"Well, pretty near it," said the policeman. "He saved your life though, the yellow devil. Laid out half a dozen of them hoodlums with a hatchet. He's shot through the lungs. But Doc. says he's got a chance."
Late that afternoon William T. Coleman sat closeted with Chief Ellis of the San Francisco police. Coleman bore but scant resemblance to the youth of 1856. He was heavier, almost bald, moustached, more settled, less alert in manner. Yet his eyes had in them still the old invincible gleam of leadership.
"But," he was saying to the man in uniform, "that was twenty years ago. Can't you find a younger chap to head your Citizens' Committee?"
"No," said Ellis shortly. "You're the one we need. You know the way to deal with outlaws ... how to make the citizens respond. Do you know that the gang wrecked several Chinese laundries after the attack on Windham? That they threaten to burn the Pacific Mail docks?"
Chief Ellis drew a little nearer. "General McComb of the State forces has called a mass meeting. He wishes you to take charge...."
CHAPTER LXVI
THE PICK-HANDLE BRIGADE
Benito found his son awaiting when he returned from the Citizens' Mass Meeting at midnight. Robert, insisting that he was "fit as a fiddle," had nevertheless been put to bed through the connivance of an anxious mother and the family physician, who found him to have suffered some severe contusions and lacerations in the morning's fray. But he was wide awake and curious when his father's latch key grated in the door.