Scannell's hand fell on the other's shoulder. "I've only thirty men; they're a hundred to one. They've a cannon."
They looked at one another. Casey closed his fists and straightened slightly. "Give me a case-knife, Dave," he pleaded. "I'll not let them take me. I'll--"
Silently, Scannell drew from his boot a knife in a leather sheath. Casey grasped it, feverishly, concealing it beneath his vest. "How soon?" he asked, "how soon?"
Scannell strode to the window. "They're outside now," he informed the shrinking Casey. "The executive committee's in front ... the Citizens' Guard is forming a hollow square around them.... Miers Truett's coming to the door."
Casey drew the knife; raised it dramatically. "I'll not let them take me," he shouted, as if to bolster up courage by the sound of his own voice. "I'll never leave this place alive."
Sheriff Scannell, summoned by a deputy, looked over his shoulder. "Oh, yes, you will," he muttered. In his tone were pity and disdain.
Early Tuesday afternoon Benito and Broderick met in front of the Montgomery Block. The former had just been released from duty at Committee Headquarters, where a guard of 300 men was, night and day, maintained.
"Casey has spent most of his time writing since we captured him," Benito told his friend. "He recovered his nerve when he found we'd no intention of hanging him without a trial. Of course, if King should live, he'll get off lightly. And then, there's Cora--"
"Yes, he'll be a problem, if the other one's released," said Broderick. "Unless King dies this whole eruption of the Vigilantes will fall flat."