After a little, however, doubtless to the
great relief of the "outside garrison" of the armory, the great
Vigilante bell began to boom out its signals: _one, two, three_--rest;
_one, two, three_--rest; and so on.
Instantly the streets were alive with men. Merchants left their
customers, clerks their books, mechanics their tools. Draymen stripped
their horses of harness, abandoned their wagons, and rode away to join
their cavalry. Within an incredibly brief space of time everybody was
off for the armory, the military companies marching like veterans, the
artillery rumbling over the pavement. The cavalry, jogging along at a
slow trot, covered the rear. A huge and roaring mob accompanied them,
followed them, raced up the side-streets to arrive at the armory at the
same time as the first files of the military force. They found the
square before the building entirely deserted except for the dauntless
Barry and Bovee, who still marched up and down singlehanded, holding the
garrison within. They were able to report that no one had either entered
or left the armory.
Inside the building the spirit had become one of stubborn sullenness.
Terry was very sorry--as, indeed, he well might be--a Judge of the
Supreme Court, who had no business being in San Francisco at all.
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