by half a dozen uniformed patrolmen,
raised their rifles to their shoulders and fired. With the first shots
the man fell, and when the soldiers went to the body to dump it into
an alley eleven bullets were found to have entered it."

Here is an experience typical of hundreds told by Sam Wolf, a guest at
the Grand Hotel:

"When I awakened the house was shaken as a terrier would shake a rat.
I dressed and made for the street which seemed to move like waves of
water. On my way down Market street the whole side of a building fell
out and came so near me that I was covered and blinded by the dust.
Then I saw the first dead come by. They were piled up in an automobile
like carcasses in a butcher's wagon, all over blood, with crushed
skulls and broken limbs, and bloody faces.

"A man cried out to me, 'Look out for that live wire.' I just had time
to sidestep certain death. On each side of me the fires were burning
fiercely. I finally got into the open space before the ferry. The
ground was still shaking and gaping open in places. Women and children
knelt on the cold asphalt and prayed God would be merciful to them. At
last we got on the boat. Not a woman in that crowd had enough clothing
to keep her warm, let alone the money for fare. I took off my hat, put
a little money in it, and we got enough money right there to pay all
their fares."

W. H. Sanders, consulting engineer of the United States geological
survey, insisted on paying his hotel bill before he left the St.
Francis. He says:

"Before leaving my room I made my toilet and packed my grip. The other
guests had left the house. As I hurried down the lobby I met the clerk
who had rushed in to get something. I told him I wanted to pay my
bill. 'I guess not,' he said, 'this is no time for settlement.'

"As he ran into the office I cornered him, paid him the money, and got
his receipt hurriedly stamped."

Dr. Taggart of Los Angeles, a leader of the Los Angeles relief bureau,
accidentally shot himself while entering a hospital at the corner of
Page and Baker streets, Saturday, April 21. He was mounting the
stairs, stumbled and fell. A pistol which he carried in his inside
coat pocket was discharged, the bullet entering near the heart. He
rose to his feet and cried, "I am dying," and fell into the arms of a
physician on the step below. Death was almost instantaneous.

Mrs. Lucien Shaw, of Los Angeles, wife of Judge Shaw of the State
Supreme Court, disappeared in the