bulletin_.Better see him."
"No use," put in McGowan, "that fellow's so straight (he sneered theword) that he leans over backward. Somebody'll fix him though ... you'llsee." The trio wandered off to Broderick's relief, making their exitjust as Cora entered the door. The gambler approached Richardson. Theyhad a drink together, some rather loud, conversation. Broderick fearedit would develop into a quarrel, but evidently they patched a trucebetween them, for soon they went out arm in arm.
His thought turned to Alice Windham. In a kind of reverie he left theBlue Wing, walking without sense of direction. It was getting dark; achilling touch of fog was in the air--almost, it seemed to Broderick,like a premonition. On Clay, near Montgomery, he passed two men standingin a doorway; it was too dark to see their faces. Some impulse bade himstop, but he repressed it. Later he heard a shot, men running. But hismood was not for street brawls. He went on.
CHAPTER XL
THE STORM GATHERS
It was Nesbitt who told Broderick of the murder. Nesbitt, of whomRichardson had said the night before, "he slings a wicked pen."
"My God, Jim, this is awful!" Broderick exclaimed. "You're sure there'sno mistake ... I saw the two of them go out arm in arm."
"Mistake! I wish it were," cried Nesbitt angrily. "No, poor BillyRichardson is dead. Cora's in jail.... They say Cora laughed when hewent to prison with Scannell.... Scannell and Mulligan!" He spat out thewords with a savage distaste.
"Let me show you something, Dave. A reporter from the New York _Express_was out here gathering data--crime statistics for the year. He showed itto me. Listen to this: Four hundred and eighty-nine murders inCalifornia during ten months. Six executions by sheriffs, forty-sixhanged by mobs; that makes fifty-two in all."
He tapped the paper with his lean forefinger. "Probably two hundred oft
hese killings were local.... And in the entire history of this citythere's been exactly one legal execution. That was in 1852."
Broderick shook his head. "What are you going to do with that stuff?"asked Broderick.
"Publish it in the _Bulletin_," returned Nesbitt decisively. "We'regoing to stir things up."
They walked along together, Broderick's head bent in thought. Everywherepeople were discussing the evening's tragedy. More than once "JudgeLynch's" name was mentioned threateningly.
About the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide.Some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threatsagainst Cora. As Broderick and Nesbitt passed the door, a handsome andrichly clad woman emerged. Trickling tears had devastated the cosmeticsmoothness of her cheeks. Her eyes looked frantic. But she proceededcalmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage. The driver whipped hishorses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some ofwhom shouted epithets after it.
"That was Belle Cora, who keeps that bawdy house up town," Nesbittvolunteered.
"Yes," said Broderick musingly, "she seemes to take it hard."
"She's mad about the fellow," Nesbitt waved a parting salutation andwalked toward the Bulletin office.
Broderick turned homeward, thinking of the two dark figures he hadpassed on Clay street where the killing had taken place. Perchance if hehad stopped as he was minded, the tragedy might have been averted.Nobody seemed to know just how it came about. The thing was mostunfortunate politically. King would stir up a hornet's nest of publicopinion. Broderick reached his lodgings and at once retired. His sleepwas fitful. He dreamed that Alice Windham and Sheriff Scannell werefighting for his soul.
In the morning he met Benito on the plaza and the two encounteredColonel E.D. Baker.
"I hear you're Cora's counsel," said Benito with a touch of disapproval.
Baker looked at the young man over his spectacles. He was a bigimpressive man whose appearance as well as his words swayed juries. Hecommanded large fees. It was to Broderick rather than Benito that hemade reply.
"That Belle woman--she calls herself Mrs. Cora--came to me last night.By the Lord, she melted my heart. She got down on her knees. How sheloves that gambler!... Well, I promised to defend him, confound it." Hepassed on shaking his head.
"Didn't mention what his fee was," Broderick spoke cynically.
"I'm informed he tried to give it back to her this morning," saidBenito. "But she wouldn't take it. Made a scene and held him to hishonor." He laughed.
* * * * *
Cora's trial dragged itself into the following January on the slow feetof countless technicalities. Every legal subterfuge was exhausted by thequartet of talented and high-priced attorneys provided by Belle Cora'squestionable fortune but unquestioned affection. The trial proved afeast of oratory, a mass of contradictory evidence. Before it began ajuror named Jacob Mayer accused L. Sokalasky with offering him a bribe.Sokalasky, brought into court, denied the charge. And there it ended,save that thenceforth the "twelve good men and true" were exiled evenfrom their families by the order of Judge Hagar. None the less it seemedquite evident as a morning paper cynically remarked, that the stable hadbeen locked after the horses were stolen.
On January 17 the Cora jury announced its inability to agree. The trialended minus a conviction.
* * * * *
Ned McGowan, James P. Casey, Sheriff Scannell and his aid, BillyMulligan, had frequent conferences in the offices of Casey's _SundayTimes_. Broderick held more or less aloof from his politicalsubordinates these troublous days. But Charley Duane, former chiefengineer of the fire department, was their frequent consort. The _SundayTimes_ concentrated its fire chiefly on James King of William. It washis biting, unstudied verbiage that struck "The Federal Brigade" onthe raw.
Early in May the _Times_ accused Thomas King, the _Bulletin_ editor'sbrother, of scheming by illegal means to gain the office thatRichardson's death had left vacant.
To this imputation, the _Bulletin_ made a sharp reply. Among other itemscalculated to enrage his foe appeared the following:
"The fact that Casey has been an inmate of Sing Sing prison in New York is no offense against the laws of this State; nor is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the ballot box, as elected to the Board of Supervisors from a district where it is said he was not even a candidate, any justification why Mr. Bagley should shoot Casey, however richly he may deserve having his neck stretched for such fraud upon the people...."
There was more, but this was all that Casey read. He tore the paper intoshreds and stamped upon it, inarticulate with fury. When at last hefound his tongue a flood of obscenities flowed. He drew a pistol fromhis pocket; brandishing the weapon, he reached for the door knob. ButDoane, who had brought the paper, caught his arm.
"Don't be a fool. Put that pistol away," he warned. "The public'scrazy-mad about the Cora verdict. They won't stand for shooting King."
"Listen," said McGowan, craftily, "go up there and protest like agentleman. Try to make the ---- insult you in the presence of awitness.... Afterward--we'll see."
CHAPTER XLI
THE FATEFUL ENCOUNTER
James King of William sat with his back toward the door when Casey,still a-quiver with rage but endeavoring to control himself, entered theBulletin office. He stumbled over the doorsill.
King turned. When he saw who the intruder was, he laid down a handful ofproofs and rose. Casey glared at him.
"What do you mean," cried the politician, trying to speak calmly, "bypublishing that article about me in the Bulletin?"
King transfixed him with accusing eyes. "About the ballot-box stuffing... or your Sing Sing record, Casey?" he inquired.
"You--you know well enough," blustered Casey. "It's an outrage to rakeup a man's past.... A fellow's sensitive about such things."
He shook a fist at King. "If necessary, I'll defend myself."
"Very well," responded King. "That's your prerogative. You've a paper ofyour own.... And now get out of here," he added curtly. "Never show yourface inside this door again."
Later at the Bank Exchange McGowan found the supervisor cursing as heraised a glass of whiskey with a trembling hand.
"Well, did you make him insult you?"
"Damn him," was all Casey could answer. "Damn him. Damn him." He tossedthe raw liquor down his throat and poured another drink. McGowan smiled.
"You can do that till Doomsday and it won't hurt him." McGowan's voicerang with contempt. "Is that all you can do? Are you afraid--"
Casey interrupted fiercely. "I'm NOT afraid. You know it. I'll geteven."
"How?"
"Never mind. You'll see," the politician muttered darkly.
"You're a drunken fool," remarked McGowan. "You've no chance with King.He's twice as big as you. He carries a derringer. And he shootsstraight. Listen to me." He dragged the other to a corner of the room;they sat there for at least an hour arguing, drinking.
* * * * *
James King of William watched Casey's exit from the Bulletin with asmile. He recalled his wife's warning that morning as he left his home,"Look out for Casey, James."
"Pooh, Charlotte," he had reassured her. "I've far worse enemies thanthat prison rat."
She had merely smiled, smoothed a wrinkle from his coat and kissed him,a worried look in her eyes. Then the children had gathered round him.Little Annie wanted a toy piano, Joe some crayons for his workat school.
Remembering this, King seized a desk pad, wrote on it some words ofmemoranda. Then he straightway forgot Casey in the detail of work.
When the Bulletin was off the press, the pad, with its writteninscription, caught his eye and he shoved it into a side pocket.
"Well, I'm going home," he said to Nesbitt. "Must buy a few things forthe children."
Nesbitt looked up half absently from his writing. "Afternoon," hegreeted. "
Better take your derringer. Don't know what might happen."
King shrugged himself into the talma cape, which he usually wore on thestreets. It is doubtful if he heard Nesbitt's warning. With a nod toGerberding he sauntered slowly out, enjoying the mellow springsunshine, filtering now and then through wisps of fog. As he turned intoMontgomery street he almost collided with Benito Windham, who, briefcase under arm, was striding rapidly southward. They exchanged a cordialgreeting. Benito looked after the tall courtly figure crossingMontgomery street diagonally toward a big express wagon. Benito thoughthe could discern a quick nervous movement back of it. A man stepped out,directly across King's path.
He was James P. Casey, tremendously excited. His right hand shookviolently. His hat was on one side of his head; he was apparentlyintoxicated. King did not notice him until they were almost abreast.
Casey's arm was outstretched, pointed at King's breast. "Draw and defendyourself," he said loudly. He shut his eyes and a little puff of smokeseemed to spring from the ends of his fingers, followed in the fractionof a second by a sharp report.
Benito ran with all his might toward the men. He did not think that Kingwas hit, for the editor turned toward the Pacific Express office. On thethreshold he stumbled. A clerk ran out and caught the tall figure as itcollapsed.
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