“It’s what you call an enfilading movement,” said Sherman quietly.

* * * * *

In the county jail were Sheriff Scannell, Harrison his deputy, Marshal North, Billy Mulligan the jailor, and a small guard.  Some of these watched proceedings from the roof, now and then descending to report to Scannell.  Cora, in his cell, played solitaire and Casey made pretense of reading a book.

Presently Scannell entered the room where Casey sat; it was not a cell nor had the door been locked since the withdrawal of the Vigilante guard.  Casey looked up quickly.  “What’s the latest news from King?”

“He’s dying, so they say,” retorted Scannell.

“Dave,” it was almost a whisper.  “You’ve been to Broderick?  Curse him, won’t he turn his hand to help a friend?”

“Easy, Billy,” said the Sheriff.  “Broderick’s never been your friend; you know that well enough.  Your boss, perhaps.  But even so, he couldn’t help you.  No one can....  This town’s gone mad.”

“What d’ye mean?” asked Casey in a frightened whisper.

“Billy,” spoke the Sheriff, “have a drink.”  He poured a liberal potion from a bottle standing on the table.  Casey drained the glass, his eyes never leaving Scannell’s.  “Now,” resumed the Sheriff, “listen, boy, and take it cool.  THEY’RE COMING FOR YOU!”

At first Casey made no reply.  One might have thought he had not heard, save for the widening of his eyes.

“You—­you’ll not let them take me, Dave?” he said, after a silence.  “You’ll fight?”

Scannell’s hand fell on the other’s shoulder.  “I’ve only thirty men; they’re a hundred to one.  They’ve a cannon.”

They looked at one another.  Casey closed his fists and straightened slightly.  “Give me a case-knife, Dave,” he pleaded.  “I’ll not let them take me.  I’ll—­”

Silently, Scannell drew from his boot a knife in a leather sheath.  Casey grasped it, feverishly, concealing it beneath his vest.  “How soon?” he asked, “how soon?”

Scannell strode to the window.  “They’re outside now,” he informed the shrinking Casey.  “The executive committee’s in front ... the Citizens’ Guard is forming a hollow square around them....  Miers Truett’s coming to the door.”

Casey drew the knife; raised it dramatically.  “I’ll not let them take me,” he shouted, as if to bolster up courage by the sound of his own voice.  “I’ll never leave this place alive.”

Sheriff Scannell, summoned by a deputy, looked over his shoulder.  “Oh, yes, you will,” he muttered.  In his tone were pity and disdain.

* * * * *

Early Tuesday afternoon Benito and Broderick met in front of the Montgomery Block.  The former had just been released from duty at Committee Headquarters, where a guard of 300 men was, night and day, maintained.

“Casey has spent most of his time writing since we captured him,” Benito told his friend.  “He recovered his nerve when he found we’d no intention of hanging him without a trial.  Of course, if King should live, he’ll get off lightly.  And then, there’s Cora—­”