The infamous ceremony duly ratified, a drink of the fiery spirit of the
_mescal_ plant--a fit finale--is quaffed. Then they take up their
stilettos, replace them in their sheaths, and again sitting down, listen
to De Lara, to learn from him the nature of that deed, for doing which
they have so solemnly compacted.
In a short time he makes it known, the disclosure calling for but a few
words. It is after all but a common affair, though one that needs skill
and courage. Simply a "bit of burglary," but a big thing of its kind.
He tells them of three hundred thousand dollars' worth of gold-dust
lying in a lone country-house, with no other protection than that of its
owner, with some half-dozen Indian domestics.
There are but two of them to whom this is news--Diaz and Calderon.
Rocas smiles while the revelation is being made; for he has been the
original discoverer of the so-called "bonanza." It was that he
communicated to De Lara, when, on the day before, he stopped him and
Calderon at the _tinacal_ of Dolores.
It is not the first time for the seal-hunter to do business of a similar
kind in conjunction with the gambler; who, like himself, has been
accustomed to vary his professional pursuits. But, as now, he has
always acted under De Lara--whose clear, cool head and daring hand
assure him leadership in any scheme requiring superior courage, with
intelligence for its execution.
"How soon?" asks Diaz, after all has been declared. "I should say the
sooner the better."
"You're right about that, Don Manuel," rejoins Rocas.
"True," assents De Lara. "At the same time caution must not be lost
sight of. There's two of you aware of what danger we'd be in, if just
now we went near the town, or anywhere outside this snug little asylum
of Senor Rocas--whose hospitality we may have to trench upon for some
time. I don't know, Don Rafael, whether friend Diaz has told you of
what happened last night?"
"He's given me a hint of it," replies the smuggler.
"Oh, yes," puts in Diaz; "I thought he might as well know."
"Of course," agrees De Lara. "In that case, then, I've only to add,
that there will be no safety for us in San Francisco, so long as the
English man-o'-war stays in port. He who broke our bank is rich enough
to buy law, and can set its hounds after us by night, or by day. Until
he and his ship are gone--"
"The ship _is_ gone," says Rocas, interrupting.
"Ha! What makes you say that?"
"Because I know it."
"How?"
"Simply by having seen her. Nothing like the eyes to give one assurance
about anything--with a bit of glass to assist them. Through that thing
up there,"--he points to an old telescope resting on hooks against the
wall--"I saw the English frigate beating out by the Farrallones, when I
was up on the cliff about an hour ago. I knew her from having seen her
lying in the bay. She's gone to sea for sure."
At this the others looked surprised as well as pleased; more especially
Calderon. He need no longer fear encountering the much-dreaded
midshipman either in a duel or with his dirk.
"It's very strange," says De Lara. "I'd heard she was to sail soon, but
not till another ship came to relieve her."
"That ship has come," returns Rocas--"a corvette. I saw her working up
the coast last evening just before sunset. She was making for the Gate,
and must be inside now."
"If all this be true," says the chief conspirator, "we need lose no more
time, but put on our masks and bring the affair off at once. It's too
late for doing anything to-night; but there's no reason why we shouldn't
act to-morrow night, if it prove a dark one. We four of us will be
strength enough for such a trifling affair. I thought of bringing Juan
Lopez, our croupier; but I saw he wouldn't be needed. Besides, from the
way he's been behaving lately I've lost confidence in him. Another
reason for leaving him out will be understood by all of you. In a
matter of this kind it _isn't_ the more the merrier, though it _is_ the
fewer the better cheer. The yellow dust will go farther among four than
five."
"It will," exclaims the cockfighter with emphasis, showing his
satisfaction at what De Lara has done. He adds: "To-morrow night, then,
we are to act?"
"Yes, if it be a dark one. If not, 'twill be wiser to let things lie
over for the next. A day can't make much difference; while the colour
of the night may. A moonlit sky, or a clear starry one, might get us
all where we'd see stars without any being visible--through a noose
round our neck?"
"There'll be no moon to-morrow night," puts in the smuggler, who, in
this branch of his varied vocations, has been accustomed to take account
of such things. "At least," he adds, "none that will do us any harm.
The fog's sure to be on before midnight; at this time of year, it always
is. To-morrow night will be like the last--black as a pot of pitch."
"True," says De Lara, as a man with some experience of the sea, also
having meteorological knowledge. "No doubt, 'twill be as you say,
Rocas. In that case we'll have nothing to fear. We can get the job
done, and be back here before morning. Ah, then seated round the table,
we'll not be like we are now--poor as rats; but every one with his pile
before him--sixty thousand _pesos_."
"_Carramba_!" exclaims Diaz, in a mocking tone, "while saying vespers
to-night, let's put in a special prayer for to-morrow night to be what
Rocas says it will--black as a pot of pitch."
The profane suggestion is hailed with a burst of ribald laughter; after
which they set about preparing the _mascaras_, and other disguises, to
be used in their nefarious enterprise.