“Show me some blankets,” said the tall man peremptorily.  Jansen did not like his tone, nor his looks for that matter, but he turned toward a shelf where comforters, sheets and blankets were piled in orderly array.  As he did so he heard a quick step behind him; the universe seemed to split asunder in a flash of countless stars.  And then the world turned black.

Hours afterward his partner found him prone behind the counter, a great bleeding cut on his head.  The safe stood open and a hasty examination revealed the loss of $2,000 in gold dust and coin.  Jansen was revived with difficulty and, after a period of delirium, described what had occurred.  The next morning’s Alta published a sensational account of the affair, describing Jansen’s assailant and stating that the victim’s recovery was uncertain.

As Adrian, Benito and Samuel Brannan passed the new city hall on the morning of February 22, they noticed that a crowd was gathering.  People seemed to be running from all directions.  Newsboys with huge armfuls of morning papers, thrust them in the faces of pedestrians, crying, “Extra!  Extra!  Assassins of Jansen caught.”  Adrian tossed the nearest lad a two-bit piece and grasped the outstretched sheet.  It related in heavy blackfaced type the arrest of “two scoundrelly assassins,” one of whom, James Stuart, a notorious “Sydney Duck,” was wanted in Auburn for the murder of Sheriff Moore.  This was the man identified by Jansen.  He claimed mistaken identity, however, insisting that his name was Thomas Berdue.

“They’ll let him go on that ridiculous plea, no doubt,” remarked Brannan, wrathfully.  “There are always a dozen alibis and false witnesses for these gallows-birds.  It’s time the people were doing something.”

“It looks very much as though we were doing something,” said Benito, with a glance at the gathering crowd.

There were shouts of “Lynch them!  Bring them out and hang them to a tree!” Someone thrust a handbill toward Benito, who grasped it mechanically.  It read: 

     Citizens of San Francisco

The series of murders and robberies that have been committed in the city seems to leave us entirely in a state of anarchy.  Law, it appears, is but a nonentity to be sneered at; redress can be had for aggression but through the never-failing remedy so admirably laid down in the Code of Judge Lynch.

     All those who would rid our city of its robbers and murderers
     will assemble on Sunday at 2 o’clock on the Plaza.

“This means business,” commented Adrian grimly.  “It may mean worse unless their temper cools.  I’ve heard this Stuart has a double.  They should give him time—­”

“Bosh!” cried Brannan, “they should string him up immediately.”  He waved the handbill aloft.  “Hey, boys,” he called out loudly, “let us go and take them.  Let us have a little justice in this town.”