Wheaton addressed the banker:

"Mr. Morehouse, we've got orders and writs of one kind or another
from the Circuit Court of Appeals at 'Frisco directing that this
money be turned over to us." He shoved the papers towards the
other. "We're not in a mood to trifle. That gold belongs to us,
and we want it."

Morehouse looked carefully at the papers.

"I can't help you," he said. "These documents are not directed to
me. They're issued to Mr. McNamara and Judge Stillman. If the
Circuit Court of Appeals commands me to deliver it to you I'll do
it, but otherwise I'll have to keep this dust here till it's drawn
out by order of the court that gave it to me. That's the way it
was put in here, and that's the way it'll be taken out."

"We want it now."

"Well, I can't let my sympathies influence me"

"Then we'll take it out, anyway," cried Glenister. "We've had the
worst of it everywhere else and we're sick of it. Come on, men."

"Stand back!--all of you!" cried Morehouse. "Don't lay a hand on
that gate. Boys, pick your men."

He called this last to his clerks, at the same instant whipping
from behind the counter a carbine, which he cocked. The assayer
brought into view a shot-gun, while the cashier and clerks armed