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."