“This is your work,” said Brooks, facing Clarence furiously.  “You have brought them with you, but, by God, they shall not save you!” He would have clutched Clarence, but the powerful arm of Judge Beeswinger intervened.  Nevertheless, he still struggled to reach Clarence, appealing to the others:  “Are you fools to stand there and let him triumph!  Don’t you see the cowardly Yankee trick he’s played upon us?”

“He has not,” said Mrs. Brant haughtily.  “I have no reason to love him or his friends; but I know he does not lie.”

“Gentlemen!—­gentlemen!” implored Colonel Starbottle with beaming and unctuous persuasion, “may I—­er—­remark—­that all this is far from the question?  Are we to be alarmed because an unknown rabble, no matter whence they come, demand entrance here in the name of the Law?  I am not aware of any law of the State of California that we are infringing.  By all means admit them.”

The gate was thrown open.  A single thick-set man, apparently unarmed and dressed like an ordinary traveler, followed by half a dozen other equally unpretentious-looking men, entered.  The leader turned to the balcony.

“I am the Chief of Police of San Francisco.  I have warrants for the arrest of Colonel Culpepper Starbottle, Joshua Brooks, Captain Pinckney, Clarence Brant and Alice his wife, and others charged with inciting to riot and unlawful practice calculated to disturb the peace of the State of California and its relations with the Federal government,” said the leader, in a dry official voice.

Clarence started.  In spite of its monotonous utterance it was the voice of the red-bearded controversialist of the stage-coach.  But where were his characteristic beard and hair?  Involuntarily Clarence glanced at Judge Beeswinger; that gentleman was quietly regarding the stranger with an impassive face that betrayed no recognition whatever.

“But the city of San Francisco has no jurisdiction here,” said Colonel Starbottle, turning a bland smile towards his fellow-members.  “I am—­er—­sorry to inform you that you are simply trespassing, sir.”

“I am here also as deputy sheriff,” returned the stranger coolly.  “We were unable to locate the precise place of this meeting, although we knew of its existence.  I was sworn in this morning at Santa Inez by the judge of this district, and these gentlemen with me are my posse.”

There was a quick movement of resistance by the members, which was, however, again waived blandly aside by Colonel Starbottle.  Leaning forward in a slightly forensic attitude, with his fingers on the table and a shirt frill that seemed to have become of itself erectile, he said, with pained but polite precision, “I grieve to have to state, sir, that even that position is utterly untenable here.  I am a lawyer myself, as my friend here, Judge Beeswinger—­eh?  I beg your pardon!”

The officer of the law had momentarily started, with his eyes fixed on Judge Beeswinger, who, however, seemed to be quietly writing at the table.