“Damn them!” said the lawyer, broodingly, “what d’ye think they’ll be up to next?”

“Don’t damn them too much.”  Broderick’s smile held a grim sort of humor.  “They’re going to break up a political organization it’s taken me years to perfect.  That ought to please you a little.”

McAllister laughed.  The two men shook hands and parted.  They were political enemies—­McAllister of the Southern or “Chivalry” clan, which yearned to make a slave State out of California; Broderick an uncompromising Northerner and Abolitionist.  Yet they respected one another, and a queer, almost secret friendship existed between them.  Farther down the street Broderick met Benito.  “I’ve just been talking with your boss,” he said.

“No longer,” Windham informed him.  “McAllister didn’t like my Vigilante leanings.  So we parted amiably enough.  I’ll study law on my own hook from now on.  I’ve had a bit of good luck.”

“Ah,” said the other.  “Glad to hear it.  An inheritance?”

“Something like it,” Windham answered.  “Do you remember when I went to the mines I met a man named Burthen?  Alice’s father, you know.  We had a mining claim together,” His brow clouded.  “He was murdered at the Eldorado....  Well, that’s neither here nor there....  But it left me the claim.  I didn’t think it was worth much.  But I’ve sold it to an Eastern syndicate.”

“Good!” cried Broderick.  “Congratulations.”

They shook hands.  “Ten thousand,” Benito informed him.  “We’ve had an offer for the ranch, too.  Company wants to make it into small allotments....  Think of that!  A few years ago we were far in the country.  Now it’s suburban property.  They’re even talking of street cars.”

* * * * *

At Vigilante Headquarters Benito found unusual activity.  Drays were backing up to the doors, unloading bedding, cots, a number of cook-stoves.  Men were carrying in provisions.  Coleman came out with Bluxome.  They surveyed the work a moment, chatting earnestly, then parted.

“We’re equipping a commissary and barracks,” thus a member informed Benito.  “Doesn’t look much like disbanding, does it?  The Chivs. think we’re through.  No such luck.  This is costing me $50 a day in my business,” he sighed.  “We’ve got a dozen blacklegs, shoulder-strikers and ballot-stuffers in there now, awaiting trial.  We’ve turned all the petty offenders over to the police.”

Benito laughed.  “And have you noticed this:  The Police Courts are convicting every single one of them promptly!”

“Yes, they’re learning their lessons ... but we’ve trouble ahead.  These Southerners and politicians have the Governor in their pocket.  He’s sent two men to Washington to ask the President for troops.  Farragut has been asked to bombard the city.  He’s refused.  But General Wool has promised them arms from Benicia if the Governor and Sherman prove that anarchy exists.”

“They can’t,” Benito contended.