“Aye, aye,” cried a score of voices.  Instantly a hundred men rushed up the stairs and pushed aside policemen stationed at the doors.  They streamed inward, hundreds more pushing from the rear until the court room was reached.  There they halted suddenly.  Angry shouts broke from the rear.  “What’s wrong ahead?  Seize the rascals.  Bring them out!”

But the front rank of that invading army paused for an excellent reason.  They faced a row of bayonets with determined faces behind them.  Sheriff Hayes had sensed the brewing troubles and had brought the Washington Guards quietly in at a rear entrance.

So the crowd fell back and the first mob rush was baffled.  Outside the people still talked angrily.  At least a thousand thronged the court house, surrounding it with the determined and angry purpose of letting no one escape.  Mayor Geary made his way with difficulty through the press and urged them to disperse.  He assured them that the law would take its proper course and that there was no danger of the prisoners’ release or escape.  They listened to him respectfully but very few left their posts.  Here and there speakers addressed the multitude.

The crowd, the first fever abated, had resolved itself into a semi-parliamentary body.  But no real leader had arisen.  And so it arrived at nothing save the appointment of a committee to confer with the authorities and insure the proper guarding of the prisoners.  Brannan was one of these and Benito another.

“Windham’s getting to be a well-known citizen,” said a bystander to Adrian, “I hear he’s studying law with Hall McAllister.  Used to be a dreamy sort of chap.  He’s waking up.”

“Yes, his wife is at the bottom of it,” Stanley answered.

Sunday morning 8,000 people surrounded the courthouse.  Less turbulent than on the previous day, their purpose was more grimly certain.

Mayor Geary’s impressive figure appeared on the balcony of the court house.  He held out a hand for silence and amid the hush that followed, spoke with brevity and to the point.

“The people’s will is final,” he conceded, “but this very fact entails responsibility, noblesse oblige!  What we want is justice, gentlemen.  Now, I’ll tell you how to make it sure.  Appoint a jury of twelve men from among yourselves.  Let them sit at the trial with the presiding judge.  Their judgment shall be final.  I pledge you my word for that.”

He ceased and again the crowd began murmuring.  A tall, smooth-shaven youth began to talk with calm distinctness.

There was about him the aspect of command.  People ceased their talk to listen.  “I move you, gentlemen,” he shouted, “that a committee of twelve men be appointed from amongst us to retire and consider this situation calmly.  They shall then report and if their findings are approved, they shall be law.”

“Good!  Good!” came a chorus of voices.  “Hurray for Bill Coleman.  Make him chairman.”