Benito departed. Presently there filed into the room nine gentlemen, headed by Macondray. They belonged neither to the Vigilantes nor to the Law and Order Party. And they were now bent on averting a clash between the two. "William," Macondray, acting as the spokesman, "what message shall we take the Governor?" Bluxome, Smiley, Dempster and others of the Executive Committee entered. Coleman explained to them the purpose of Macondray and his friends. "What shall we say to them, boys?" he asked. "Put it in your own words," Bluxome said. "We'll stand by what you say." Coleman faced Macondray and his companions. "Tell J. Neely Johnson," he announced, "that if he will consent to withdraw his proclamation we will, on our part, make no further parade of our forces on the street, nor will we resist by force any orders of the court." Bluxome and his companions nodded. Macondray looked a trifle puzzled. "Suppose he declines to withdraw the proclamation?" he asked, hesitatingly. "Then," the voice of Coleman rang, "we promise nothing." * * * * * On the boat which took them to Benicia, Macondray and his friends met Major-General Sherman of the State Militia. They found him striding up and down the deck, chewing his cigar. Macondray and he compared notes. Sherman had been summoned for an interview with Johnson. The Governor planned a final onslaught of persuasion, hoping General Wool would change his mind; would furnish arms for the militia. "If he doesn't, it's useless. Men can't fight without guns." Macondray thought he noted an undertone of relief in Sherman's words. "Do you think he'll give them to you?" Macondray asked in an undertone. Sherman slowly shook his head. He walked away, as though he dreaded further questioning. * * * * * At Benicia, Sherman and the Macondray party rode up in the same 'bus to the Solano House. Sherman was admitted at once. The committee was asked to wait. Sherman entered a room blue with tobacco smoke. It contained four men, besides the Governor: Chief Justice David S. Terry, a tall man with a hard face, sat tilted back in a chair, his feet on the Governor's table. He had not taken off his hat. Without moving or apparently looking in that direction, he spat at regular intervals toward the fireplace. Near him sat Edward S. Baker, statesmanlike, impressive, despite his drink-befuddlement; Edward Jones, of Palmer, Cook & Co., smaller, shrewd, keen and avaricious-eyed, was pouring a drink from a decanter; Volney Howard, fat, pompous, aping a blasé, decadent manner, stood, as usual, near the mantel. They all looked up as Sherman entered. Terry favored him with a half-concealed scowl; Howard with an open sneer; Jones with deprecating hostility. Baker smiled. The Governor, who seemed each day to grow more nervous and irritable, held out his hand.