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Phillips began applying mustard plaster to Sut
ton’s hands and feet to try to restore his circulation. King moaned.

“
Who’s responsible for the fee if he dies?” Dr. Dee asked.

“
The Committee of Vigilance, I understand.”

“
Good,” Dr. Dee said. “We’ll have to put in a
sponge to plug that artery.”

Dr. Phillips hesitated. Probably
Dee was right,
he thought. Wasn’t the man a licentiate of the
Royal College of Surgeons of Ireland? At least he
claimed to be.

“
I’m inclined to agree, doctor,” Phillips said.
“At least putting in a sponge will give us time to
put our heads together.”

Dr. Dee took a piece of white sponge the size
of a large hen’s egg,
moistened it with water, and
shoved the sponge up into the wound. King Sutton
moaned once and was quiet. Dee felt his pulse,
then applied wet compresses and bandaged the
wound.

“
Now we’ll let nature take its course,” Dr. Dee
said.

When a third physician, Dr. Chauncey Speer,
arrived at the hotel an hour later he had to push
his way through a throng milling outside waiting
for news. In Sutton’s rooms, he found the two doc
tors arguing in a parlor clouded with tobacco
smoke.

“
There’s no question,” Dr. Dee was saying, “but
that cholera’s caused by a morbid condition of the
air. Miasma.”

“
Not at all,” Dr. Phillips said. “My experience
shows it comes from intemperance. I’ve seen three cases this past week and debauchery, drunkenness
and bad food were involved in all three. Not to
mention filth.”

After inquiring what had been done for the patient, Dr. Speer went into the bedroom where he
found the unconscious Sutton lying on his massive
bed. Dr. Speer examined him and rejoined his col
leagues.

“
We can’t wait any longer,” he told them. “This
artery question has to be settled now. If the ar
tery’s severed, we have to operate at once and
suture it.”

“
Closing the artery’s a risky business,” Dr.
Dee said. “I thought at first the artery was in
volved but now I’m not sure. The hemorrhaging has stopped.”

“
The risk must be taken. We can’t just wait. You said
leave the sponge in. Now you say
take it out and, I suppose, you want to suture the
artery. Why can’t you make up your mind?”

“
But doctor . . .” Phillips began.

“
We can’t operate. Didn’t you see the extent of the swelling in the left breast? It must be conges
tion induced by the sponge.”

“
Isn’t that a good reason to open him up? To
let that fluid drain?”

“
We’ve waited too long,” Dee said. “It’s too dangerous now. His condition’s become too pre
carious.”

“
I think we should have another opinion.”

“
Speer again?”

“
Good God, not that pompous ass. What about
that army surgeon, Griffen? I’m told he’s had ex
perience with wounds in the Mexican War.”

“
Most army surgeons,” Dr. Dee said, “aren’t
worth the powder to blow them up with. As you
know. Why would they stay in the army if they
can make a living practicing on the outside?”

“
Still we should have another opinion. Especially after the fuss Speer’s likely to make.” Dr.
Phillips walked to the window and looked down
at the crowd waiting for news. “The Committee of Vigilance is involved. They jailed that gam
bler Rhynne and they’ll put him on trial before the
week’s out. Whatever happens, whether Sutton
lives or dies, there’s bound to be an inquiry. The newspapers are into it, of course. I saw Curie in
the corridor when I came here this morning.”

“
I acknowledge the merit of your position, doc
tor. Yes, I totally agree that another opinion is
indicated. And this Griffen is probably as good as anyone else.
Dr. Griffen arrived at dusk. A stooped, arthritic man, he briskly examined the patient while mumbling to himself and dolefully shaking his head. When the three men came out of the bedroom, he
glared at Phillips and Dee.

“
Who put in that damned sponge?” he asked.

The two doctors looked at one another.
“I did,”
Dee admitted. “After consulting with Dr. Phil
lips.”

Griffen sighed.

“A temporary measure only, doctor,” Dee said.
“We had to do something to stop the hemorrhag
ing, and we did succeed in doing that.”

“
What do you recommend?” Dr. Phillips asked.

“
It’s too late to operate,” Griffen said. “He’d
die on the table. And it’s too late to remove the
sponge. I suggest we relieve the-congestion with
an incision under the armpit.”

“
Anything else?”

“
We might all try praying,”

When Dr. Griffen made the incision under the exit wound, great quantities of pus drained from
the opening. King Sutton did not, however, rally.
He remained stuporous. Dr. Phillips suggested
they take turns at his bedside. Dr. Dee agreed but
Dr. Griffen grunted and muttered something
about a suspected case of cholera at the Presidio.
He bid them goodnight and let himself out.
”

“
I’ll talk to the crowd out there,” Dee said. He
went into the parlor. “Kingman Sutton is still
alive but moribund,” he announced. “We’re doing
all we can, but we hold out little hope, as the
wound appears mortal. We’ve been fortunate to
be able to prevent the patient’s suffering; we are
struggling against odds to save him.”
The message was passed from man to man
along the corridor outside the room and was
called from the window. “Dying, Sutton’s dying.”
The word seemed to echo up from the street.
“Dying, dying, dying.”

“
I’m given to understand, doctor,” Curie said, “that there is considerable dispute among the at
tending physicians. Regarding the most appropri
ate treatment.”

“
Not at all. You can ask Drs. Phillips and Grif
fen if you like. We all freely aired our opinions,
of course, since medicine is still far from an exact science. But we were unanimous in the treatment
decided upon. Unfortunately the patient is not
responding. And that, gentlemen, is God’s will.”

Danny O
’Lee watched the armed Vigilantes
escort Wordsworth Rhynne along the waterfront street toward the jail.

“
They caught him boarding the Sacramento
packet disguised as a woman,” a man near Danny said. “He says he didn’t shoot Sutton. Can you believe that?”

After the capture, Danny knew, they had taken
Rhynne to the Committee’s offices where the
charge—attempted murder—was read to him. He
was then marched through the city to the Argonaut, an old coastal freighter that had been con
verted into a jail.

Rhynne looked composed, almost nonchalant, as he walked up the ramp to the deck of the ship
with his hands tied behind him. The Argonaut
had been beached the month before and propped upright with four-by-four timbers. Eventually the
land around and under the ship would be filled
with dirt and rocks but now it perched high off
the ground.

When Rhynne reached the top of the ramp he
paused and looked to his right and left. Danny
waved to him, trying to catch his eyes to give him
some sign of encouragement. Rhynne, though,
didn’t appear to see him before he was pushed
into the ship’s cabin.

“
They’ll try him as soon as Sutton gives up the
ghost and hang him the day after,” someone said.

“
If Sutton dies.”

“
I heard he’s failing. They don’t expect him to
live out the day.”

Only getting his just deserts, Danny thought.
Had Rhynne shot him? Somehow Danny couldn’t
believe he had. Why would Rhynne kill Sutton
when he had so much to lose and nothing to gain?
In the heat of passion perhaps? Danny couldn’t
imagine Rhynne becoming so enraged he’d com
mit murder.

Danny crossed
Portsmouth Street on his way to
the Golden Empire. Although McSweeney and
Abe Greene were running the gambling hall in
Rhynne’s absence, Danny was worried. After all,
most of his money was invested there.

Where had the rest of his money gone? To Se
lena, for the most part. She had had an endless
passion for clothes and jewelry, or so it seemed to
Danny. As fast as the Luck O’ the Irish Mine produced gold dust, Selena spent it. The lode and
Selena’s passion for him had both run out at the
same time.

Strange, though. He had no regrets. Selena had
been worth all he had spent on her.
Danny stopped short, staring at the two men
walking ahead of him—both Vigilantes coming
uptown from the
Argonaut.
One looked familiar,
a big man with a neatly trimmed beard and a bit
of a paunch. Who was he?

Danny increased his pace until he was only a
few feet from the men as they paused on a street
corner. One of them, not the man Danny thought
he recognized, said, “The trial’s tomorrow at nine,
Duke, if Sutton dies.”

Duke. Of course, Duke Olmsted. A leaner,
better dressed Duke, but the same man who had
killed Danny’s father three years before.

Duke said something to his companion and they
parted with a handshake, Duke walking on up
California Street. Danny followed, his hand touch
ing the butt of the Colt thrust under his belt. Since
the duel with Sutton he’d practiced long hours
with the Colt and had developed into a fair shot.

Danny lagged behind, watching as Duke
nodded to men passing on the street. He must have
been right here in San Francisco all this time and Danny hadn’t been able to find him. Because he’d
looked in all the wrong places. Duke no longer seemed a man who frequented waterfront hell
holes.

I
’ll wait until he’s alone, Danny told himself,
and then I’ll kill him. With no more warning, no
more chance to defend himself than he gave my
dad. I’ll shoot him down and that will be the end
of it.

A half mile from the docks, Duke Olmsted climbed the porch steps of a modest house and
went inside. Danny found a barrel in an alley
out of the house accompanied by a sallow-faced
woman. She wore a grey dress and her hair was
drawn into a bun at the back of her head. She
looked up at Duke and he leaned over and kissed her
lightly on the lips. When he set off for the city, the
woman stood on the porch watching him until he
was out of sight.

Danny pushed himself from the barrel and followed. They were almost to the Square when the
city bell began to clang. The Vigilantes again?
Danny wondered. Had Sutton died? No, the bell
rang three times, was silent, then rang twice more.
The signal was repeated, three and two, three and
two.

Fire!

With the first ringing of the bell, Duke started
to run. He turned up a side street with Danny a
hundred feet behind. Danny saw smoke billow
into the sky ahead of them. Men were running
beside him, then he heard the crackle of flames. He
turned a corner and saw a storage shed burning in
the middle of the block.