Very cautiously, and with frequent pauses to listen, a large hole was bored next to the place where the bolt shot into the socket. Two or three minutes were occupied in this work. Charley then succeeded in drawing back the bolt with his fingers, a little at a time, when the trap was carefully lifted far enough to let the merchant squeeze his body through it, and so up into the store. As this was felt to be the critical moment, those who were left below listened breathlessly for any sound from above, as the trap was immediately lowered after the merchant passed through it.
It was, of course, pitch-dark in the store, but knowing the way as well in the dark as in the daytime, and being in his stocking-feet, the merchant stood only a moment to listen. Out of the darkness the sleeping watchmen could be heard snoring heavily away in the little corner office. Groping his way with cat-like tread, the merchant, with two or three quick turns of the wrist, screwed a gimlet into the woodwork of the office door, over the latch, thus securely fastening the sleepers in. Observing the same precautions, he then felt for the lock on the front door, and finding the key in the lock he turned it softly, putting the key in his pocket. Even should they awake, the watchmen inside the office could only get out by breaking down the door; while their comrade outside would be kept from coming to their assistance. The merchant had certainly shown himself not only to be a man of nerve, but no mean strategist.
The merchant having signaled that all was safe, all the rest of the party, except Walter, immediately joined him. The safe was speedily located, some loose gunny-bags were spread upon the floor to deaden the sound, two stout slings were quickly passed around the safe, the tackle hooked on, and in less than ten minutes the object of the adventure was safely lowered into the lighter. No time was lost in getting the scow clear of her dangerous berth, nor was it until they had put a long stretch of water behind them that the adventurers breathed freely.
The daring midnight burglary was duly chronicled in the evening papers as one of the boldest and most successful known to the criminal annals of San Francisco. Would it be believed, it was asked, that with three heavily armed guards on the watch inside and outside of the building, the burglars had actually succeeded in carrying off so bulky an article as an iron safe under the very noses of these alleged guardians? Connivance on their part was strongly hinted at. The police were on the track of the gang who did the job, and the public might rest assured that when caught they would be given short shrift. The burglars were supposed to have sunk the safe in the harbor after rifling it of its contents.
Charley frequently came ashore in the evening, leaving Bill in charge of the ship. Walter ranched at Clark's Point, near the waterside, and only a few steps from the landing place. The neighborhood, to tell the truth, did not bear a very good reputation, it being a resort for sailors of all nations, whose nightly carousals in the low dramshops generally kept the place in an uproar till morning, and often ended in bloodshed.
Walter was busily engaged in sewing up a rip in his overalls, meantime humming to himself snatches of "The Old Folks at Home," when Charley came stamping into the room. Seating himself on an empty nail-keg, he proceeded to free his mind in the following manner:
"You've been working pretty steady now for—how long?"
"Three months last Monday," assisted Walter, consulting a chalk mark on the wall.
"Long 'nuff to entitle you to a bit of a vacation, I'm a-thinkin'. What say to takin' a little gunnin' trip up country? Bill knows the ropes now pretty well. A friend of mine 'll lend me the shootin' fixin's. Couldn't you get off for a few days, think? Come, get that Ramon chap out of your head for a bit. It's wearin' on you."
Walter jumped at the offer. Thus far he had never set foot out of the city, and Charley, an enthusiast in anything that he had set his mind upon, now portrayed the delights of a tramp among the foothills of the Coast Range in glowing colors. Walter easily found a substitute for the few days he expected to be away, while Charley had nobody's permission to ask. So the very next afternoon saw the two sportsmen crossing the ferry to Contra Costa, Charley carrying a rifle and Walter a shotgun, the necessary traps for camping out being divided equally between them.
"I only hope we may set eyes on a grizzly," Charley remarked, slapping the breech of his rifle affectionately, as they stepped on shore. "That's why I chose this feller," he added.
"Better let grizzlys alone. From all I hear they're pretty tough customers," was Walter's cautious comment.
"I don't care. Just you wait till I see one, that's all. I'm all fixed for him—lock, stock, and barrel."
They soon struck into the well-beaten road leading to the Coast Range, and after steadily tramping until dark entered a small settlement where travelers, coming and going over this route, usually put up for the night. A night's lodging was soon arranged for at the only public house that the place could afford, and after eating a hearty supper, and leaving word with the landlord to call them up as soon as it was light in the morning, the two amateur hunters were glad to tumble into bed.
The house was a two-story frame building, with the second-story windows in front opening upon a veranda, after the Southern style of public houses. The air being hot and close in their room, Walter threw up a window the first thing upon going into it. He saw that one might easily step out from the room onto the veranda, or in, for that matter. Then, there was no lock on the door, but as neither he nor Charley was afraid of being robbed, the want of a lock did not prevent their going to sleep as soon as they struck their beds. It is probable that they did not even turn over once during the night.
Walter was awakened by the sound of a gentle scratching, or tapping, at the door. Upon opening his eyes he perceived that it was beginning to be quite light. He listened until the sound was repeated, sat up in bed, and being satisfied that it must be some one calling them to get up, slipped out of bed, yawning and stretching himself, went to the door, half opened it, and, still only half awake, peered out.
What he saw made him start back in affright, and his hair to rise up on his head In an instant.
Standing erect on his hind feet, clumsily beating the air with his forepaws and lolling out a long red tongue, was an enormous, shaggy grizzly bear at least a foot taller than Walter himself.
One look was enough. Giving one yell, Walter made a dash for the open window, leaped out upon the veranda, vaulted over it, and grasping firm hold of the railing, let himself drop down into the street. Imagining that the bear was close behind, he incontinently took to his heels, not even turning to look back over his shoulder to see what had become of Charley.
Startled out of a sound sleep by Walter's cry of alarm, Charley threw off the bedclothes, rubbed his eyes, and, with their aid, saw the bear waddling with rolling gait into the room on all fours. He too made a dash for the window, adopting without hesitation the only route of escape open to him.
The bear quickly followed suit, sliding with ease down an upright, and, on touching the ground, immediately set off after the fugitives, upon whom the discovery that the bear was after them acted like a spur upon a mettled charger. They no longer ran, they flew.
The hunters hunted by a grizzly bear.—Page 208.
Up to this hour the village had not shaken off its slumbers, but the frantic shouts of the fugitives, who saw that the faster they ran the faster ran the bear, quickly aroused other sleepers from their morning nap. Dogs began to bark and give chase to the bear. Windows began to be thrown up, and heads to appear at them. Still the race for life continued. Bruin was evidently gaining upon the fugitives, who could not much longer keep up the pace at which they were going. Feeling his breath failing him, Charley, who was a few rods behind Walter, had even almost made up his mind to stop short in his tracks, face about, and let the bear work its will upon him, so giving his bosom friend a chance to escape.
Fortunately, however, this heroic self-sacrifice was not to be made. At the last house a street door was seen very cautiously to open, while a head protruded from it. Ceremony here was quite out of the question. Walter instantly dashed into this welcome haven of refuge, with Charley, now quite spent, at his heels, overturning the man of the house in their mad rush for safety. It took but a moment to shut and bolt the door, and, as if that was not enough, Walter braced his back against it, panting and breathless. Only when this was done, did the two friends draw a free breath. Both were completely done up.
Excited by the chase, enraged at seeing his victims escaping, the bear snuffed the air, pawed at the door, swayed his huge bulk to and fro, and gave vent to his rage in loud and unearthly roarings that could be heard by every inhabitant of the village.
Meantime the man into whose premises the two young men had so unceremoniously entered, after taking a good look at the bear out of the window, almost bent double in the effort to control his laughter. "Why, boys," said he, between fits of choking, "that's Jem Stackpole's tame grizzly." He had recognized the animal now holding them besieged as one that had been taken when a cub, and brought up by the landlord of the public house from which the boys had made their sudden exit, as an object of curiosity to his guests. The iron collar which Bruin still wore confirmed this account. It was all plain enough now. Having contrived to free himself from his chain, the bear had easily gained access to the house by climbing up the before-mentioned veranda bear-fashion. He was considered quite harmless, the man explained, but on seeing the young men run away the bear had run after them, at first out of mere playfulness. So Walter and Charley had been running a race with a tame grizzly, through the public street of the village, in broad daylight, in their night clothes.
By this time something of a crowd had collected, all tongues going at once. The laugh of course went against the boys, though some were in favor of shooting the bear, and so putting an end to his wild pranks. His master, however, who now came forward with a pitchfork in one hand and an earthenware dish containing a stiff mixture of whisky and honey in the other, objected to having the bear killed, although the creature was now so ferocious that no one dared to go near him.
Setting the dish down upon the ground, and silently waving the crowd back, the man began calling the bear by his pet name of "Rusty" in a coaxing tone, and presently Bruin, having scented the seductive mixture, marched toward it and began lapping it up, occasionally emitting a fierce growl by way of notifying the bystanders to keep their distance.
By the time the dish was licked clean Bruin was dead-drunk and rolling helplessly in the dirt. His chain was then securely fastened on, and the brute ignominiously dragged off to the stable to sleep off his potations.
Walter and Charley were compelled to borrow a pair of trousers apiece before they could venture back to the public house, the observed of all observers. Needless to say, they made all haste to leave the inhospitable spot. Upon calling for their bill, the landlord declared there was nothing to pay, and, with a straight face, politely hoped they would recommend his house to their friends.
Walter insisted upon paying, but the landlord was firm. The fame of the tame-bear hunt would attract customers to his house, he said. Under the circumstances he could not think of making any charge whatever.
When they were well out of the village, Charley, who had maintained a dogged silence, suddenly turned to Walter and exclaimed, "I won't tell if you won't!"
"Don't be a ninny," was the curt reply.
"If I'd only had my rifle!" muttered Charley, who, all the same, could not forbear looking backward every few minutes as they trudged on.
The disconsolate pair made their way up among the foothills, but neither seemed to be in the right mood for keen sportsmen, or else game was not so plenty as they had expected to find it. After Charley had blown the nipple out of his rifle in firing at a coyote, and Walter had shot half a dozen rabbits, which, though wounded, succeeded in reaching their holes and crawling into them, the twain willingly turned their faces homeward. Footsore and weary, but with appetites sharpened by their long tramp, they were only too glad to set foot once again in the streets of the city. With a brief "So long, Charley," "So long, Walt," "Mum, you know," "Hope to die," they separated to go their respective ways.
While on his way to work on Saturday morning, full of his own thoughts, Walter could not help noticing the absence of the usual bustle and movement in the streets. If the shops had not been open, he would have thought it was Sunday, instead of the last day of the week. All business seemed to be at a standstill. Merchants stood outside their doors, glancing uneasily up and down the street and from time to time holding whispered talks with their neighbors. Every one wore a sober face; every one seemed expecting something to happen. But what was it? What could it be?
Yesterday Walter would have passed along the same streets hardly noticed. To-day he wondered why everybody stared at him so. Furbish was about starting off on his dray when Walter reached the stand. He, too, hardly replied when Walter gave him the customary "Good-morning." What could it all mean?
Suddenly the big bell on the plaza thundered out three heavy strokes—one, two, three, and no more—boom! boom! boom!
To the last day of his life Walter never forgot the sight that followed. At the first stroke of that deep-toned bell the strange quiet burst its bounds. Those already in the streets started off on the run for the plaza. Those who were indoors rushed out, buckling on their weapons as they ran. Workmen threw down their tools to join in the race. Furbish jumped off his dray, shouting to Walter as he ran, "Come on! Don't you hear it?" There was no noise except the trampling of feet. Nobody asked a question of his neighbor. But every eye wore a look of grim determination, as if some matter of life and death dwelt in the imperious summons of that loud alarm-bell.
After gazing a moment in utter bewilderment, Walter started off on the run with the rest. He, too, had caught the infection. The distance was nothing. He found the plaza already black with people. Beyond him, above the heads of the crowd, he saw a glittering line of bayonets; nearer at hand men were pouring out of a building at the right, with muskets in their hands. Walter stood on tiptoe. Some one was speaking to the crowd from an open window fronting the plaza, but Walter was too far off to catch a single word. The vast throng was as still as death. Then as the speaker put some question to vote, one tremendous "aye" went up from a thousand throats. It was the voice of an outraged people pronouncing the doom of evil-doers.
By the gleam of satisfaction on the faces around him, Walter knew that something of unusual moment had just been decided upon. Burning with curiosity he timidly asked his nearest neighbor what it all meant. First giving him a blank look the man addressed curtly replied, "Get a morning paper," then moved off with the crowd, which was already dispersing, leaving the plaza in quiet possession of a body of citizen soldiers, with sentinels posted, and the strong arm of a new power uplifted in its might. That power was the dreaded Vigilantes, organized, armed, and ready for the common protection.
Though terribly in earnest, it was by far the most orderly multitude Walter remembered ever having seen, and he had seen many. In the newspaper he read what everybody else already knew, that one of the most prominent citizens had been brutally murdered in cold blood by a well-known gambler, in a crowded street and at an early hour of the previous evening. The victim's only provocation consisted in having spoken out like a man against the monstrous evils under which the law-abiding citizens had so long and so silently been groaning. This murder was the last straw. The murderer had been promptly taken by members of the secret Committee of Vigilance; the trial had been swift; and the hangman's noose was being made ready for its victim. The account closed with a burning appeal to all law-abiding citizens, at every cost, to rid the city of the whole gang of gamblers, thieves, and outlaws infesting it like a plague. "When the sworn officers of the law are so notoriously in league with such miscreants, nothing is left for the people but to rise in their might. Vox populi, vox Dei! Down with the Hounds!"
Charley and Bill were quietly eating their noonday meal, when Walter burst into the Argonaut's cabin in a state of wild excitement. Without stopping to take breath, he rapidly related what he had seen and heard that morning, while his listeners sat with wide-open eyes until the tale was finished.
For a few moments the three friends stared at each other in silence. Ever prompt, Charley was the first to break it. Jumping to his feet, he struck the haft of his knife on the table with such force as to set the dishes rattling, then waving it in the air he cried out exultingly, "Now we've got him!" As the others made no reply except to look askance, he went on to say, "Don't you see that, foxy as he is, Ramon will be smoked out of his hole? Didn't I tell you there would be hanging before long? Why, there won't be one of his kidney left in 'Frisco inside of a week."
"You're right," said Walter, "for as I came along I saw men putting up posters ordering all criminals out of the city, on pain of being put on board an outbound vessel and shipped off out of the country."
"Good enough for 'em, too. The heft of 'em is Sydney Ducks an' ticket-o'-leave men, anyhow," quoth Bill, with a shake of the head.
"Hark!" commanded Walter, holding up his hand for silence. Even as he spoke, the deep tones of a bell came booming across the water. At that moment the bodies of two condemned murderers were swinging from crossbeams from an upper window of the plaza.
"If we're ever going to catch that chap, we'd better set about it before it's too late. What's to hinder our working this Vigilante business a little on our own hook? Nothing. Who's going to ask any questions? Nobody. Do you catch my idee?" questioned Charley.
Without more words the three friends hastened on shore, Walter leading the way to his stand. They had agreed not to separate again, and were busy talking over their plans when a Chinaman came up to Walter and slipped a paper in his hand. Walter ran his eye over it, then crushed it in his hand. Turning to the Chinaman he simply said, "All right, John; I'll be there."
"Allee light," repeated the Chinaman, making off into the crowd.
Walter drew the heads of his two friends close to his own. Then he whispered: "What do you think? This is an order to take some things from a certain house on Dupont Street to a warehouse on Long Wharf, at ten o'clock to-night. (Night work's double pay.) I can't be mistaken. The order is in his handwriting; I could swear to it."
"I consait we orter follow the Chinee," Bill suggested tentatively.
"No," objected Charley. "Prob'ly he'd lead us a wild-goose chase all over town. If Walter's right, we're hot on the scent now. Don't muddy the water, I say. The eel's a slippery cuss, and might wiggle away. Bill, let's you and I go take a look at that warehouse. Walt, don't you let on that you suspicion a thing. Why, you're all of a tremble, man! Straighten out your face. Anybody could read it like a book. Pull yourself together. Look at me! By jings, I feel like a fighting-cock just now!"
"What a bantam!" muttered Bill, following in Charley's springing footsteps.
At ten o'clock Walter was at the door of the house on Dupont Street with his cart. His knock was answered by the same Chinaman who had brought him the note in the morning. Several parcels were brought out and placed in the cart, but still no sign of the owner. The Chinaman then explained, in his pigeon English, that this person would meet Walter at the warehouse on the wharf, for which place Walter immediately started, revolving in his own mind whether this was not some trick of Ramon's contriving to throw him, Walter, off the scent.
Nobody appeared to answer Walter's knock at the warehouse door. Evidently it was deserted, but a low whistle gave notice that Charley and Bill were close at hand. Indeed, so well had they concealed themselves that Walter had passed on without seeing them.
"Have you got the rope all right, Bill?" Walter nervously whispered, as the three crouched in the friendly shadow of a narrow passageway, while waiting for their victim to show himself.
"Sartin," that worthy calmly replied, "and all I wish is that what's-his-name was on one end, and I on t'other."
"I don't half like this way of doing things; looks too much like kidnapping," Walter whispered, half to himself.
"Come, Walt, you're not going to show the white feather now, after all this trouble, I hope," Charley impatiently said. "Ssh! here he comes. It's now or never."
Sure enough, the sound of approaching footsteps was now plainly heard. As Ramon came nearer, walking fast, Bill, stepping out of the shadows, slowly lurched along ahead, cleverly imitating the zigzag walk of a tipsy sailor—no unusual sight at that time of night. When Ramon had passed a few rods beyond their hiding place, Charley quietly slipped out behind him, taking care to tread as softly as one of Cooper's Indians on the warpath. This plan had been carefully devised, for fear that Ramon might give an alarm if they attempted, all at once, to rush out upon him unawares. They now held their intended victim, as it were, between two fires.
At that hour the street was so lonely and deserted that there was little fear of interruption, so Charley did not hurry. When Bill had reached the place agreed upon, where the street narrowed to a lane in which not more than two persons could walk abreast, he began to slacken his pace, so as to let Ramon come up with him. As nothing could be seen, at a few rods off, in that uncertain light, the signal agreed upon was to be given by Bill's striking a match, when Walter and Charley were to come up as rapidly as possible.
As Ramon tried to push on by Bill, that worthy placed himself squarely in the way, pulled out his pipe, and gruffly demanded a light. He acted his part so well as completely to disarm Ramon's suspicions, had he had any.
At being thus suddenly brought to a stand, Ramon attempted to shoulder Bill out of his path, but on finding himself stoutly opposed, he instinctively drew back a step.
"Refuse a gen'leman a light, does yer? Want a whole street to yourself, does yer?" sputtered Bill, obstinately holding his ground. Ramon made a threatening movement. "Shove! I dare ye, ye lubber," continued the irate sailor, purposely raising his voice as his companion came in sight. "I'm a match for you any day in the week," he grumbled, striking a light as if to enforce the challenge.
By the light of the match Bill instantly recognized Ramon. At the same moment Ramon saw that the speaker was a total stranger. Charley barred the way behind him. Ramon's first thought had been that he was being waylaid by footpads and, instinctively his hand went to his pistol; but as no demand was made for his valuables, he quickly concluded it to be a chance encounter with a couple of tipsy sailors. A street row was the very thing he most dreaded. He was in a fever to be off. Then the thought struck him that perhaps he might turn these fellows to his own advantage. So he altered his tone at once. "Oh, it's all right, lads," he said apologetically, "but one must be careful in these times, you know; and you certainly did give me a start. Never mind. If you've got a boat handy, I'll make this the best night's work you ever did in the whole course of your lives."
Charley, who had edged up closer, now nudged Bill to hold his tongue. Speaking thickly, Charley said: "If you wants a boat we've got the one we was just goin' off in aboard ship. She lays right here, just ahead of us. If you come down han'some, we're the lads you want. 'Nuff said."
Ramon was completely deceived. "All right, then. I've got some traps yonder. They're waiting for me, I see. We'll get them, and you can set me aboard the Flamingo. Hurry up! I've no time to lose."
Walter was nonplused when he saw the trio approaching in so friendly a manner. He was about to say something, when Charley trod sharply on his foot to enforce silence. All four then went down to the boat with Ramon's luggage. After handing Walter a gold piece, Ramon stepped lightly into the boat, Bill shipped the oars, and Charley took the tiller. Walter first cast off the painter, gave the boat a vigorous shove, and then leaped on board himself. He could not make out what had happened to change their plans, but this was no time for explanations.
Seeing the supposed cartman get into the boat, it then first flashed upon Ramon that he had been tricked. Half rising from his seat, he made a movement as if to leap overboard, but a big, bony hand dragged him backward. Maddened to desperation, Ramon then reached for his revolver, but before he could draw it, Walter threw his arms around him, and held him fast in spite of his struggles. Meantime Bill was taking two or three turns round Ramon's body with a stout rope, brought along for that very purpose, and in a twinkling that worthy found himself bound and helpless.
No word was spoken until the boat touched the Argonaut's side. Thoroughly cowed, shivering with cold and fright, Ramon's terror was heightened by the thought that he was being carried off to sea. As the black hull of the Argonaut loomed up before him the dreadful truth seemed to break upon him clearly. Yes, there was no doubt of it: he was being shanghaied, as the forcible kidnaping of sailors was called.
Charley went up the side first. In a minute he reappeared with a lighted lantern. A dull numbness had seized Ramon. He did not even attempt to cry out when Charley called to the others, in a guarded undertone, to "pass him along." Four stout arms then lifted, or rather boosted, Ramon on board the vessel, as limp and helpless as a dead man. "I knew it," he groaned, with chattering teeth; "shanghaied, by all that's horrible!"
Charley at once led the way into the cabin. When all four had passed in he shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and set down the lantern on the table, when, by its dim light, Ramon saw, for the first time, the faces of his abductors. Stealing a quick glance around him he met Walter's set face and stern eye. The faces of the others gave him as little encouragement. Greatly relieved to find his worst fears unfounded, his courage began to rise again. He met Walter's look with one of defiance, and inwardly resolved to brazen it out. His life, he knew, was safe enough. To show that he was not afraid, he assumed a careless tone, as if he looked upon the whole thing as a joke. "You've got me, boys. But now you've got me, what do you want with me?" he demanded, twisting a cigarette in his trembling fingers.
"First," said Walter, a trifle unsteadily, for the sight of his enemy was almost too much for him, "first we want you to sign this paper," taking it out of his pocket. "It is—you can read it—a full confession of your robbery of Bright & Company." In spite of his effrontery, Ramon could not help wincing a little. Walter went on without mercy, "And of your clever little scheme to throw suspicion on me as your accomplice." Ramon merely gave a contemptuous little shrug. "And lastly, of what you've done with all the property you—you stole." Ramon scowled and gnawed his mustache.
Now that he knew the worst, Ramon began to bluster. "Oh, you shall smart for this when I get on shore—yes, all of you," he declared hotly. "You've got the wrong pig by the ear this time; yes, you have. As for you," this to Bill, "you hoary-headed old villain, I'll have you skinned alive and hung up by the heels for a scarecrow."
Bill could hold in no longer. "Who said anything about your goin' ashore, I'd like to know?" he asked, in his bantering way. "You never'd be missed, nohow. Here yer be, and here you stop till we've done with you. So none of your black looks nor cheap talk. They won't pass here."
"Stop me if you dare! It's abduction, kidnaping, felony!" cried Ramon, glancing fiercely from one face to the other. "I despise you and your threats. Where are your proofs? Where is your authority?"
"Ugly words those, big words. You want proofs, eh? What do you say to this?" Walter asked, in his turn, unfolding a handbill before Ramon's eyes with one hand, while with the other he held the lantern up so that the accusing words, in staring print, might be the more easily read:
STOP THIEF!!!
$500 REWARD!
The above reward will be paid for the apprehension of one Ramon Ingersoll, an absconding embezzler.
This was followed by a detailed description of his personal appearance.
"Now will you sign?" Walter again demanded of the branded thief and fugitive from justice.
Ramon smiled a sickly smile. "Oh! it's the reward you're after, is it? Hope you may get it, that's all."
At this fresh insult two red spots flamed up on Walter's cheeks. Ramon's dark eyes sparkled at having so cleverly seen through the motives of his captors.
"Is that your last word?"
"Before I'll sign that paper I'll rot right here!"
"You had better sleep on it," replied Walter, turning away.
"What! before s'archin' him for the stealin's?" Bill asked, with well-feigned surprise, at the same time critically looking Ramon over from head to foot.
Ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, as if already he felt the hangman's noose choking him, the observant Bill meanwhile watching him as a cat does a mouse. "Come, my lad, turn out your pockets," he commanded, in a most business-like way.
Pale with anger, Ramon first pulled out a leather pocket-book, which he threw upon the table, with something that sounded very much like a muttered curse, after which he folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "Now you've got it, much good may it do you," he sneered.
The pocket-book contained only a few papers of little value to anybody.
"What has become of all the money you took?" Walter demanded.
"Gone," was the curt reply.
"What! gone! You can't have spent it all so soon. Think again. There must be a trifle left."
Ramon shrugged his shoulders by way of reply.
"Feel for his belt, Bill," Charley struck in. Charley had been growing impatient for some time over so much waste of words. Bill hastened to take the hint.
"Hands off! I tell you, I'll not be searched," shouted Ramon, carrying his hands to the threatened spot like a flash. In spite of his struggles, however, the belt, which every one wore in that day, was secured, and in it ten new fifty-dollar gold pieces were found, and turned out upon the table. Again Ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, nervously, tremblingly. In a twinkling Bill had twitched that article off and tossed it to Walter. "Good's a belt, hain't it?" asked Bill in answer to Walter's look. "I seed him grabbin' at it twicet. S'arch it! s'arch it!"
Ramon made to give up his stealing's.—Page 236.
Rolled up in a little wad, in the folds of the neckerchief, they found two certificates of deposit of a thousand dollars each, and in another similar roll several notes of hand for quite large sums, made payable to Bright & Company, but with forged indorsements to a third party, who, it is needless to say, was no other than Ramon himself, who had thus added forgery to his catalogue of crime. Fortunately, his hurried departure had prevented the negotiating of these notes, which now furnished the most damning evidence of his misdeeds.
"Now, then," said Walter, sweeping the money and papers together in a heap, "we've drawn his teeth, let him bite if he can."
At this cutting taunt, Ramon summoned to his aid the remains of his fast-waning assurance. "Oho! my fine gentlemen, suppose I'm all you say I am, if you take my money you're as deep in the mud as I am in the mire; eh, my gallant highwaymen?" he hissed out.
"Enough of this. We shall take good care of you to-night; but to-morrow we mean to hand you over to the Vigilantes. You can then plead your own cause, Master Embezzler." So saying, Walter pointed to a stateroom opposite, to signify that the last word had been said.
Ramon's face instantly turned of a sickly pallor. As Bill afterwards said, "Walter's threat took all the starch out of him." In a broken voice he now pleaded for mercy. "I give it up. I'll confess. I'll sign all you say—anything—if you'll promise not to give me up to those bloodhounds," he almost whimpered. Truly, his craven spirit had at last got the mastery.
Walter pretended to hesitate, but in truth he was only turning over in his own mind how best to dispose of Ramon. Hitherto the wish for revenge had been strong within him, had really gone hand-in-hand with that to see wrong made right. But Ramon was now only an object of pity, of contempt. The confession was again placed before him with the addition of a clause stating that the money surrendered was the same he had taken from his employers. He himself added the words, "This is my free act and deed," after which he signed his full name as if in a hurry to have it over with. The two friends then witnessed it.
Walter put this precious document in his pocket with a feeling of real triumph. At last his good name would be vindicated before all the world. Once again he could look any man in the face without a blush. It seemed almost too good to be true, yet there sat Ramon cowering in a corner, while he, Walter, held the damning proofs of the robbery in his possession. No, it was not a dream. Right was might, after all.
Instead of asking to be set at liberty, Ramon now begged to be kept hid from the dreaded Vigilantes. "Give me just money enough to get away with, set me on shore after dark, and I'll take my chances," he pleaded. Only too glad to be well rid of him, the three friends willingly agreed to this proposal. After darkness had set in, Bill pulled Ramon to a distant spot above the town, among the sand dunes. Handing the discomfited wretch his own pocket-book, with the contents untouched, Bill gave him this parting shot: "Take it, and go to Guinea! If this is the last on ye, well an' good, but it's my 'pinion there's more rascality stowed away in that cowardly carkiss o' yourn." Without replying, Ramon stole away in the darkness, and was soon lost to sight.
"Isn't that the Sacramento boat?" asked Charley, looking off in the direction of a rapidly approaching bank of lights. "How plainly we can hear the drumming of her big paddles. Listen!"
"If it is, she's all of two hours ahead of time," was Walter's reply.
"Yes, it's the old Senator's day. She's a traveler all the time, and to-night she has the tide with her. Do you know, they say she's made more money for her owners than she could carry on one trip?"
"Sho! You don't mean it."
"True as you stand there."
They stood watching the Senator work her way into her dock, when Charley suddenly asked, "What are you so glum about to-night, Walt?"
"I was thinking what I would do if I had a boatload of money."
"Hope you may get it, that's all. Hark! Ah, here's Bill back again."
By the way that Bill was rowing, he seemed in a great hurry. Greatly to the surprise of the two friends, he was closely followed up the side by a stranger, to whom Bill lent a helping hand as this person stumbled awkwardly to the deck. At first both Walter and Charley thought it must be Ramon returning.
"Hello! what's up now?" both exclaimed in one breath.
"What's up? Lumber's up. Got any?" answered a quick, sharp voice not at all like Ramon's.
As nobody spoke Bill made a hurried explanation. "Sacramento's all burnt up, lock, stock, and barrel. Boat's goin' right back to-night. I seen her comin' lickety-split, fit to bust her b'iler; so I kinder waited round for the news. I heered this man askin' who had lumber, so I jest mittened onto him, and here he is."
"Whar's this yer lumber—afloat or on shore?" the newcomer impatiently demanded.
"Afloat," Charley replied.
"Good enough! How's it stowed: so's it can be got at?"
"It's a whole cargo. Never been broken out."
"Good again! What sort is it? Can I see it?"
"Come into the cabin and I'll get out the manifest. You can't see anything till daylight."
"Burn the manifest!" returned the stranger, still more impatiently. "Daylight's wuth dollars now. Show me the man can tell what that thar lumber is, or isn't."
"I can," Walter put in, "'cause I saw it loaded."
"Then you're the very man I want. Talk fast. I'm bound to go back on that thar boat."
Thus urged, Walter began the inventory on his fingers. "There's six two-story dwelling houses, all framed, ready to go up."
"Whoop-ee! how big?"
"About 24x36, high-studded, pitched roof, luthern windows. The rest is building stuff—all of it—sills, joists, rough and planed boards, matched boards——"
"Any shingles?" the impatient man broke in.
"Yes, a big lot; and clapboards too."
"Talk enough. Whar's the owner?"
"You're talking to him now," said Charley quickly.
"Well, then, I reck'n we'd better have a little light on the subject, hadn't we?" the stranger suggested.
Upon this hint Charley led the way to the cabin, where the parties took a good look at each other. The stranger glanced over the manifest, laid a big, brawny hand upon it, then, turning to Walter, but without betraying surprise at his youthful appearance, said pointedly, "Name your price, cash down, stranger, for the lot. I'm here for a dicker."
Walter began a rapid mental calculation. "Those houses are worth all of twenty-five hundred apiece," he declared, glancing at Charley.
"More," Charley assented positively.
"Wuth more for firewood," added Bill.
"Houses and all; all or none. How much for the hull blamed cargo?" the stranger again demanded, getting up to expectorate in a corner.
"Lumber is lumber," observed Charley, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.
"Do I ask you to give it away? Name your figure," the would-be purchaser insisted. "Come up to the scratch. I've no time to waste here palavering. What do you take me for?" he added angrily.
Walter again had recourse to his mental arithmetic. "Six times two fifty, fifteen; lump the rest at ten; freight money five, storage five more, insurance five. Forty thousand dollars!" he exclaimed desperately at a venture, feeling the cold sweat oozing out all over him.
"It's mine. I'll take it," said the stranger, coolly suiting the action to the word by dragging out of his coat pockets first one chuggy bag of gold dust and then another, which he placed before Walter on the table. "Here's something to bind the bargain." Then, seeing Bill critically examining a pinch of the dull yellow grains in the palm of his hand, he added: "Oh! never fear! That's the real stuff. You get the rest when that lumber's delivered alongside Sacramento levee at my expense. Talk fast. Is it a whack?"
"Hold on, stranger," cried the acute Charley, pushing back the gold. "We don't agree to no such thing, mister. We deliver it right here from the ship."
The stranger smote the table with his clenched fist. "Can't waste no time loading and unloading," he declared; "that's half the battle. I must have this cargo ahead of everybody, up river. You say it's all loaded. That's why I pay high for it. I don't care shucks how you get it there; so fix it somehow; for it's make or break with me this time. Sabe?"
"Why not tow her up and back, if he pays for it?" Bill suggested.
The buyer caught as eagerly at the idea as a drowning man does at a straw. "Sartin. Tow her up!" he exclaimed. "I hire the boat and pay all expenses. How many hands of you? Three. All right. You get ten dollars apiece a day till the ship's unloaded."
The man's eagerness to buy his way through all obstacles rather confused Walter, who now turned inquiringly toward Bill.
"She draws nigh onto twenty feet this blessed minute," Bill said in a doubtful undertone.
"Why, the river is booming!" cried the stranger, looking from one to the other, with eager, restless eyes, as this unforeseen difficulty presented itself to his mind.
Again Bill came to the rescue. "I'll tell ye, mates, what we can do. Lash an empty lighter on each side of her; that'll lift her some; then if she takes the ground, we might break out cargo into the lighters, till she floats agin."
The lumber speculator listened like one who hears some one speaking in a strange tongue. He, however, caught at Bill's idea. "Yes, that's the how, shoah," he joyfully assented. "I'll hire a towboat to-night, if one's to be had in 'Frisco for money. I don't know shucks 'bout these yer ships, but when it comes to steamboats I reck'n I kin tell a snag from a catfish."
"I think we may risk it, then," observed Charley, who, as ship-keeper, felt all his responsibility for her safety.
Walter then drew up the contract in proper form, after which it was duly signed, sealed, and witnessed.
"Now, then," resumed the stranger, "you boys get everything good and ready for a quick start. Thar's your dust. You play fa'r with me, an' I'll play fa'r with you. Shake."
He then put off with Bill for the shore.
"Dirt cheap," said Charley, eying Walter sidewise.
"Thrown away," groaned Walter peevishly, by way of reply.
And to think that only the day before the lumber would not have paid for the unloading!
By dint of hard work the Southern Cross was got ready to cast off her moorings by the time the tug came puffing up alongside, early in the morning. They were soon under weigh, but the ship's bottom was so foul that she towed like a log.
Bill steered, while Charley and Walter went forward to pass the word from the tug or tend the hawser, as might be necessary. It being smooth water here, in an hour or so the tow passed out into San Pablo Bay, where it met not only a stiff head wind, but a nasty little choppy sea. That made towing slow work, but by noon they were abreast of Benicia and entering the Straits of Carquinez, with old Monte Diablo peering down upon them on the starboard hand.
Beyond this point the tow steamed across still another bay, for some fifteen miles more, without mishap. They had now left the coast mountains far behind, and were heading straight for what seemed an endless waste of tall reeds, through which both the Sacramento and San Joaquin wind their way out to the sea.
So far plenty of water and plenty of sea room had been found. The worst was yet to come. The young navigators, however, pushed boldly on between the low mud-banks without delay, feeling much encouraged by their success thus far, and wishing to make the most of the short two hours of daylight remaining, after which the captain of the tug declared it would be unsafe to proceed.
After seeing the ship tied up to the bank for the night, the tug pushed on in search of a wood-yard some miles farther on. It was quite ten o'clock the next morning before the boys saw her come puffing back around the next bend of the river above. She had run so far after wood, that the captain said he would not risk putting back before daylight again.
All went smoothly until the middle of the afternoon, when, to their great annoyance, the ship suddenly brought up on a mud-bank, where she stuck hard and fast. A hawser was quickly carried out astern, at which the tug pulled and hauled for some time to no purpose. The Southern Cross would not budge an inch.
It being evident that the ship would not come off by that means, hatches were taken off, the boys threw off their coats, and, spurred on by Bill's report that he believed the river was falling, all hands went to work breaking out cargo into the lighters, as if their very lives depended upon their haste. It was now that Bill's foresight came in for the warmest commendations, as without the lighters the voyage must have ended then and there.
They worked on like beavers all the rest of that afternoon, the tug giving an occasional pull at the hawser, without starting the ship from her snug berth. They, therefore, made themselves some coffee, and were talking the situation over in no very happy frame of mind, when a large, high-pressure steamboat was seen heading down the river, half of which she seemed pushing in front of her, and dragging the other half behind. "Stand by to haul away!" shouted Bill, with quick presence of mind, to the men on the tug, running aft to take another turn in the hawser. As the steamer passed by, churning the muddy water into big waves, the tug put on all steam, the hawser straightened out as tense as iron, the big ship gave a lazy lurch as a wave struck her, and to the unspeakable delight of all hands they found themselves once more afloat and in deep water.
Although the ship was aground several times after this, they were so lucky in getting her off, that by noon of the third day the Southern Cross lay snugly moored, stem and stern, to a couple of live oaks at the Sacramento levee. The first person to jump on board was the purchaser himself, followed by a gang of laborers, who had been waiting only for the ship's arrival to set to work at unloading her cargo. Meantime the boys set about making all snug aboard, and then after seeing the balance of the purchase money weighed out, on a common counter-scale in the cabin, they took turns in mounting guard over what had been so fairly earned. In plain truth, all three were fairly dazed by the possession of so much wealth.