CHAPTER XXXIII

THE RECKONING

It was June on the rancho Windham. Roses and honeysuckle climbed the pillars and lattices of the patio; lupin and golden poppies dotted the hillsides. Cloud-plumes waved across the faultless azure of a California summer sky and distant to the north and east, a million spangled flecks of sunlight danced upon the bay.

David Broderick sat on a rustic bench, his eyes on Alice Windham. He thought, with a vague stirring of unrecognized emotion that she seemed the spirit of womanhood in the body of a fay.

"A flower for your thoughts," she paraphrased and tossed him a rose. Instinctively he pressed it to his lips. He saw her color rise and turned away. For a moment neither spoke.

"My thoughts," he said at length, "have been of evil men and trickery and ambition. I realize that, always, when I come here--when I see you, Alice Windham. For a little time I am uplifted. Then I go back to my devious toiling in the dark."

A shadow crossed her eyes, but a smile quickly chased it away. "You are a fine man, David Broderick," she said, "brave and wonderful and strong. Why do you stoop to--"

"To petty politics?" his answering smile was rueful. "Because I must--to gain my ends. To climb a hill-top often one must go into a valley. That is life."

"No, that is sophistry," her clear, straight glance was on him searchingly. "You tell me that a statesman must be first a politician; that a politician must consort with rowdies, ballot-box stuffers, gamblers--even thieves. David Broderick, you're wrong. Women have their intuitions which are often truer than men's logic." She leaned forward, laid a hand half shyly on his arm. "I know this much, my friend: As surely as you climb your ladder with the help of evil forces, just so surely will they pull you down."

It was thus that Benito came upon them. "Scolding Dave again?" He questioned merrily, "What has our Lieutenant-Governor been doing now?"

"Consorting with rowdies, gamblers, ballot-box stuffers--not to mention thieves, 'twould seem," said Broderick with a forced laugh. Alice Windham's eyes looked hurt. "He has accused himself," she said with haste.

"You're always your own worst critic, Dave," Benito said. "I want to tell you something: The Vigilance Committee forms this afternoon."

The other's eyes flashed. "What is that to me?" he asked, with some asperity.

"Only this," retorted Windham. "The committee means business; it's going to clean up the town--" Broderick made as if to speak but checked his utterance. Benito went on: "I tell you, Dave, you had better cut loose from your crowd. Some of them are going to get into trouble. You can't afford to have them running to you--calling you their master."

He took from his pocket a folded paper. "We've been drafting a constitution, Hall McAllister and I." He read the rather stereotyped beginning. Broderick displayed small interest until Benito reached the conclusion:

WE ARE DETERMINED THAT NO THIEF, BURGLAR, INCENDIARY OR ASSASSIN SHALL ESCAPE PUNISHMENT EITHER BY THE QUIBBLES OF THE LAW, THE INSECURITY OF PRISONS, THE CARELESSNESS AND CORRUPTION OF POLICE OR A LAXITY OF THOSE WHO PRETEND TO ADMINISTER JUSTICE.

"And do you mean," asked Broderick, "that these men will take the law into their own hands; that they'll apprehend so-called criminals and presume to mete out punishment according to their own ideas of justice?"

"I mean just that," returned Benito.

"Why--it's extraordinary," Broderick objected. "It's mob law--organized banditti."

"You'll find it nothing of the sort," cried Windham hotly.

"How can it be otherwise?' asked Broderick. What's to prevent rascals taking advantage of such a movement--running it to suit themselves? They're much cleverer than honest, men; more powerful.... Else do you think I'd use my political machine? No, no, Benito, this is farce--disaster."

"Read this, then," urged Benito, and he thrust into the other's hand a list of some two hundred names. Broderick perused it with growing gravity. It represented the flower of San Francisco's business and professional aristocracy, men of all political creeds, religious, social affiliations.

* * * * *

A few days afterward Broderick conferred with his lieutenants. Word went forth that he had cut his leading strings to city politics. Rumors of a storm were in the air. When it would break no one could say with certainty. The Committee of Vigilance had quietly established quarters on Battery street near Pine, where several secret meetings had been held and officers elected. These were not made known. Members were designated by numerals instead of names. Some said they wore masks but this was an unproven rumor.

Broderick, brooding on these things one afternoon, was suddenly aware of many people running. He descried a man hastening down Long Wharf toward the bay. "Stop thief!" some one shouted. Others took it up. Broderick found himself running, too, over the loose boards of the wharf, in pursuit of the fleeing figure. The fugitive ran rapidly, despite a large burden slung over his shoulder. Presently he disappeared from view. But soon they glimpsed him in a boat, rowing lustily away.

A dozen boats set out in chase. Shots rang out. "He's thrown his bundle in the water," someone cried. "He's diving," called another. A silence, then "We've got him," came a hail exultingly.

Ere long a dripping figure surrounded by half a dozen captors, was brought upon the wharf. "He stole a safe from Virgin & Co.," Broderick was told. "The Vigilantes have him. They'll hang him probably. Come along and see the show."

"But where are the police?" asked Broderick. The man laughed contemptuously. "Where they always are--asleep," he answered, and went on.

Others brought the news that John Jenkins, an Australian convict, was the prisoner. He had several times escaped the clutches of the "law." He seemed to treat the whole proceeding as a bit of horseplay, joking profanely with his captors, boasting of his crimes.

At 10 o'clock the Monumental fire bell struck several deep-toned notes and fifteen minutes later eighty members of the Vigilance Committee had assembled. The door was locked. A constable from the police department knocked upon it long without avail. Everything was very still about the building; even the crowd which gathered there to await developments conversed in whispers.

At midnight several cloaked forms emerged, walking rapidly up the street. Then the California fire engine bell began to toll. James King of William, a local banker, leaving Vigilante quarters almost collided with Broderick. "What does that mean?" the latter asked; he pointed to the tolling bell.

"It means," King answered, solemnly, "that Jenkins is condemned to death. He'll be executed on the Plaza in an hour."

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