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!"
XVI
RAMON FINDS HIS MATCH
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!"
[Illustration: 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.
XVII
A SHARP RISE IN LUMBER
"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!
XVIII
A CORNER IN LUMBER
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.
[Illustration: Arrival of the _Southern Cross_ at Sacramento.--_Page
254._]
This duty of standing watch and watch kept the friends from leaving
the ship even for a single moment, if indeed they had felt the least
desire to do so. In fact all that there was left of the late bustling
city was spread out stark and grim before their wondering eyes from
the deck of the ship, and a dismal sight it was. Acres of ground,
so lately covered with buildings so full of busy life, were now
nothing but a blackened waste of smoldering rubbish. Here and there
some solitary tree, scorched and leafless, lifted up its skeleton
branches as if in silent horror at the surrounding desolation. Men,
singly, or in little groups, were moving about in the gray-white smoke
like so many uneasy specters. Others were carefully poking among the
rubbish for whatever of value might have escaped the flames. But more
strange than all, even while the ruins were ablaze about them, it was
to see a gang of workmen busy laying down the foundations for a new
building. There was to be no sitting down in sackcloth and ashes here.
That was California spirit.
All this time the lumber dealer was by great odds the busiest man
there. He was fairly up to his ears in business, selling lumber, in
small parcels or great, from the head of a barrel, to a perfect mob
of buyers, who pushed and jostled each other in their eagerness to
be first served. All were clamoring as loudly for notice as so many
Congressmen on a field-day to the Speaker of the House. To this horde
of hungry applicants the lumberman kept on repeating, "First come,
first served. Down with your dust." The man was making a fortune hand
over fist.
Scarcely had our boys the time to look about them, when they were
beset with offers to lease or even to buy the ship outright. One
wanted her for a store, another for a hotel, another for a restaurant,
a saloon, and so on. Men even shook pouches of gold-dust in their
faces, as an incentive to close the bargain on the spot. As such a
transaction had never entered their heads, the three friends held a
hurried consultation over it. Charley firmly held to the opinion that
he had no right to dispose of the ship without the owner's consent,
and that was something which could not be obtained at this time.
Walter was non-committal. Bill was nothing if not practical. Bill was
no fool.
"Ef she goes back, what does she do?" he asked, squinting first at one
and then at the other. "Why, she lays there to her anchors rottin',
doin' nobody no good," he added.
"She won't eat or drink anything if she does," Charley said rather
ambiguously.
"Seems as though we ought to put her back where we found her," Walter
suggested, in a doubtful sort of way.