CHAPTER XXXIV

THE HANGING OF JENKINS

Mayor Brenham pushed his way forward. "Did I understand you rightly, Mr. King?" he questioned. "This committee means to lynch a man--to murder him?"

King turned upon him fiery-eyed. "I might accuse you of a hundred murders, sir, with much more justice. Where are your police when our citizens are slain? What are your courts but strongholds of political iniquity?" He raised his arm and with a dramatic gesture, pointed toward the city hall. "Go, Mayor Brenham, rouse your jackals of pretended law.... The people have risen. At the Plaza in an hour you shall see what Justice means."

Several voices cheered. Brenham, overwhelmed, inarticulate before this outburst, turned and strode away. Broderick walked on thoughtfully. It was evident that the people were aroused past curbing. As he neared the city hall, Constable Charles Elleard approached him anxiously.

"There's going to be trouble, isn't there?" he asked. "What shall we do? We've less than a hundred men, Mr. Broderick. Perhaps we could get fifty more."

"Whatever happens, don't use firearms," Broderick cautioned. "One shot will set the town afire tonight." He came closer to the officer and whispered, "Make a show of interference, that's all.... If possible see that Sheriff Hayes' pistols don't go off.... You understand? I know what's best."

Elleard nodded. Broderick went on. Soon he heard the tramp of many feet. A procession headed by men bearing torches, was proceeding down the street toward the Plaza. As they neared he saw Jenkins, hands tied behind his back, striding along in the midst of his captors. A rope was about his neck; it extended for a hundred feet behind him, upheld by many hands.

Diagonally across the Plaza the procession streamed. At the flagstaff a halt was made. Samuel Brannan mounted a sand-heap and addressed the crowd.

"I have been deputed by the Vigilance Committee," he began, "to tell you that John Jenkins has been fairly tried; he was proven guilty of grand larceny and other crimes." He paused dramatically. "The sentence of the People's Court is death through hanging by the neck. It will be executed here at once, with your approval. All who are in favor of the committee's action, will say 'Aye.'"

"Aye! Aye!" came a thunder of voices, mingled with a few desultory "noes." Sheriff Jack Hayes rode up importantly on his prancing black charger. "In the name of the law I command this proceeding to cease."

"In the name of what law?" mocked Brannan, "the law you've been giving us for six months past?"

A roar of laughter greeted this retort. The sheriff, red-faced, held up a hand for silence. "I demand the prisoner," he shouted.

Instantly there was a quiet order. Fifty men in soldierly formation surrounded Jenkins. "Take him, then," a voice said pleasantly. It was William Coleman's. The guards of the forward ranks threw back their cloaks, revealing a score of business-like short-barrelled shotguns.

Before this show of force, the gallant Hayes retreated, baffled. He was a former Texan ranger, fearless to a fault; but he was wise enough to know when he was beaten.

"I've orders not to shoot," he said, "but I warn you that all who

## participate in this man's hanging will be liable for murder."

Again came Brannan's sneer. "If we're as safe as the last hundred men that took human life in this town, we've nothing to fear." Again a chorus of derision. The sheriff turned, outraged, on his tormentor. "You shall hear from me, sir," he said indignantly, and wheeling his horse, he rode off.

"String him up on the flagpole," suggested a bystander. But this was cried down with indignation. Several members who had been investigating now advanced with the recommendation that the hanging take place at the south-end of the old Custom House.

"We can throw the rope over a beam," cried a tall man. He was one of those who had pursued and caught Jenkins on the bay. Now he seized the rope and called, "Come on, boys."

There was a rush toward the southwest corner of the Plaza, so sudden that the hapless prisoner was jerked off his feet and dragged over the ground. When the improvised gallows was reached he was half strangled, could not stand. Several men supported him while others tossed the rope across the beam. Then, with a shout, he was jerked from his feet into space. His dangling figure jerked convulsively for a time, hung limp.

* * * * *

After the inquest Brannan met William Coleman at Vigilante headquarters. "They were very hostile," he declared; "the political gang is hot on our trail. They questioned me as to the names on our committee. I told them we went by numbers only," he laughed.

"There have been threats, veiled and open," said Coleman, soberly. "King has lost several good banking accounts and my business has fallen off noticeably. Friends have advised me to quit the committee--or worse things might happen."

Brannan took a folded paper from his pocket; it was a printed scrawl unsigned, which read:

"Beware; or your house will be burned. We mean business."

A newsboy hurried down the street crying an extra on the inquest. Brannan snatched one from his hand and the two men perused it eagerly. The finding, couched in usual verbiage, recited the obvious facts that Jenkins, alias Simpson, perished by strangulation and that "an association of citizens styling themselves a Committee of Vigilance," was responsible.

"Eight of us are implicated, besides myself," said Brannan finally, "they'll start proceedings probably at once."

"And they'll have the courts to back their dirty work," added Coleman, thoughtfully. "That will never do," his teeth shut with a little click. "I'm going to the _Herald_ office."

"What for?" asked Brannan, quickly.

"To publish the full list of names," Coleman responded. "We're all in this together; no group must bear the brunt."

"But," objected Brannan, "is that wise?"

"Of course.... in union there is strength. These crooks will hesitate to fight two hundred leading citizens; if they know them all they can't pick out a few for persecution."

"Well, I'll go along," said Brannan. "Eh, what's that? What's happened now?"

The Monumental engine bell was tolling violently. Coleman listened. "Its not a fire," he declared, "it's the Vigilante signal. We'll wait here."

A man came running toward them from the bay. "They've captured James Stuart," he shouted. "Bludgeoned a captain on his ship but the man's wife held on to him and yelled till rescue came."

"But Stuart's in the Auburn jail, awaiting execution for the murder of the sheriff," Coleman said bewildered.

"No," cried the man, "this is the real one. The other's Tom Berdue, his double."

"Then there'll be another hanging," Coleman muttered.

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