Women screamed.
Soon or late the defenders must have fallen. But now a strange diversion
occurred. On the balcony appeared General Baker, noted as the city's
greatest orator. In his rich, sonorous tones, he began a political
speech. It rang even above the excited shouts of the mob. Instantly
there was a pause, an almost imperceptible let-down of the tension.
Those who could not see asked eagerly of others, "What's the matter now?
Who's talking?"
"It's Ed Baker making a speech."
Someone laughed. A voice roared. "Rah for Ed Baker." Others took it up.
Impulsive, variable as the wind, San Francisco found a new adventure. It
listened spellbound to golden eloquence, extolling the virtues of a
favored candidate. Meanwhile Acting Sheriff Townes rushed his prisoners
to the county jail without anyone so much as noticing their departure.
Presently three men came hurrying up and with difficulty made their way
into the court room.
"Good God! Are we too late?" the leader of the trio asked, excitedly. He
was the waterfront merchant who had recognized Berdue.
"Too late for the trial," returned Coleman; "it's over; the jury's
dismissed. Disagreed."
"And what are they doing outside?" cried the other, "are they hanging
the prisoners?"
"No, the prisoners are safe," returned Coleman, "though they had a
close enough shave, I'll admit.
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