“What the Vigilantes did in ’51—­”

Briefly and concisely he outlined the frightful condition of affairs in San Francisco; the straining of public patience to its present breaking point.

“Now, Governor,” he said, impressively, “you’ve been called on by the Mayor and a certain class to bring out the militia and put down this movement.  I assure you it cannot be done.  It’s not the way to treat the question....”

“What is the way, then?” Johnson asked, aggressively.

“Allow us to clean our Augean stables without more than a formal opposition from the State.  Issue your necessary proclamations to maintain the dignity of the law.  But don’t interfere with our work.  We shall get through with it quickly—­and be glad to quit, I promise you.”

He rose and Johnson with him.  Suddenly the Governor slapped the Vigilante chief a rousing whack upon the shoulder.  “Go ahead, old boy!  But hurry up.  There is terrible opposition.  Terrific pressure.”

* * * * *

Turn Verein Hall that evening was a busy place.  A dozen companies were drilling on the big gymnasium floor.  Men who had never shouldered guns were executing orders with an ardor and a concentration which concealed much awkwardness of unfamiliarity.

The garb and condition of recruits were vividly diversified.  Doctor, teamster, lawyer, stevedore and banker, they were actuated by a common spirit, working through the manual of arms together, conscious of no caste.

Benito and Adrian, who had come in late, surveyed the drilling.  Warren Olney, big and forceful, gave them cordial welcome.  “You’re both in my company,” he informed them.  “We’ve graded all the signers of the roll according to their numbers.  That is, the first hundred signers make the first company, the second hundred another.  And so on.”

“How about cavalry and artillery?” Benito questioned.

“Oh, we’ll have both, don’t worry,” Charles Doane answered them.  “Two vessels in the harbor have contributed cannon; we’ll mount them on the foreparts of wagons.  That’s where Olney and his men will come in.  And we’ve splendid riders, though the troops are still to be rounded into shape.”  He passed on hurriedly to execute some commission.  “There’s a splendid fellow,” Olney said.  “He’s to be grand marshal of our forces.”  He took Benito and Adrian by the arm and led them toward a group of waiting men.  “We must get our battery organized.”

A messenger strode hastily across the room seeking Coleman, who conferred with Doane in a distant corner.  “The Governor’s outside,” he whispered as he passed.

* * * * *

Coleman, entering the ante-room in answer to a summons, found Governor Johnson; his brother; W. K. Garrison and William Sherman, head of the somewhat depleted militia.  A subtle change was noticeable in Johnson’s manner.  He spoke with brusque official authority, as if no previous interview had taken place: