THE STORM GATHERS
It was Nesbitt who told Broderick of the murder. Nesbitt, of whom
Richardson had said the night before, "he slings a wicked pen."
"My God, Jim, this is awful!" Broderick exclaimed. "You're sure there's
no mistake ... I saw the two of them go out arm in arm."
"Mistake! I wish it were," cried Nesbitt angrily. "No, poor Billy
Richardson is dead. Cora's in jail.... They say Cora laughed when he
went to prison with Scannell.... Scannell and Mulligan!" He spat out the
words with a savage distaste.
"Let me show you something, Dave. A reporter from the New York _Express_
was out here gathering data--crime statistics for the year. He showed it
to me. Listen to this: Four hundred and eighty-nine murders in
California during ten months. Six executions by sheriffs, forty-six
hanged by mobs; that makes fifty-two in all."
He tapped the paper with his lean forefinger. "Probably two hundred of
these killings were local.... And in the entire history of this city
there's been exactly one legal execution. That was in 1852."
Broderick shook his head. "What are you going to do with that stuff?"
asked Broderick.
"Publish it in the _Bulletin_," returned Nesbitt decisively. "We're
going to stir things up."
They walked along together, Broderick's head bent in thought. Everywhere
people were discussing the evening's tragedy. More than once "Judge
Lynch's" name was mentioned threateningly.
About the jail men swarmed, coming and going in an excited human tide.
Some brandished fists at the unresponsive brick walls or called threats
against Cora. As Broderick and Nesbitt passed the door, a handsome and
richly clad woman emerged. Trickling tears had devastated the cosmetic
smoothness of her cheeks. Her eyes looked frantic. But she proceeded
calmly, almost haughtily to a waiting carriage. The driver whipped his
horses and the equipage rolled on through a scattering crowd, some of
whom shouted epithets after it.
"That was Belle Cora, who keeps that bawdy house up town," Nesbitt
volunteered.
"Yes," said Broderick musingly, "she seemes to take it hard."
"She's mad about the fellow," Nesbitt waved a parting salutation and
walked toward the Bulletin office.
Broderick turned homeward, thinking of the two dark figures he had
passed on Clay street where the killing had taken place. Perchance if he
had stopped as he was minded, the tragedy might have been averted.
Nobody seemed to know just how it came about. The thing was most
unfortunate politically. King would stir up a hornet's nest of public
opinion. Broderick reached his lodgings and at once retired. His sleep
was fitful. He dreamed that Alice Windham and Sheriff Scannell were
fighting for his soul.
In the morning he met Benito on the plaza and the two encountered
Colonel E.D. Baker.
"I hear you're Cora's counsel," said Benito with a touch of disapproval.
Baker looked at the young man over his spectacles. He was a big
impressive man whose appearance as well as his words swayed juries. He
commanded large fees. It was to Broderick rather than Benito that he
made reply.
"That Belle woman--she calls herself Mrs. Cora--came to me last night.
By the Lord, she melted my heart. She got down on her knees. How she
loves that gambler!... Well, I promised to defend him, confound it." He
passed on shaking his head.
"Didn't mention what his fee was," Broderick spoke cynically.
"I'm informed he tried to give it back to her this morning," said
Benito. "But she wouldn't take it. Made a scene and held him to his
honor." He laughed.
* * * * *
Cora's trial dragged itself into the following January on the slow feet
of countless technicalities. Every legal subterfuge was exhausted by the
quartet of talented and high-priced attorneys provided by Belle Cora's
questionable fortune but unquestioned affection. The trial proved a
feast of oratory, a mass of contradictory evidence. Before it began a
juror named Jacob Mayer accused L. Sokalasky with offering him a bribe.
Sokalasky, brought into court, denied the charge. And there it ended,
save that thenceforth the "twelve good men and true" were exiled even
from their families by the order of Judge Hagar. None the less it seemed
quite evident as a morning paper cynically remarked, that the stable had
been locked after the horses were stolen.
On January 17 the Cora jury announced its inability to agree. The trial
ended minus a conviction.
* * * * *
Ned McGowan, James P. Casey, Sheriff Scannell and his aid, Billy
Mulligan, had frequent conferences in the offices of Casey's _Sunday
Times_. Broderick held more or less aloof from his political
subordinates these troublous days. But Charley Duane, former chief
engineer of the fire department, was their frequent consort. The _Sunday
Times_ concentrated its fire chiefly on James King of William. It was
his biting, unstudied verbiage that struck "The Federal Brigade" on
the raw.
Early in May the _Times_ accused Thomas King, the _Bulletin_ editor's
brother, of scheming by illegal means to gain the office that
Richardson's death had left vacant.
To this imputation, the _Bulletin_ made a sharp reply. Among other items
calculated to enrage his foe appeared the following:
"The fact that Casey has been an inmate of Sing Sing prison
in New York is no offense against the laws of this State; nor
is the fact of his having stuffed himself through the ballot
box, as elected to the Board of Supervisors from a district
where it is said he was not even a candidate, any
justification why Mr. Bagley should shoot Casey, however
richly he may deserve having his neck stretched for such
fraud upon the people...."
There was more, but this was all that Casey read. He tore the paper into
shreds and stamped upon it, inarticulate with fury. When at last he
found his tongue a flood of obscenities flowed. He drew a pistol from
his pocket; brandishing the weapon, he reached for the door knob. But
Doane, who had brought the paper, caught his arm.
"Don't be a fool. Put that pistol away," he warned. "The public's
crazy-mad about the Cora verdict. They won't stand for shooting King."
"Listen," said McGowan, craftily, "go up there and protest like a
gentleman. Try to make the ---- insult you in the presence of a
witness.... Afterward--we'll see."