Up to this day Casey had been very content with his situation. His
quarters were the best the place afforded, and they had been made more
comfortable. Scores of friends had visited him, hailing him as their
champion. He had been made to feel quite a hero. To be sure it was a
nuisance to be so confined; but when he shot King, he had anticipated
undergoing some inconvenience. It was a price to pay. He understood
that there was some public excitement, and that it was well to lie low
for a little until that had died down. The momentary annoyance would be
more than offset by later prestige. Casey did not in the least fear the
courts. He had before his eyes too many reassuring examples. His
friends were rallying nobly to his defence. Over the wines and cigars,
with which he was liberally supplied, they boasted of their strength
and their dispositions--the whole police force of the city, the militia
companies sworn, to act in just such emergencies, hundreds of
volunteers, if necessary the whole power of the State of California
called to put down this affronting of duly constituted law!
But this Sunday morning Casey was uneasy. There seemed to be much
whispering in corners, much bustling to and fro. He paced back and
forth, fretting, interrogating those about him. But they could or would
tell him little--there was trouble;--and they fussed away, leaving
Casey alone. As a matter of fact, the withdrawal of the committee's
guard of ten, and the formal notice that the truce was thus promptly
ended, had caught the Law and Order party unprepared. With five hours'
notice--or indeed by next day, even were no notice given--the jail
would have been impregnably defended. The sudden move of the committee
won; as prompt, decisive moves will.
The bustling of the people in the jail suddenly died. Casey heard no
shuffle of feet, no whisper of conversation. The building might have
been empty save for himself. But he did hear outside the steady
rhythmic tramp of feet.
Sheriff Scannell stood before him, the Vigilantes' written
communication in his hand. Casey, looking up from the bed on which he
had fallen in sudden shrinking, saw on his face an expression that made
him cower. For the first time realization came to him of the straits
he was in. His vivid Irish imagination leaped instantaneously from the
complacence of absolute safety to the depths of terror. He sprang to
his feet.
"You aren't going to betray me! You aren't going to give me up!" he
cried, wringing his hands.
"James," replied' Scannell solemnly, "there are three thousand armed
men coming for you, and I have not now thirty supporters around the
jail."
"Not thirty!" cried. Casey, astonished. For a moment he appeared
crushed; then leaped to his feet flourishing a long knife he had drawn
from his boot. "I'll not be taken from this place alive!" he shrieked,
beside himself with hysteria. "Where are all you brave fellows who were
going to see me through this?"
Scannell looked at him sadly. In the pause came a sharp knocking at the
door of the jail. The sheriff turned away. A moment later Casey,
listening intently, heard the door open and close, heard the sound of
talking. He fairly darted to his table, scrawled a paper, and called to
attract attention. Marshal North, answered the summons.
"Give this to them--to the Vigilantes," urged Casey, thrusting the
paper into his hands. North glanced through the note.
TO THE VIGILANT COMMITTEE. Gentlemen: I am willing to go before you if
you will let me speak but ten minutes. I do not wish the blood of any
man upon my head.