“Then,” the voice of Coleman rang, “we promise nothing.”

* * * * *

On the boat which took them to Benicia, Macondray and his friends met Major-General Sherman of the State Militia.  They found him striding up and down the deck, chewing his cigar.  Macondray and he compared notes.  Sherman had been summoned for an interview with Johnson.  The Governor planned a final onslaught of persuasion, hoping General Wool would change his mind; would furnish arms for the militia.

“If he doesn’t, it’s useless.  Men can’t fight without guns.”  Macondray thought he noted an undertone of relief in Sherman’s words.

“Do you think he’ll give them to you?” Macondray asked in an undertone.  Sherman slowly shook his head.  He walked away, as though he dreaded further questioning.

* * * * *

At Benicia, Sherman and the Macondray party rode up in the same ’bus to the Solano House.  Sherman was admitted at once.  The committee was asked to wait.  Sherman entered a room blue with tobacco smoke.  It contained four men, besides the Governor:  Chief Justice David S. Terry, a tall man with a hard face, sat tilted back in a chair, his feet on the Governor’s table.  He had not taken off his hat.  Without moving or apparently looking in that direction, he spat at regular intervals toward the fireplace.  Near him sat Edward S. Baker, statesmanlike, impressive, despite his drink-befuddlement; Edward Jones, of Palmer, Cook & Co., smaller, shrewd, keen and avaricious-eyed, was pouring a drink from a decanter; Volney Howard, fat, pompous, aping a blase, decadent manner, stood, as usual, near the mantel.

They all looked up as Sherman entered.  Terry favored him with a half-concealed scowl; Howard with an open sneer; Jones with deprecating hostility.  Baker smiled.  The Governor, who seemed each day to grow more nervous and irritable, held out his hand.

“Well, well, Sherman,” he greeted, “glad to see you.”  Then his brow knit in a kind of puzzled provocation.  “What’s that Vigilante Committee doing here with you?”

Terry grunted and spat.  Sherman looked them over with a repulsion he could not completely conceal.  They were men of violent prejudices.  It was bad to see the Governor so completely in their grasp.

“They are not Vigilantes, your Excellency,” he began with punctilious hauteur.

“The hell they’re not!” said Terry.

Sherman ignored him completely.  “My meeting with them was purely casual,” he resumed.  “They are prominent, impartial citizens of San Francisco, seeking to make peace.  They have, I understand, seen Coleman; are prepared to offer certain compromises.”

“Aha!” cried Howard, “the rabble is caving in.  They’re ready to quit.”

Johnson looked at Sherman as if for confirmation.  He shook his head.  “Far from it.”

“Cannot they state their business in writing?” asked Johnson.