a matter of record that a small boy passing by was commandeered and sent
with a message for Peter Wrightman, a deputy sheriff. Pete, out of
breath, soon joined the group. There he idled, also watching,--an
official charged with the maintenance of the law of the land!

At just five o'clock King turned the corner, his head bent. He started
to cross the street diagonally and had almost reached the opposite
sidewalk when he was confronted by Casey who stepped forward from his
place of concealment behind a wagon.

"Come on," he said, throwing back his cloak, and immediately fired.
King, who could not have known what Casey was saying, was shot through
the left breast, staggered, and fell. Casey then took several steps
toward his victim, looked at him closely as though to be sure he had
done a good job, let down the hammer of his pistol, picked up his cloak,
and started for the police-station. All he wanted now was a trial under
the law.

The distance to the station-house was less than a block. Instantly at
the sound of the shot his friends rose about him and guarded him to the
shelter of the lock-up. But at last the public was aroused. Casey had
unwittingly cut down a symbol of the better element, as well as a
fearless and noble man. Someone rang the old Monumental Engine House
bell--the bell that had been used to call together the Vigilantes of
1851. The news spread about the city like wildfire. An immense mob
appeared to spring from nowhere.

The police officials were no fools; they recognized the quality of the
approaching hurricane. The city jail was too weak a structure. It was
desirable to move the prisoner at once to the county jail for