A cheer followed.  Coleman demurred but in vain.  They would have no one else.  So, at last he put his name upon the paper, adding after it “No. 1.”

Others came up and affixed their signatures:  C.J.  Dempster, the Post brothers, Alfred Rix, P.G.  Childs and so on.  Bluxome, relieved from his post, was No. 33.  It proved in after days a potent numeral for it represented the secretarial seal on documents which spelled doom to evildoers; hope, law and order to an outraged populace.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, McGowan, Scannell and his clan had not been idle.  On the night of the shooting one hundred men proceeded to the Pacific street wharf where the Coliah and Seabird were anchored.  From each of these, by force of arms, but with a promise of return, they took a ship’s cannon which they dragged by means of two long ropes, uphill to the county stronghold.

* * * * *

On Thursday morning Mayor Van Ness stalked into Turner, Lucas & Company’s bank and button-holed the manager.  This was William T. Sherman, late of the United States army.

“Sherman,” said Van Ness excitedly, “is it true that you’ve been appointed major-general in charge of the second division of the California Militia?”

“It is,” retorted Sherman.  His calm demeanor as he answered, without even looking up from the stock sheets which engrossed him, contrasted sharply with the fuming unrest of Van Ness.  The latter now seized Sherman’s sleeve.

“Lay those down and come with me,” he urged.  “We need you instantly.  Armed mobs are organizing to destroy the jail and seize the city government.  It’s your duty, sir, your manifest duty—­”

“All right, mayor,” Sherman said, “I’ll go along.”  He called a clerk and gave some orders.  Then he slipped the stock sheets into a drawer and took his hat from a peg.

They strode along together, Van Ness gesturing and talking; Sherman’s head slightly bent as if in thought.  Now and then he asked a curt question.

The crowd about the jail had dwindled to a few curiosity seekers.  The center of public interest had shifted to Know Nothing Hall where Vigilantes were still enrolling.

Sherman and Van Ness found Sheriff Scannell, Ned McGowan, Billy Mulligan and the prisoner Casey in vehement consultation.  They welcomed the soldier and mayor with manifest relief.

“I’m glad you came,” said Mulligan, “things look bad.  There’ll be Hell poppin’—­if that d——­ fool dies.”

“If you are referring to Mr. King, speak of him with respect.”  Sherman’s tone was like a whiplash.  The soldier turned to Scannell.  “How many men have you?  Men on whom you can depend in a crisis?”

Scannell hesitated.  “A hundred maybe ... but,” he looked at Sherman hopefully, “there’s your militia.  Some of them served last night.”

“They’ve refused further service,” said Van Ness.  “I’m told that most of them have gone over to the Vigilantes ... and taken their arms along.”