The determined guard about the jail was in itself a deterrent to mob action. Meyers had brought twenty or more men from camp, armed and alert, who with those already about the building constituted a force to make any crowd of Mexicans, however angry, think twice before seeking to rescue prisoners. But the wish and the spirit were not lacking. Employees of the plotters, men who had received favors from Sorenson or Vorse or Burkhardt, Mexicans of a naturally vicious and unruly temper, were all for rushing the jail. The great number of the people, however, peaceful and indolent, preferred to content themselves with satisfying their curiosity by talk instead of seeking a taste of blood. And so as a result of this divided opinion the hostility for Weir had not expressed itself in an effort to assail the keepers of the jail.
When he was discovered to have returned to town, this angry feeling assumed a menacing form. He approached the court house by the side street, Sorenson riding at his side, for it was his plan to lodge his prisoner in the Jail with as much secrecy as possible. Nevertheless in this he was disappointed; men saw him arrive, assist his prisoner to alight and climb the board fence about the yard; and drawn by the expectation of new events the nearer groups hastened forward.
Weir impelled his man towards the jail.
“Stand back,” he commanded the Mexicans.
The latter at first stared in astonishment at beholding the pair, one of whom was San Mateo’s foremost citizen, now sullenly advancing with wrists bound. Exclamations burst from their lips.
At that a flash of hope filled Sorenson’s breast.
“To my rescue, friends!” he cried, beginning to struggle.
Weir jerked him ahead fiercely and cast fiercer looks at the Mexicans.