On Thursday morning Mayor Van Ness stalked into Turner, Lucas & Company's bank and button-holed the manager. This was William T. Sherman, late of the United States army.
"Sherman," said Van Ness excitedly, "is it true that you've been appointed major-general in charge of the second division of the California Militia?"
"It is," retorted Sherman. His calm demeanor as he answered, without even looking up from the stock sheets which engrossed him, contrasted sharply with the fuming unrest of Van Ness. The latter now seized Sherman's sleeve.
"Lay those down and come with me," he urged. "We need you instantly. Armed mobs are organizing to destroy the jail and seize the city government. It's your duty, sir, your manifest duty--"
"All right, mayor," Sherman said, "I'll go along." He called a clerk and gave some orders. Then he slipped the stock sheets into a drawer and took his hat from a peg.
They strode along together, Van Ness gesturing and talking; Sherman's head slightly bent as if in thought. Now and then he asked a curt question.
The crowd about the jail had dwindled to a few curiosity seekers. The center of public interest had shifted to Know Nothing Hall where Vigilantes were still enrolling.
Sherman and Van Ness found Sheriff Scannell, Ned McGowan, Billy Mulligan and the prisoner Casey in vehement consultation. They welcomed the soldier and mayor with manifest relief.
"I'm glad you came," said Mulligan, "things look bad. There'll be Hell poppin'--if that d---- fool dies."
"If you are referring to Mr. King, speak of him with respect." Sherman's tone was like a whiplash. The soldier turned to Scannell. "How many men have you? Men on whom you can depend in a crisis?"