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Updated: June 3, 2025
They were grouped about a long table, twenty-nine men, the executive committee. At their head sat William Coleman, grim and stern, despite his clear complexion and his youthful, beardless mien. Near him, Isaac Bluxome, keen-eyed, shrewd, efficient, made notes of the proceedings.
Coleman rose with a brisk movement. He paced the room half a dozen times, his hands behind him, his head slightly bent, before he spoke. "Bring 'em in. Call Bluxome and as many of the Executive Committee as you can find." 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.
Beverly Cole, high-spirited, distinguished-looking, and courtly; Isaac Bluxome, whose signature of "33 Secretary" was to become terrible, and who also had served well in 1851. These and many more of their type were considering the question dispassionately and earnestly. "It is a serious business," said Coleman, summing up. "It is no child's play. It may prove very serious.
Keith slammed his papers into a drawer, locked it and his office door, and went directly to the office of the Bulletin. There, seated in all the chairs, perched on the tables and window ledges, he found a representative group. He recognized most of them, including James King of William, Coleman, Hossfros, Isaac Bluxome, Talbot Ward, and others. A dead silence greeted his appearance.
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