be a great commotion; the
assassin would be hanged."

"Ah, yes; but this is a new country," he said, a little lamely.

"Will there never be law in San Francisco?" Alice asked him,
passionately. "I have not forgotten--how my father died."

Benito's face went suddenly white. "Nor I," he said, with an odd
intensity; "there are several things ... that you may trust me ... to
remember."

"You mean," she queried in alarm, "McTurpin?"

Benito's mood changed. "There, my dear." He put an arm about her
shoulders soothingly. "Don't worry. I'll be careful; neither storm nor
bullets shall harm me. I will promise you that."

* * * * *

Early as it was in the day's calendar--for San Francisco had no knack of
rising with the sun--Benito found the town awake, intensely active when
he picked his way along the edge of those dangerous bogs that passed for
business streets. Several polling places had been established. Toward
each of them, lines of citizens converged in patient single-file
detachments that stretched usually around the corner and the length of
another block. Official placards announced that all citizens of the
United States were entitled to the ballot and beneath one of these, a
wag had written with white chalk in a large and sprawling hand:

"No Chinese Coolies in Disguise Need Apply."

No one seemed to mind the rain, though a gale blew from the sea, causing
a multitude of tents to sway and flap in dangerous fashion. Now and
then a canvas habitation broke its moorings and went racing down the
hill, pursued by a disheveled and irate occupant, indulging in the most
violent profanity.

At Kearny and Sacramento streets Benito, approaching the voting station,
was told to get in line by Charley Elleard, the town constable. Elleard
rode his famous black pony. This pony was the pet of the town and had
developed a sagacity nearly human. It was considered wondrous sport to
give the little animal a "two-bit" piece, which it would gravely hold
between its teeth and present to the nearest bootblack, placing its
forefeet daintily upon the footrests for a "shine."

As he neared the polls in the slow succession of advancing voters,
Benito was beset by a rabble of low-voiced, rough-dressed men, who
thrust their favorite tickets into his hands and bade him vote as
indicated, often in a threatening manner. Raucously they tried to cry
each other down. "Here's for Geary and the good old council," one