e," said Van Ness. "I'm told that most of
them have gone over to the Vigilantes ... and taken their arms along."

Sherman stroked his chin. "This place is not impregnable by any means,"
he remarked. "The first thing we must do is to secure the buildings on
each side."

"Too late," groaned Scannell. "I tried to find lodgings for some of my
guards at Mrs. Hutchinson's boarding house. She slammed the door in my
face. I tried the other side and found that Coleman and Bluxome had an
option on it. They've already sent men to guard both places."

"Then," Sherman told them, "you cannot defend this jail against a well
planned attack. Perhaps they'll not resort to force," he added
hopefully. "The Governor's coming down to talk with Coleman."

CHAPTER XLIII

GOVERNOR JOHNSON MEDIATES

On the second day after the shooting, Governor J. Neely Johnson arrived
on the evening boat. Mayor Van Ness had sent him a panicky message,
imploring him to drop all else and hasten to San Francisco. The Mayor
and William K. Garrison met him at the dock. They almost pushed the
Governor into a carriage which was driven hastily to the
International Hotel.

In his room, behind closed doors, the Governor spoke a trifle irritably:
"What the devil's all this row about, Van Ness? The town seems quiet
enough. You spoke of civil war."

"Coleman's organized another Vigilance Committee," Garrison took it upon
himself to answer. "You know how impulsive San Franciscans are. They're
in for anything. Two thousand have already joined. They've bought all
the arms in town except a few that Sheriff Scannell seized in the
militia armories. Scannell's sent out a hurry call for deputies--"

"But," broke in the Governor, incredulously, "you say Coleman's doing
this. I can't believe it. Coleman's a good man, a quiet fellow. He's my
friend. I'll go to him at once."

He rose, but Garrison, the politic, raised his hand. "Let him come to
you. Summon him. The effect is much better."

"As you say," acceded Johnson with a smile. "Send for Coleman, with my
compliments." He resumed his seat and picked up an Evening Bulletin,
shaking his head. "Poor King, I hear he's dying."

"A dangerous man," remarked Garrison as he left the room.

"He is a lot less dangerous alive--than dead," the Mayor shivered. "As a
reformer he'd soon have ceased to interest the public. Nobody interests
them long. But as a martyr!" he threw up his hands. "God help San
Francisco!"

They dis