Front matter (continued 6)

As I came up the steps, I was struck by the coincidence of meeting Mr. Baldwin coming down, and wished him a polite "Good night." He halted in evident anger, as though my words had been a personal insult. Then with a muttered "Go to the devil!" he strode up the street.

These signs of perturbation upon the cold and unemotional Baldwin were a portent to wonder at, and I suspected that his visit had not been as happy as he considered to be his desert.

Inside the house, I discovered some reflection of the perturbation displayed by the retreating Baldwin. Miss Kendrick's face was flushed, and I thought I discovered traces of tears on her cheeks, and a tendency to hysteric laughter, very foreign to her nature. Miss Fillmore was embracing her with sympathetic attention as I entered.

"Men are such queer creatures," said Miss Kendrick sagely, "and they do make themselves ridiculous when--"

Then catching sight of me she uttered a cry of dismay, and said:

"Why, what is the matter? Is the house in danger again from those shocking hoodlums?" But she recalled herself as soon as she spoke, and said: "Oh, I remember now. I am Miss Scatterbrain to-night. What did Big Sam want?"

"He wished to assure me that there was no further danger from Little John," I returned, with prudent reserve.

She looked at me suspiciously, as though she detected something behind my words.

"Do you believe him?"

"I have no doubt of his good faith."

"Well, that's one relief. But just the same Moon Ying doesn't go outside this house till all the troubles are over."

"Is there any fighting to-night?" asked Mercy anxiously.

"Only a few hoodlums. I think we shall get through the night without serious trouble, and to-morrow the Vigilantes will be organized. Then the city can sleep in peace."

"Well, I hope so," said Laura, and Mercy breathed an assent. "I feel as though I hadn't slept for a week. And now you go and get some sleep yourself, for you're going to have a hard day to-morrow."

Between the recollections of business, of Big Sam's justice, and of Laura Kendrick, sleep was long in coming. Yet of all problems that kept my mind in ferment, the most disturbing was "What happened to Baldwin?" And after arguing myself to the pleasing conclusion that he had, in his most superior manner, put his fate to the test, and had fallen from the full height of his self-esteem to the bottomless pit of rejection, I fell into dreamless slumber.

CHAPTER XXV

FACING A CRISIS

As I neared the office on the following morning in some depression of spirits at the reports from Wharton Kendrick's bedside, I heard my name called, and turned to find Parks signaling me. His face was alight with self-importance, his hair stood out with electric aggressiveness, and he seemed to tremble with superfluous energy, like a superheated boiler.

"You should have stayed to the rest of our meeting on last Monday night," he said abruptly. "We succeeded in strengthening our cause among the working-people, even though the misguided violence of a few young men interfered with our plans for freeing the people from their oppressors."

"I had other business than listening to speeches."

"Sir," he cried, "you do wrong to speak with contempt of those appeals that rouse men to a knowledge of their rights and their powers. I want you to be with us again to-night. We are to hold another meeting on the New City Hall lots, as you will see by this circular." And he waved a number of sheets that called upon all men to "Rally, Rally!" at the "Great Anti-Coolie Mass Meeting" at eight o'clock.

"Another meeting!" I exclaimed. "You are very indiscreet to hold it at this time."

"Not at all," returned Parks enthusiastically. "Now is the time. We must take advantage of the roused feelings of the people. The outbreak the other night came to nothing because it was but an ebullition of misdirected energy. But it was prompted by a generous desire for action that would free the people, and had we been prepared to take advantage of the opportunity, the strength that for want of intelligent leadership was wasted in profitless attacks on Chinese wash-houses would have put us in possession of the city government."

"Do you think you are prepared now?"

"We are ready to seize the opportunities that fortune may offer."

"Why, you're not so absurd as to suppose that you can seize the government now," I said. "Even supposing you might have done something the other night--which I don't think you could--the time has gone by. The city is roused. The Committee of Safety is organized. The militia is under arms. You will certainly land in jail if you make a move, and if you're locked up, there will be one very unhappy girl in this city. For her sake, Parks, keep out of this affair."

"Sir," said Parks, his aggressive manner a little softened, "I am committed. I can not in honor draw back, even to please the best of women. But you underestimate our strength. The Committee of Safety itself springs from the people, and will assist, not hinder, our movement. The militia is recruited from the same class, and will not fire on the people at the command of plutocracy. We shall meet and we shall triumph. Be with us to-night, at eight sharp." And he hurried on.

A second warning of the intended meeting came from Clark, who was lying in wait for me at the office door.

"Parks just told me about it," I said. "What are they going to do?"

"Why, the men of the Council are talking about taking possession of the city government, but the talk of the men around town runs to burning the Pacific Mail docks and the steamers, and running the Chinese out of Chinatown."

"Burning the Mail steamers!" I cried.

"Yes. We've got word that the City of Tokio is in with a cargo of a thousand coolies, and the men say that the only way to stop them from landing is to burn them in the steamer, and make an end of the docks. Anyhow, if they don't do that, they'll do something else that's likely to be as bad. Waldorf and Reddick held up Bolton in his office last night and got more money out of him--ten thousand or twenty thousand dollars, I don't know which--so they are in funds to organize trouble."

This information seemed to call for action, but I could think of nothing better to do than to order Clark to engage a dozen more stout fellows to be on guard at the Kendrick place in case the mob should pay it another visit. And this done, I walked with some perturbance of mind into the office.

Nelson soon arrived, carefully groomed, fresh-shaven, his side-whiskers trimmed, and his eyeglasses heightening his air of authority, and greeted me with more consideration than he had shown yesterday. A few minutes later Partridge followed in more free and easy fashion.

"I met Coleman on the street just now," said Partridge. "He's too busy with his Vigilantes to do much with us to-day."

"I hope he'll get his twenty thousand men and drive every hoodlum out of town," said Nelson. "Is it true that Kendrick is going to die?"

My heart climbed into my throat at this disturbing question. The business as well as the personal reasons that would make his death a calamity had led me to put this thought rigorously out of my mind, and it was an emotional shock to be compelled to face it.

"I can't think so," I replied, as soon as I could command my voice. "But I'm sorry to say he is no better. When I left the house this morning, he was still unconscious."

"I heard he had no chance," said Nelson, "but I hoped it wasn't so."

For a moment I lost the firmness of mind that had supported me in the trials of the situation. Between the affection I had conceived for Wharton Kendrick and the thought of the confusion in which his affairs would be left, the apprehension of his death threw me into mental distraction. I was recalled by the voice of Partridge:

"Well, we must get down to business. Here's a list of men who will call for loans. There'll be plenty of others. By the way, Hampden, I got pledges of seven hundred and twenty-five thousand more to go into the pool. You can deposit it, if you like, with the rest of the syndicate fund." And he tossed me a bundle of checks.

This simple act of confidence pleased me more than words. These men treated me as one of them. I was trusted as Wharton Kendrick would have been trusted under the same circumstances, and at this certificate of confidence I was warmed by a pardonable glow of pride.

The morning was a repetition of its predecessor, as the elements of the city's commercial woes trickled in concentrated form through the office. It was a depressing business, as the line of embarrassed merchants, brokers and speculators passed rapidly before us. Some were snatched from the brink of ruin. Some were sent about their business as frauds, seeking to use the syndicate's funds in speculation. Some--too unimportant to affect the commercial fabric in their failure--were left to stand or fall as their own strength should determine.

"I never supposed there was so much rotten timber afloat," said Partridge.

William T. Coleman joined us at the lunch hour, and the sight of his face, masterful and calm, renewed our spirits.

"You are keeping things pretty near even in the markets," he said. "We shall weather the gale if there isn't another outbreak."

"Well, that's on the cards," I said. "The circulars are out for another meeting on the sand-lots."

"Come with me, and tell what you know about this, while we have a bite of lunch," he said.

I was more than pleased at this request, but looked doubtfully at the accumulation of papers before us with the feeling that I was the indispensable man at the desk. Coleman interpreted my unspoken thought, and said:

"Oh, sign a dozen checks in blank, and Partridge and Nelson can attend to everything necessary while you are gone."

I was reluctant to surrender my place as dispenser of fortune, even for a brief space of time. The position of a financial magnate in a period of storm and stress was not one that I could conscientiously describe as free from anxieties and perturbations. But it was clothed with power, and power possesses a fascination of its own. Monarchs do not abdicate, except under compulsion; and even among minor office-holders, whose mastership is far more limited than that of a millionaire in business, we have the word of a president that "few die and none resign." But at the compelling glance of William T. Coleman I signed my name to twelve checks, and said that I was happy to attend him.

During our hasty luncheon I told of the warning of coming outbreak that had been given me by Big Sam, of the words of Parks, and of the information I had received from Clark. Then, at his inquiries, I told all that I knew of the Council of Nine--its organization from among the anarchists, socialists and communists, its visionary idea of seizing the city government, and the manner in which it was using the anti-Chinese agitation to secure the physical force to bring about its revolutionary ends.

"You think the anti-Chinese leaders are being used without their knowledge?" asked Coleman thoughtfully.

"To a large extent, yes. They know, of course, that these men have wider designs, but they do not take them seriously."

"Nevertheless," said Coleman, "they may prove dangerous in a crisis like this. They have the reckless courage of leadership that may turn a mob into a destroying body. We must do everything we can to hasten the enrollment and organization of the Committee of Safety's forces. By the way, have you signed the roll yet?"

"No. I haven't had time to think of it."

"This will never do. You are a leading citizen now and must set a good example. Come with me. We have our headquarters in the Chamber of Commerce rooms for the day, but at night we shall assemble in Horticultural Hall. We are going to have a big force, and must have a big armory."

The assembly hall of the Chamber of Commerce was fitted up with desks, and a score of clerks were busy with books and papers. Two or three hundred men had gathered in the hall, and the clerks were surrounded by confused but orderly groups. Coleman led me to one of the desks, and I signed my name while he himself pinned on my coat the badge of the Vigilantes.

As I wrote, I was astonished to see a dozen lines above my pen the signature of Peter Bolton, and it struck fire to my anger that the arch-conspirator--the man who had inspired the disorder that threatened the city--should have enrolled his name among those who pledged their lives and fortunes to its defense. I gave a quick look about the room with the thought that I should discover the spare face and sardonic smile of the curmudgeon enjoying the flutter into which he had thrown the solid men of the city. But he was nowhere to be seen, and I debated whether I should call Mr. Coleman's attention to the matter; but as I remembered that Wharton Kendrick had checked a mention of Bolton's name in Coleman's own house, and saw no present purpose to be served by the discovery, I followed the sound rule of keeping my mouth shut. And as William T. Coleman retired to the office of the Committee of Twenty-four, I returned to my duties.

On entering the door of my office I was given a shock of surprise. A man of spare figure, tall, with bowed and narrow shoulders, sat facing Partridge and Nelson, and presented only his back to my view; but the back was unmistakably the back of Peter Bolton. Nelson leaned forward, watching him with close attention, while Partridge was running rapidly through a bundle of papers.

"I've got to have the money," were the first words that came to me in Peter Bolton's complaining voice. "Here are the securities--pretty good securities, too--better than you took from Packenham, or Hooper, or a dozen others--ten times as good as you took from the Sundown Bank."

Partridge swiftly sorted the papers into two packets. The larger one he threw across the desk to Bolton.

"The banks will take those," he said with crisp brevity. "We can advance three hundred thousand on the others, if necessary. What do you want to do with the money?"

Peter Bolton gave his head a slow shake.

"I've got to save myself from going under," he said in a whining tone. "I've got notes to pay, and three hundred thousand dollars won't cover them. I ought to have a million."

"Let's see the statement of your liabilities," said Partridge.

Peter Bolton fumbled in his inside coat pocket, brought out a large pocket-book, untied the string with which he had secured it, and then looked through its bulging compartments.

"I don't like to show it," he complained. "It's Private Business, and I don't like to trust any one with my Private Business."

"Suit yourself," said Partridge. "Try some other place if you like."

Peter Bolton's trembling hand brought out a sheet of paper from one of the recesses of the pocket-book, and passed it over to Partridge.

"There it is," he said. "You can see I've got to have money right away. If I don't pay them notes, I'll be posted on the Exchange; and you can't afford to have that happen. If I go down, there'll be such a smash in the markets as you've never seen. I shan't go down alone."

Partridge rapidly drew his pencil through several of the items of Peter Bolton's statement.

"Those will renew," he said. "You can get four hundred thousand from the banks on the securities you have in your hand. Three hundred thousand will be enough for us to let you have. It will see you through."

"I don't see how I am to get along without more than that," said Peter Bolton, with a slow shake of the head. "But I'll do the best I can with it." He gave the outward evidences of dissatisfaction, but there was an undertone of triumph in his voice, inaudible to any ear but mine.

I had listened thus far without an attempt to interrupt. I was curious to see what plea Peter Bolton would make in support of his audacious attempt to turn the syndicate's money against the syndicate's objects; and it had not occurred to me as possible that Partridge and Nelson would fail to penetrate his scheme. I forgot for the moment that my colleagues were not informed of the purposes of the arch-plotter, and it was therefore with something of a shock that I heard Partridge consent to put three hundred thousand dollars into Bolton's hands, and saw Nelson dip his pen in ink to fill out the check.

"I beg pardon," I said, stepping forward, "but I think it will be better to hold that money."

At the sound of my voice Peter Bolton gave a violent start, and for a moment his face turned ashy gray, as he seized the arms of the chair to support himself. Then with an effort he recovered his self-possession, and gave me a nod that was meant to be ingratiating.

"Well," said Partridge, "if you'd like to look over Mr. Bolton's papers, here they are."

I waved them away.

"I don't doubt your judgment on the securities. It is beyond question. I merely object to making the loan at all."

Peter Bolton raised his hand, threw back his head with open mouth, and spoke in his most sarcastic drawl.

"Some Young Men like to interfere with Other Men's Business. But all that has been discussed. The matter is settled."

I took up the signed checks that lay before Nelson and replied:

"Oh, no; there are several points to be explained before we go further."

"We haven't time to run a debating club," said Nelson, a little huffed by my strategic move in securing the checks. "We have consented to the loan for excellent reasons. Mr. Bolton's failure would be certain to start the panic we have been staving off for two days."

"Very true. But Mr. Bolton is unduly anxious. He is in no more danger of failing than the Bank of California."

Peter Bolton turned on me with suppressed anger glowing in his eyes, and drew down the corners of his mouth in a sarcastic snarl.

"Maybe, young man, you know more about My Business than I know."

"I shouldn't put it that way," I retorted. "I should say that I know more about your business than you are ready to tell."

Peter Bolton drew down the corners of his mouth again and turned to Partridge with the air of putting me aside.

"Young Men have Strange Ideas," he drawled, "but you are Men of Experience, and you know what it means to refuse this loan. If you are sure a Panic would help your Business, why, all you have to do is to say I can't have the money. If I don't get it, I'll be posted on the Exchange this afternoon."

"And I warn you that Mr. Bolton is perfectly solvent," I said.

Partridge rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and Nelson studied the floor in perplexity.

"I am inclined to overrule Mr. Hampden in this matter," said Partridge; "but he represents Mr. Kendrick, and I don't wish to go in flat opposition to his judgment."

Peter Bolton gave me a malignant glance.

"Judgment! judgment!" he exclaimed in his most sarcastic drawl. "The Young Man knows that Kendrick and I haven't been on good terms, and he thinks he can Curry Favor by ruining me. But if I can have a word with him, I can convince him it's to Kendrick's interest to keep me afloat this time." And seizing my arm, he attempted to draw me to the other end of the room.

"I don't care to hear anything you can't say before these gentlemen," I replied.

"Come just a minute," he persisted, with a wheedling tone in his voice, and drew me to a farther corner. Then he said in a low, eager tone: "It will be fifty thousand dollars in your pocket if you say yes."

"No!" was my curt reply.

"It will be cash," he urged. "You can hold the money out from the advance from the committee. You'll be perfectly safe."

"No!" I repeated, with the emphasis of disgust, and walked swiftly back to the desk. For an instant I had the resolve to explain to my fellow-members the offense that Peter Bolton had proposed. But an uneasy conscience reminded me that I had brought it upon myself, and instead of revealing the shameless offer, I said sharply:

"I ought to have saved time by telling you at the first that nothing could serve this man's profit so well as a panic. He above all other men is responsible for the present troubles, and any money advanced to him will be used against the interests we are here to protect."

Peter Bolton's hand trembled, and a look of desperation came into his eyes. Otherwise he gave no sign of lessening self-possession.

"It's a lie, it's a lie!" he cried. "I shall be ruined." Nelson turned to me.

"That is a very serious assertion. You should be certain of your ground to make such a charge."

"He can't prove it. It's a lie!" repeated Peter Bolton eagerly.

"Mr. Bolton is the father of the present crisis," I said. "He is the financial backer of the agitators that the Committee of Safety has been organized to put down. It was not so much as two weeks ago that he paid thirty thousand dollars to the Council of Nine."

Peter Bolton attempted to resume his sarcastic air, and drew down the corners of his mouth into his sardonic mask, though his lip trembled with the effort.

"You can't believe lies like that," he said, in appeal to Partridge and Nelson.

"And last night," I continued, "he received two members of the Council of Nine in his office, and paid them a sum of money that I believe was ten thousand dollars. It may have been twenty. An armed outbreak is planned for to-night. If it comes, there stands the man who furnished the money for it." And I pointed an accusing finger at the spare, bent form of the arch-conspirator.

At this evidence of the accuracy of my information, the sallow face of Peter Bolton once more turned to an ashy gray, and he looked from side to side as though seeking some avenue of escape. Then he faced me.

"You're talking nonsense," he cried with tense determination in his voice. "Nobody will believe you. You ought to be sent to the asylum."

I looked into his eyes.

"Waldorf and Parks are within call," I said with calm and assured mendacity. "Shall I bring them in?"

Peter Bolton dropped his eyes, trembled as he stood silent for a moment, then seized his papers and walked to the door. As his hand was on the knob, he turned and shook his fist at us.

"I'll smash you yet!" he cried in a harsh voice, his anger getting the better of his fears. "I'll smash you and that scoundrel Kendrick. I'll grind the whole pack of you down into the dirt." And he went out with unexpected nimbleness, and slammed the door behind him.

I looked at my associates with a word of self-congratulation on my tongue. But the shamed and apologetic air with which they studied the documents before them stopped my mouth. It was evident that they needed no one to inform them that they had been gulled by Peter Bolton, and I had the discretion to perceive that the temper of the office would not be improved by discussion of the circumstances. So I took my seat without a word.

The stream of imperiled merchants again trickled through the room, and for an hour we worked rapidly and with exemplary harmony. The self-esteem of Partridge, cut down by the treacherous hand of Peter Bolton, spread and blossomed once more as his skill in estimating the value of securities and the needs of borrowers was put to the test and proved without flaw. The phlegmatic Nelson had shown his discomposure for but a moment, so we were again upon a footing of close confidence.

It was half-past two when Brown, Wharton Kendrick's head clerk, peered in at the door and beckoned to me with a face full of trouble. I made some excuse, and followed him to his office. He closed and locked the door and looked at me in silent dismay.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"We're ruined!" he gasped.

"What's that?" I cried.

"We must close the doors--unless you have three hundred and fifty thousand," he whispered slowly.

He looked at me with the white face and colorless lips of a man in the final stages of nausea. The misfortunes of Wharton Kendrick were taken to heart by at least one man.

"It's some of Mr. Kendrick's notes," he said. "They've just been presented. There's four hundred and fifty thousand of them altogether--lacking a few hundreds, and all the money we've got is a little over one hundred thousand."

"Where do these notes come from? Who presents them?"

"They are made out to different persons; but they are presented by the El Dorado Bank."

"Didn't Mr. Kendrick make any provision to meet them?"

"Maybe he did--I suppose so, for some of them are three weeks overdue. But he never said anything to me about them."

"Let me see them."

The bank's messenger was brought in, and I scrutinized the notes he presented. They were on their face made payable to a dozen or more men--some to one, some to another--but all had been indorsed to Peter Bolton.

There was no time to waste in lamentations, and there was but one resource in sight. I bade the messenger wait a minute, and hastened back to the syndicate's office.

"Here are three checks for you to sign," said Partridge. "The men are waiting for them in the anteroom."

They were for but small amounts, and I hastily added my name to the slips.

"I have something more important yet to lay before you," I said boldly. "I want three hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"What's that?" cried Partridge.

Nelson looked too shocked for words, and I repeated my request.

"What do you want it for?" demanded Partridge.

"Gentlemen," I replied, "I am sorry to say that we are face to face with the greatest danger we have yet met. Peter Bolton has made good his threat. He has struck quick and hard. He has presented for payment through the El Dorado Bank nearly four hundred and fifty thousand of Wharton Kendrick's notes, and there is only one hundred thousand in the house to pay them with. I must ask you for the balance."

Partridge drew a whistle of surprise, and Nelson turned pale.

"The old fox!" cried Nelson. "We might have known he was up to mischief."

"And he put them in through the El Dorado Bank," said Partridge reflectively. "I wonder if he is with the bank's wrecking combination."

"He is at the head of it," I said.

Partridge drummed on the desk with nervous fingers, and his face took on a grim look. As neither of my associates spoke, I said:

"Well, there can be no doubt of our duty to support Wharton Kendrick in this emergency."

"Of course not," said Partridge. "What security can you offer?"

"Haven't the least idea," I replied curtly.

"You'd better make us a general assignment," said Nelson. "I suppose that will cover it."

"I couldn't think of doing such a thing," I replied, restraining my indignation with an effort. "A note will have to do."

"It's a very irregular proposition," said Nelson. "Even the Sundown Bank has put up a pretense of collateral."

"Well," I returned, "as a business proposition, wouldn't you rather hold Wharton Kendrick's note than the Sundown Bank's collateral?"

"Yes, of course--provided Wharton Kendrick lives. But Wharton Kendrick is likely to die. The question we have to consider is, What will his note be worth in the Probate Court?"

"You see how it is," said Partridge, with the patient air of one instructing a novice. "If you haven't anything to pledge, why, an assignment is the thing."

I faced my associates with the determination to yield nothing.

"I act on the assumption that Wharton Kendrick will get well," I replied. "And if he gets well only to find that I have made a general assignment of his business, how much further do you suppose he will trust me with his affairs?"

"That's all right for you," said Partridge. "But how shall we look when we present our account to the syndicate and show that we have loaned one of our members three hundred and fifty thousand without security? How long do you think it would be before we got a chance to handle any more of their money? We'd be waiting till the next day after never, I guess."

The knot of circumstances seemed to be pretty firmly tangled, and I saw no way but to cut it by a bold stroke.

"I don't want to act without your consent--" I began.

"You have no right to act without our consent," interrupted Partridge, with quick insight into my resolve.

"Right or not, I have the power. And you will be relieved of responsibility if I pay the money without your consent."

"You wouldn't do that!" cried Nelson and Partridge in a breath, their faces showing signs of rising temper.

"I certainly shall do it before I see Wharton Kendrick's notes go to protest and a financial panic start in San Francisco."

Partridge and Nelson looked at me with concern and anger pictured on their faces. But before either could speak, the door opened and William T. Coleman entered.

"You're just in time, Coleman," said Partridge explosively. "See if you can't put reason into this young man's head."

"What's the trouble?" asked Coleman, looking calmly at the flushed and angry countenances before him.

Partridge and I attempted to explain our positions at the same time, but Coleman picked out the facts from the confusion, and with a few tactful questions had the situation clearly in his mind.

"The solution is very simple," he said. "Wharton Kendrick subscribed five hundred thousand to the syndicate. Mr. Hampden will assign us three hundred and fifty thousand out of that sum, and we shall be perfectly protected."

Coleman's plan was so logical and businesslike a way out of our difficulties that I breathed a sigh of relief, and the anger of my associates evaporated in a laugh at our stupidity in not thinking of it for ourselves.

"How much does that leave in the fund?" asked Coleman, when I had taken up the notes, and sent the clerk on his way.

"A trifle over twenty-three thousand."

"Gentlemen," said Partridge, rising with a theatric gesture, "the syndicate retires from business. Thank Heaven it is striking three."

"And what of to-morrow?" I asked.

Partridge shrugged his shoulders.

"I wish to God I knew," he said.

CHAPTER XXVI

ON THE PRECIPICE

The air of gloom that enveloped Wharton Kendrick's home was almost physical in its intensity. It was with apprehension that I awaited the opening of the door, and it was with anxious eagerness that I looked to Mercy Fillmore as she stood behind the servant who answered my ring.

"Oh, Mr. Hampden," she exclaimed, as she advanced and gave me her hand, "I have been wishing you would come."

I was gratified at the tone of relief and confidence with which she spoke, but my response was to ask of the condition of Wharton Kendrick.

"He is still out of his head," she replied, dropping into a seat. "Sometimes he talks a little--a few broken words--but most of the time he lies there silent, with vacant eyes. If it were not for his heavy breathing we should hardly know that he was alive." Her sympathetic face was filled with concern as she spoke.

"What does the doctor say?"

"He tries to look cheerful and speak confidently, but it is such an effort, I am afraid. Yet for Laura's sake I hope, and try to be convinced by the doctor's words." Then she added quickly: "I said I wanted to see you. Mr. Parks was here to-day. We had a long talk, and truly, Mr. Hampden, I want you to believe that he is a man of noble impulses. He is so unselfish, so eager for the good of others."

"I don't complain about his instincts. His heart is in the right place, as the saying goes, but his head is upside down."

"Oh, Mr. Hampden, you do not understand him!" said Mercy in a pained voice.

"Perhaps not; but surely he has not convinced you that he is wise to engage in such desperate enterprises as the overthrow of the government?"

Mercy was silent a little, and then she said:

"I should be glad if he could see some other way to work for the good of the people, but I am not wise myself, so how can I judge him? He tells me that it is not right to reason from womanly fears. Do you think he is in danger, Mr. Hampden? He is planning some important enterprise for to-night. Is there anything we can do to save him?"

My private opinion was that Parks would end by getting shot or thrown into jail. But I could not pain Mercy with any such brutal statements, so I soothed her fears as best I could. "We can't influence him to keep out of the movement," I said, "but ten to one it won't amount to anything but a lot of oratory, and hard words break no bones. You have no cause to worry about him."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so," said Mercy, looking relieved. "And now I want to tell you about Danny Regan. You know that Moon Ying recognized him as that old Chinaman's express-man?"

"Yes. She told me."

"Well, I talked to him until he confessed the whole plot to me. It began last week, after a good deal of bargaining, when he agreed to steal the girl. He came late one night with two others, and thought there would be nobody watching the house. But your men surprised them coming over the fence, and caught Danny's friend. He is the sergeant-at-arms of an anti-coolie club, he said. Danny and the other one got away. Then Danny came around in the daytime, and pretended to be a tramp, and got something to eat and talked everything out of the cook. She told him all about Moon Ying, and where she slept, and Danny raised a company to attack the house. He was going to set it on fire, and capture the girl as we all ran out, and when the hoodlums came in front, he thought it would be easy. I asked him how he could do such a thing, and his excuse was that he was drunk. He wants to know if you are going to have him arrested, and tries to lay the blame on the Chinaman he calls Little John. Do you intend to put him in jail?"

"I can't think of a better place for him. How soon can he be moved?"

"I suppose he ought to be punished. But he has suffered much for his crime, and now appears to be truly repentant. And at best he can not well be moved until next week. Don't you think we might forgive him?"

"No, I don't. You and Miss Laura might have been killed. I am angrier every time I think of it. Where is she now?"

"She is with Mr. Kendrick. She has hardly left his side to-day. She gave ten minutes to Moon Ying--it's a blessing that our little protégée is getting able to help herself--and she gave about as much more to looking after the house. The rest of the day she has spent with her uncle."

"I should say, then, that it was about time she took some rest."

"Well," said Mercy, rising, "I hope you can convince her of it. I'll tell her you are here." And she left me alone.

It was ten minutes before the door opened and Miss Kendrick entered. I greeted her with some surprise, for she was dressed as though she had just come in from the street.

"Oh, you needn't look so astonished," she said, as she gave me her hand with a tired smile. "I haven't been out of the house to-day, so I thought I'd enlist your services as cavalier. I'm dying for a breath of fresh air."

"I'm glad to find you with some spirit left. I was afraid you would be dead."

"I am," she returned, leading the way out of the door. "But I shall be alive after a little walk. I don't like being a ghost, but it's much more tolerable than one would suppose before trying it."

She was in no mood to make conversation, and walked by my side for a while without speaking. But there was such an air of confidence in her manner, such unspoken expression of comradeship in her attitude, that I was content to follow her example and find satisfaction in the silent communion and feel delight at the pressure of her hand upon my arm. We had walked a few blocks thus before she said, with an abruptness that startled me:

"Tell me about to-day."

I had been thinking of far more agreeable things than business, but I recovered myself from the momentary confusion into which I was thrown, and replied:

"It was a very lively day indeed." And, once started, I described, with such entertaining details as I could recall, some of the incidents of our struggle to keep the car of commerce on the track.

"I didn't mean all that," she said at last. "It's very amusing, but I'm not in the mood to be amused. Neither are you. What I want to know about is uncle's business."

"Well, as for that," I replied, "we got through another day safely. We had one or two exceedingly tight pinches, but we wriggled out all right. I guess the worst of it is over, and we shall pull through in good shape."

She dropped my arm with an impatient gesture, and I felt a sudden breaking of the current of silent communication that had drawn us together.

"Won't you tell me just what happened at the office to-day, and just how we stand? Didn't I tell you that I find nothing so terrible as uncertainty? It is the unknown that scares me. Let me see what is before me, and I'll have the courage to face it. Tell me the truth as you would tell it to uncle if you were talking to him instead of to me." Her tone was so pleading that my heart melted within me, and I was shaken with the desire to take her in my arms and tell her that it would be the business of my life to shield her from harm. It was a minute before I had a firm grasp on myself. Then I laid the whole account of Wharton Kendrick's business before her, as fully as I knew it.

She heard me soberly, with only a question here and there to clear up the points she did not understand. Then she asked:

"The troubles aren't over yet, are they?"

"No."

"And what shall you do to-morrow?"

"I wish I knew."

She reflected a little, and then said:

"You can't perform miracles every day. You could not get through another day like to-day, could you?"

"Not without help from somewhere. But I hope that the worst is over."

"Oh, you needn't think I'll blame you if everything goes to pieces. You've done ten times as much as anybody had a right to expect. But there is a limit to the things that can be done, and I know it very well."

I tried to speak, but she continued quickly:

"Oh, I haven't given up hope. Not a bit of it. But I have to look ahead. That's a part of me. But I won't talk about it if you don't like."

At the thought of her anxieties my feelings over-mastered me and I said:

"I do like. But I want you to look ahead to something else--to another future than taking care of your uncle's house." My heart thumped in my breast, and I felt a throb in my throat playing strange tricks with my voice. In the instant I thought of all that I had put at stake, and wished I had not begun. But with an effort of will I continued: "I want you to think of another future. I love you more than all the world, and I want you to be my wife."

She walked silently by my side, neither increasing her distance nor drawing nearer to me. But she walked on and spoke no word, and I fell into a panic over the boldness that had inspired me to my avowal. We had proceeded thus for two or three blocks before I plucked up the courage to ask:

"And what is the answer?"

She kept her head down, but replied with a trace of drollery in her tone:

"It wasn't a question. And there isn't any answer."

"I'll make it a question then."

She looked quickly up into my face.

"It wouldn't do any good if you did. Anybody can ask questions, but it takes a very wise person to answer them."

"But," I pleaded, looking into her eyes till she cast them down once more, "it means everything to me, and--"

"I know all that you would say," she interrupted. "But how can I think of such a thing when I have so much that must be done--so many uncertainties to face?"

She laid her hand appealingly on my arm, and looked up into my face again. Then she continued:

"My uncle is perhaps dying. I don't have to tell you how all his affairs are in confusion. And you are the friend I have most to look to for help and counsel. You won't take my chiefest reliance away from me, will you?"

Her appealing look and tone were too much for me. It was a very quiet place on a very quiet street, and the dusk had fallen almost to darkness; so I yielded to the impulse and stopped and kissed her. She did not resist, but drew a quick breath that was almost a gasp, and lowered her eyes. Then she said quietly:

"There--all that is to be put away with the things that were. And you're to think of all you have said as something that came in a dream. And now we'll wake up and look to the serious business of life. It isn't such a very pleasant season of life is it?"

Her voice broke a little as she ended and my heart smote me.

"I hope," I said, "that I don't have to tell you that you can depend on me for every service that I have power to give."

She took my arm again with an air of confidence.

"You are always to be my good friend," she said. "And now we'll go back. It's getting dark, and maybe the fresh air wasn't what I wanted after all. I'm a bit upset."

I felt somewhat upset myself. I was certainly left hanging in a most uncertain and unsatisfactory position; but I saw no way to better it, and held my tongue, and wondered with a jealous pang if Baldwin had, after all, won the prize I coveted.

We walked on in silence for a time, but at last she suddenly said:

"Oh, there was something I was near forgetting to tell you. I've been sitting by uncle, almost all day, and for the most of the time he has lain there more like a log than a man. But sometimes he has talked--not to know what he was saying, you understand--but some ideas are bothering his poor head. I am supposing that they have to do with his business. A dozen times in the day he spoke your name, and seemed to be trying to tell you something. He told it over and over, but the only words I could make out were 'notes,' 'million,' and 'five hundred and sixteen.' The figures seem to mean something to him, for he has repeated them oftener than anything else."

She paused for comment, and I submitted my guesses:

"The notes are probably those that Peter Bolton presented to-day. The million is roughly the amount we are short in the business, counting the deficit in the syndicate fund. I can't imagine what the 'five hundred and sixteen' can mean. It is not the number of his office, for that is in the four hundred block. There doesn't seem to be anything in the business that it could signify."

Laura Kendrick halted me, and looked up in my face.

"I am not given to intuitions," she said, her tone thrilling with earnestness, "but I have one now. As sure as you stand there, uncle made provision for paying the notes and raising the rest of the money you have had to find, and the number 'five hundred and sixteen' has something to do with it. Find the five hundred and sixteen and you'll find the million dollars." And with a nod of conviction she walked forward once more.

"It may be one of the banks," I ventured to suggest, "but I can't remember that any of them are at that number."

"Mightn't it be the place of business of some friend, where he has left this money?"

I shook my head at this improbable guess, and turned the problem over in my mind without result. Then I ventured to propose that I should see Wharton Kendrick.

"My presence might stir his thoughts to some more definite speech," I argued.

"Well, I'll let you in for just a minute. But Doctor Roberts said that nothing must be done to excite him, and I don't know as it is right to take the risk."

In a few minutes we were in the sick-room where Wharton Kendrick lay. His large frame was motionless, except for his breathing. His face was flushed, and the lines of strength and power that it bore in health had faded into expressionless weakness.

"He is like this for the greater part of the time," said Laura; "yet I have the feeling that under it all he is conscious of what is going on about him, and I do everything just as if I were sure that he could hear and see."

It was beyond all bounds of probability, yet at the conceit a sudden thought came into my mind.

"If you should be right, he must be horribly worried about his affairs. I'll just say a word to relieve his mind." Then speaking slowly and distinctly I gave a brief account of the course of the markets, dwelt on the success of the syndicate in sustaining the business fabric, and hinted at the need for more money on the morrow.

There was no physical response. If there was an intelligent brain in that inert body, it found no servant at its call among the flaccid muscles, and not even the moving of an eyelid gave sign that I was understood. Yet as I spoke, there came somewhere in my consciousness the conviction that I was heard, and that my words had brought relief to an overstrained mind.

Laura Kendrick looked quickly from the face of her uncle to mine, and a sudden light sprang into her eyes.

"You felt it, too," she said.

"Yes."

"You have done good; but you mustn't stay here any longer. Don't leave the house, though, unless you have to. I shall be afraid when you are gone."

As she opened the door to banish me from the sick-room, a servant had just raised his hand to tap at the panel.

"What is it?" she asked.

"A man to see Mr. Hampden. I took him into the library."

CHAPTER XXVII

A CALL TO ARMS

I followed the servant and was surprised to find Clark uneasily seated on the edge of a cushioned chair, nervously twisting his hat, and looking as though he was afraid he was going to break something.

"I'm sorry to bother you here," he said awkwardly, "but things have come to a head."

"What is it now? Do you think that to-night's meeting is going to make more trouble than the other one did?"

"Well, no, sir. The meeting don't amount to much. To tell you the truth, sir, the meeting is only a blind. Parks got out the notices, and he's going to make a speech. But he's the only one of the Council's people who will be there. The others are down at headquarters getting ready for the real work of the night."

"The real work? What do you mean by that?"

"Well, the truth of the business is," said Clark, "that the rifle clubs are to be called out to-night. Orders have gone out to all the Council's clubs to assemble at eleven. At twelve they will be given their guns, and then they will be sent out to seize the city. One company is to take possession of the City Hall; another will take the Committee of Safety's headquarters; and others the National Guard Armories, the Mint, the Subtreasury, and so on."

"Are they crazy? Why, the Committee of Safety has fifteen thousand men enrolled by this time."

"Crazy? Not a bit of it," protested Clark warmly. "The Committee of Safety won't have any leaders or any guns left by to-morrow. Coleman, and Mayor Bryant, and General McComb, and every man of the Committee of Twenty-Four will be under lock and key before morning if something isn't done about it. They all go home to sleep, and there isn't a man of 'em that's thought of having a guard about his house. They'll all be taken like rats in a trap. Then where's the Committee of Safety and the militia? They'll be without leaders and without guns, and what'll they do? They'll scatter like sheep. The whole scheme has been worked out like the plans for a building, and if the Council isn't stopped before twelve you'll wake up to-morrow morning under a new government."

"Nonsense!" I said. "They can't do that."

"All right," said Clark, with a hurt and offended look, "they can't, then. But it was my duty, sir, to warn you, and I've done it, so I'll be going."

"I beg your pardon, Clark," I said hastily. "I didn't mean to doubt your word or hurt your feelings. You've done quite right in coming here, and it's my business to see that they don't carry out their crazy schemes. Wait a minute, and I'll walk along down with you."

I had a hurried word with Laura Kendrick, and explained to her the importance of the information Clark had brought, and the necessity of laying it promptly before the Committee of Safety.

She looked up at me with some apprehension in her eyes.

"Well, if you must, you must," she said. "But don't you get into any mobs or into any fighting. Just remember that it's the man who orders somebody else to do his fighting that gets the glory out of it. If there's any trouble, see that you're one of the orderers instead of one of the ordered."

I laughed at her anxious counsel, and promising to use all the caution with which nature had endowed me, I joined Clark and left the house.

Directing Clark to attend the sand-lot meeting and to get word to Andrews at once if the mob should head for the Kendrick house, I caught a car and rode to the headquarters of the Committee of Safety.

Horticultural Hall resembled a beehive on swarming day. Wealth and poverty were represented side by side. Merchants, workmen, lawyers, doctors, laborers rubbed elbows, and their stern and serious faces testified to the depth of feeling that had brought them out to the defense of the city. It was an outburst of the same spirit that had given birth to the nation, and had again called forth vast armies to preserve it when its existence was threatened by civil war.

At the end of the hall a number of desks had been arranged where enrolment was still in progress. Behind the desks was a platform, and as I approached it I saw William T. Coleman walk briskly to the speaker's stand.

"Three cheers for Coleman!" came the cry from a strong-lunged Vigilante, and three cheers were given with a will.

The president of the Committee raised his hand to command silence.

"Fellow-citizens:" he cried in a full, resonant voice. "You have come here to fight--not to talk or cheer. We find a mob spirit abroad, very dangerous to the peace and order of the city. It is your business to put that spirit down. For this purpose you are clothed with all the powers of police officers. The mayor has issued his proclamation, commanding disorderly persons to disperse, and it is our part to see that this proclamation is obeyed. You have behind you the armed force of the State and Nation. But it should be a part of your pride as San Franciscans that this force should not be needed for your protection. The people have shown on former occasions that they were able to protect themselves. Show now that your courage and self-reliance have not degenerated in twenty years."

There was a warm response to this exhortation, and, at a sign from Coleman, the adjutants began calling forward the companies, and despatching them to their work.

"Captain Korbel!" called the commanding voice of the adjutant at the desk nearest us.

"Here!" came the reply in a strong German accent, and a man with energetic face stepped out from a company of twenty men.

"You will patrol Mission Street, from Sixth to Twelfth. Keep the street clear of all persons having no business there. If they resist, put them under arrest, and turn them over to the police at the Southern Station. Get your arms from that pile."

"So ist righdt," said the captain, and giving a salute he marched his company to the west side of the hall where a great number of pick-handles that had been sawn in two, base-ball bats, and wagon spokes, had been arranged in convenient stacks. Each man of the company picked up a club, balanced it in his hand, and brought it down on the head of an imaginary hoodlum with the solemnity of a prepared ritual. Then at the word of command the company marched out while others were receiving their orders from the desks of the adjutants.

I had observed this lively scene with but half an eye, shouldering my way forward to meet William T. Coleman as he descended from the platform. He had talked for a little with some member of the Committee, but as he came down the steps on his way to the side room that served as a private office, I hailed him. He looked up quickly, and his face changed as he caught sight of me.

"Is Kendrick dead?" he asked anxiously.

"No. He is still unconscious, but living."

"What is the trouble, then?" he asked, looking keenly into my eyes. "You have bad news."

Then before I could reply, he said, "Come in here," and led me into the private office. "Now let's hear about it," he said.

"The Council of Nine is ready to use its rifles," I replied. And I gave with rapid phrases the tale of the imminent revolution as it had come from Clark.

William T. Coleman listened with a rapt attention that showed he took the warning more seriously than I had taken it.

"Then we have till midnight," he said, after he had digested the information.

"My informant said that the rifle clubs are ordered to assemble at eleven o'clock."

He looked out of the window into the darkness; then he turned to me again.

"It will never do to let those men come together with arms in their hands. That would mean bloodshed--terrible bloodshed. I am using every effort to prevent an appeal to arms. I have refused to call for the militia. The National Guard is under arms, but I have a promise from Bryant that he will not ask for it until I give the word. I have refused an offer of Federal troops from the Presidio. I have a note from the admiral that the marines and sailors at Mare Island have been put under arms, and that the Pensacola is ready to take a position that will command the city. But I have refused to permit them to be summoned. I shall never summon them except as a last resort. It is an awful thing to have men shot down, and the memory of such an affair would be a lasting stain on the city."

"It would be sad to have innocent men killed," I said; "but I shouldn't weep over the loss of some of those demons I saw raiding wash-houses and trying to kill Wharton Kendrick. The world would be better off without them."

"Do not judge them too hastily," said Coleman quickly. "Civilization is at best only skin-deep. Scratch the civilized man, and you find the wild beast. It takes a little deeper scratch to find it in some men than in others; but it is there. You and I think ourselves well-balanced, Hampden, yet I have seen men of our nature turn into ferocious beasts. I pray God I may never see the like again. These men you saw in the shape of demons the other night may be good citizens in quiet times. Thank God, young man, for government. It is the blessing of organized society--of organized government--that keeps the wild beast behind bars." He spoke with feeling, yet with the philosophic calm of the lecturer on law, and he impressed me profoundly with his momentary unveiling of a broad and tolerant mind. Then he became the man of affairs again.

"Do you know where to find the headquarters of the Council?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Do you know these men by sight?"

"I believe I can recognize eight of the nine."

"Well, then, I shall have to ask you to go down to the Council's headquarters at once, and arrest the leaders of the movement. You will have the honor of ending the uprising before it has begun."

CHAPTER XXVIII

WITH THE PICK-HANDLE BRIGADE

If I had stopped to consider how fully the safety of Wharton Kendrick--to say nothing of his niece--depended upon me, I should perhaps have found courage to decline the dangerous mission. But William T. Coleman's commanding eye was upon me; and after a gulp to moisten my dry throat, I replied with an attempt to put a cheerful spirit into my voice:

"Very well; but I'd like to take a man or two along--merely as a guaranty to the Council that I'm not joking."

Coleman smiled.

"Oh, I didn't expect you to go alone. Take as many men as you like. Will twenty be enough?"

I thought so.

"Well, then, here are a dozen John Doe warrants. They will be your authority for whatever you may find it necessary to do in arresting these men. Now come out here and pick your company."

He led the way to the main hall, glanced over the throng that still pervaded it, and cried in a resonant voice:

"Volunteers wanted for dangerous service."

His discouraging form of statement did not dismay all of the company before him. At least fifty men stepped forward at the call.

"Take your pick," said Coleman with a wave of his hand. "If they haven't revolvers, I will supply them. You'd better take the clubs for ordinary service."

I selected a score of men whose faces showed vigor and determination, looked to their arms, directed them to the pile of pick-handles, and when each man had satisfied himself of the virtue of his weapon by knocking down an imaginary enemy, I led the way to the street.

"Where are we going?" asked one of the men with the easy familiarity of the volunteer.

"Secret service," I replied. "Don't make any more noise than you have to." If we were to arrest the conspirators without bloodshed it was necessary to take them by surprise, and we approached their meeting-place with as much caution as I could contrive.

The House of Blazes blinked more furtively than ever on the darkness. The outer door was but half opened, and the lights within burned but dimly. Yet a faint murmur that thrilled the air gave warning of many voices in converse, and stray gleams of light from the shuttered windows above bore ample witness to the fact that there was hidden activity in the den of the revolutionists.

I posted a number of men in position to prevent escape through the windows, and instructed the remainder to await my signal outside the main entrance. Then pushing open the swinging door, I entered the saloon.

The long room was almost deserted. A man in an apparent stupor sat with his head on a table in the dim light at the farther end of the place. Another lay on a bench snoring in drowsy intoxication. A short, round-faced young fellow with a dirty white apron stood behind the bar, and looked up with cheerful expectancy as I entered.

"Take me to the Council," I said peremptorily. "I am just from Mr. Parks."

"The Council!" stammered the man. "I don't--I don't know what you mean."

At the sound of my voice, the fat pasty face of H. Blasius appeared through the doorway at the right of the bar.

"Ah, Meestaire--Meestaire--friend of Park," he said, recognizing me and coming forward. "I salute a brozaire in arms." And he would have embraced me but for my nimbleness in avoiding his odious clutch.

"I have come for orders," I said. "I must see the Council."

"Ah," he cried, "you have come to give your ar-rms to ze inauguration of ze gr-rand r-revolution." And he rolled out his "r's" in a way to make the revolution very grand indeed.

"I have brought more than my arms," I said. "I have the first company of our troops outside."

"Mon Dieu!" he cried, his pasty face growing paler, and his blinking eyes opening wider in alarm. "Mon Dieu! You have come mooch too soon. Ze police will cast ze blow of an eye upon zem, ze alar-rm will sound, and Zip! away goes ze chance of winning by surprise."

"That's so," I exclaimed, with the accent of one overwhelmed at conviction of a lack of judgment. "I will bring my men in and march them up to the Council-room where they can lie hid till the hour comes."

"Non! non!" cried H. Blasius in alarm. "No one can go to ze Council-room. Zere is no Council-room." His old distrust had overcome the alcoholic enthusiasm with which he had received me, and his eyes blinked cunningly upon me. Then he gave an apprehensive glance at the door by which he had entered, and I was confirmed in the suspicion that it led to the rooms of the conspirators.

"Well, if you won't take me up, I must go by myself. My business must be laid before the Council at once." And I moved with determination toward the suspected door.

H. Blasius placed himself in the way with arms outstretched.

"Non--non!" he cried. "You can not entrez wizout ze mot d'ordre--ze password."

"Give it to me, then," I demanded. "You are delaying the Council's business."

He was overawed a little by my authoritative tone, but before he could bring his tongue to answer me, the barkeeper accidentally dropped a glass on the floor, and the men whom I had stationed at the door, mistaking the crash for the sounds of conflict, rushed in to my rescue.

"The Vigilantes!" cried the barkeeper in dismay, at the sight of the badges and the pick-handles.

"Mon Dieu! we are betrayed!" cried H. Blasius, whirling around with a step toward the door that led to the Council-room.

I divined his purpose. He was bent on warning the conspirators. With one bound I had him by the collar, and with a fierce wrench dragged him back and flung him against the bar, spluttering inarticulate protests.

The barkeeper had seized a revolver, but before he could raise it, he was in the hands of my men. He submitted without resistance and with the cheerful spirit of one to whom the outcome is a matter of small importance.

"Keep that man quiet," I said, with the hope that the noise of struggle had not reached the Council-room. Then I gripped H. Blasius by his fat throat.

"Give me the countersign!" I demanded.

He gave a scream of terror and dropped to his knees.

"Have pity--do not keel me. Mon Dieu! I am one good citizen. I make no plots wiz ze r-revolutionists."

"The countersign," I repeated grimly, tightening my grip on his throat, while two of my assistants reinforced my argument by prodding him in the sides with their sticks.

"Leeberty--leeberty or deat',"--Mr. H. Blasius pronounced it "debt"--"zat is ze countersign," he gasped through his constricted windpipe. And assured by his eyes that he was telling the truth, I flung him into the arms of my men.

"Shut off his wind if he tries to give a warning," I said, and with a word I picked a squad from my company and gave them brief instructions:

"Follow me up the stairs. Don't make a noise. And when I give the signal push me through the door."

A dim illumination filtered through a ground-glass transom at the top of the stairway, and the murmur of voices that floated down gave evidence that a busy meeting was in progress.

I walked up the stairs with bold step, and my men crept cautiously after me. At the top was a landing, large enough to hold my squad, and I signed to them to collect behind me. Then I gave three resounding blows on the door--a compelling summons that I had learned as a lawyer's clerk in serving papers on unwilling defendants. There is some mystic virtue in the slow triple knock that brings the most wary from their holes. At my rap there was a sudden hush of voices. Then some one by the door cried:

"Who is there?"

"A friend you are expecting."

"If you are a friend, give the countersign."

"Liberty or Death."

At this reply the door opened cautiously for a few inches, and a man peeped through the crack.

"Now!" I cried. And with the force of six men behind me I shot forward, flung the door wide open, and sent its guardian sprawling backward, as I was projected a dozen feet into the Council-room. The room was large, and around a large table in front of a pulpit-like platform sat twelve or fifteen men. The Council and its advisers were in session.

At my unceremonious entrance the conspirators gave a prompt exhibition of their qualities. Waldorf, Reddick and Seabert sprang to their feet, and their hands went to their pockets with the evident purpose of drawing their revolvers. Others ran from side to side of the room, wildly seeking some way of escape. Two crawled under the table. The rest remained motionless in their chairs, looking with dull apprehension at our sudden irruption.

There were more of the conspirators than I had reckoned on meeting. But we had the advantage of surprise, and signing to two of my men to hold the door, I walked calmly forward with the others.

"Gentlemen," I said to the startled group, "you are under arrest."

"The devil we are!" cried Waldorf, snatching a revolver out of his pocket and snapping it at me.

There was a deafening report, and a bullet clipped my ear, but before Waldorf could raise the hammer a second time a rap from a pick-handle laid him sprawling limply across the table. Reddick's weapon was knocked from his hand with a blow that broke his wrist. Seabert was seized and thrown before he could get his revolver out of his pocket, and a fiery little German in spectacles, who shot a hole in his coat in an excited attempt to draw his weapon, fell limply to the floor and squirmed like a shot rabbit at a skull-cracking stroke from a Vigilante's club.

It was after all but a tame affair. For men who were planning to seize a city and overturn a nation, there was an absurdly small supply of fighting blood among them. The sprawling figure of Waldorf, lying face upward on the table with the blood trickling over his forehead, the fiery German in a limp heap on the floor, and the sight of Reddick and Seabert disabled, took all the fight out of the rest of the company. They submitted without resistance to be searched, disarmed and bound.

"Where are the rifles?" I demanded, when these preliminaries had been completed.

"Don't know of any rifles," said Seabert sullenly. "Never had any."

The arrested company at once became unanimous on this point. There were never any rifles in their possession. They became so insistent in the denial that I jumped to the conclusion that the arms could not be far away, and looked about for their hiding-place. The ornamental work behind the platform and about the hall gave opportunity for concealed doorways and false partitions, but when they were sounded none could be uncovered.

"There's room for them under that platform," I said at last; and by the falling countenances of the conspirators I saw that I had hit upon the hiding-place.

The flooring was ripped off the platform, and we uncovered something more than four hundred rifles with a well-filled cartridge-belt strapped to each. Encouraged by this success we ransacked the place to discover the rest of the Council's armament, but had at last to give it up with the conclusion that the remainder of the thousand guns had already been distributed to the clubs.

A messenger sent in haste to the headquarters of the Committee of Safety brought a train of express-wagons with orders to hurry the arms and ammunition to Horticultural Hall, and send the prisoners to the City Prison and Receiving Hospital. And stationing a guard to receive any of the revolutionary spirits who might come seeking the Council's instructions, I set off for the headquarters of the Committee of Safety. The House of Blazes, as I took my last look at it, seemed smothered in an atmosphere of angry discomfiture, as it scowled at us from its blinking windows, fit tomb of the evil purposes it had harbored.

CHAPTER XXIX

A TONGUE OF FIRE

We had reached Union Square on our return to the Committee's headquarters, when the night air burst into a clangor of alarm. There was a sudden chorus of shrieking whistles, a distant tintinnabulation of gongs, and the great bell in the fire house on Brenham Place thrilled the air with its tolling vibrations.

"Box fifty-nine!" cried one of the men who had counted the strokes. "Where's that?"

"It's the Mail docks, I'll bet!" cried another. "They've been threatening to burn 'em."

I turned to look, and the guess was confirmed. A glare of red had flamed up in the southeastern sky, and the fire was already under good headway.

"It's the third alarm," said a sentinel who stood by the corner. "The Committee's been sending men down there already."

The sharp cry of commanding voices echoed from Horticultural Hall, men were climbing into express-wagons and hurrying off on the gallop, and our way was blocked for a minute by a company that marched rapidly out of the building, quickened its pace to a run, and sped down Post Street. Instead of clubs they carried rifles, and I surmised that the armament of the Council of Nine was being turned against the Council's purposes.

Within the hall all was excitement; cries of command rose sharply as companies were assembled by zealous officers, and squads were marching out as rapidly as they could be armed.

William T. Coleman met me by the door of the office.

"Well, it seems to have begun at last," he said. "The Mail docks have been set afire, and the report comes that the Chinamen down there are being killed by a big mob."

"There was talk of burning the City of Tokio with the thousand coolies it has brought," I said, with a shudder at the thought of the barbarities that were perhaps being enacted on the threatened dock.

"The Tokio isn't in yet," said Coleman. "The report of her arrival was a mistake."

"I don't believe there's any real fight in the mob," I said. "We have just cut the head off the beast."

Coleman grasped my hand.

"I'm obliged to you for the work you have done," he said. "The guns you sent in will be put to good use. And now would you mind taking a company down to the docks?"

"Not at all," I returned unhesitatingly, resolved to live up to the figure I had assumed in his eyes.

"You have something of an interest down there," he added. "Kendrick's lumber-yards are right near the docks, and you may want to do something to protect them." Then turning to the despatching officer, he said: "Put Brixton's company under command of Captain Hampden. Brixton won't be back to-night."

"I should like," I said, "to add to it the men I have brought back from the House of Blazes. In affairs of this sort it's some advantage to be acquainted with your men, and we've rubbed shoulders to-night in a way that is better than an introduction."

Coleman looked at the dozen men who lined up at my call, and gave a nod of assent.

"Enroll Captain Hampden's volunteers with the company," he said. "That will give him about sixty men. Now get down to the docks on the double quick. Remember that the first thing to be looked out for is the fire-hose. In times like this it carries the life-blood of the city. If any one tries to cut it, shoot him." And with this curt direction he waved us forward.

The rosy glow that illumined the southeastern sky had spread and deepened since we entered the hall. The ruddy light rose and fell in sudden tides, as the eddying-clouds of smoke reflected or obscured the fierce flames that leaped below them.

The sound of the fire-bell and the reddened sky had been a signal to other ears and eyes than those of the Vigilantes. Market Street was a hurrying stream of men and women and children, carried along by a common impulse, like wreckage on flood waters. Bands of young hoodlums rushed down the street with blackguardly cries, rudely jostling those who neglected to make way for them. A sibilant clamor of excited voices filled the air,--hoarse shouts of men, yells from the hoodlums and shrill chatter from the women and children, roused by the thrill of them.

At the corner of Beale and Harrison Streets we were halted by a densely packed mass of people striving vainly to press forward to a point from which they could get a closer view of the conflagration, now but a block away. The roar of flames could be heard above the volume of rattling sound that came from the massed confusion of firemen, rioters, Vigilantes and spectators. A ruddy glare illumined the great throng. Waves of heat reached us even at this distance, and farther down the street we could see men protecting their faces from the burning effulgence by holding their arms before their eyes. The great furnace sent up swift peaks of flame that fell as suddenly as they rose, and gave place to rolling clouds of smoke that turned the blaze to a dull red glow.

Before I could give the order to charge a passage through the crowd, a fire-engine dashed up with the clatter of galloping horses, the wild shouts of the firemen, the ringing of gongs and the cries of the frightened spectators. The throng pressed aside, and by some magic of contraction made a lane for the swift horses as they drew the engine up to the hydrant. At this moment the engine across Harrison Street, that had been whirring away with convulsive energy, gave vent to a splutter of steam, slowed down, and came to a stop. A fireman came running over to the newly arrived engine from its fellow across the street, scattering in his train an eruption of oaths that gave a verbal effect that was comparable to the shower of sparks from his engine.

"Look out for your hose!" he shouted wrathfully. "They've just cut ours again."

"Where's the police?" cried the captain of the new engine, as he gave orders to couple the hose to the hydrant.

"There's one policeman to the block, an' if he ain't dead he ought to be," returned the wrathful engineer. "They was talking about what the Vigilantes was a-goin' to do, but I ain't seen none of 'em. I reckon they's a-holdin' a promenade concert up to Horticultural Hall, and ain't got time to come down here. If you want your hoodlums knocked out, you'll have to do it yourself." And running back to his engine he suited action to word by seizing a stick and clearing a space about it with fierce flourishes and fiercer words.

"Here are your Vigilantes," I shouted. "Now lay your lines of hose side by side, and I'll see that there's no more cutting."

"Well, clear the track for us then!" cried the captain with a volley of excited oaths. "Can't you see that my men are blocked there?"

I stationed half my company by the engines, formed the other half into a wedge, and rushed them down the hill. They plowed a wide lane through the massed throng, and the firemen ran behind them hauling the lines of hose, and howling orders and encouragement at every step. Along the path I dropped out man after man, with instructions to keep the crowd back, and shoot the first person who attempted to touch the hose. When I was satisfied that the lines were secure, I followed the advance guard down the slope to the corner of Beale and Bryant Streets.

Here I could for the first time see the full extent of the conflagration.

A bold bluff nearly one hundred feet high at First and Bryant Streets diminishes gradually till it permits Beale Street to descend by a moderate grade to the level of the wharves. Between the face of this bluff and the docks lay a medley of warehouses, coal-bunkers and lumber-yards, all now involved in a conflagration that turned the amphitheater between the bluff and the bay into a furnace filled with tossing, leaping flames of weird diversity of color. The warehouses were filled with sea stores and the spoil of commerce from many lands; one was stocked with barrels of whale-oil and other products of the Arctic trade; and over them all flickered red, green, orange and yellow flames, in endless confusion. The coal-bunkers gave off great clouds of smoke, while the fiercest flames shot up from the oil warehouses and the blazing lumber-piles. Now and then a dull explosion, followed by a temporary dimming of the light at the eastern end of the furnace, pointed out the location of the oil; then a black cloud would roll up and drift away, and in a moment red and smoky flames would leap three hundred feet in air with a vicious eagerness that made them seem almost a sentient agent of destruction.

The wharves appeared to be yet untouched by the fire, but they were visibly in imminent danger, and, above the roar of the flames, the shouts of the firemen and the clamor of the crowd, we could plainly hear the cries of the sailors as they strove to move their vessels from the perilous neighborhood.

At the foot of the hill the heat was blistering. Planks a hundred feet from the blaze were smoking; the light was blinding, and even the boldest of the spectators had retired half-way up the hill. Yet two engines had been pushed forward almost to the border of the flame-covered area; and the firemen, attacking the conflagration with reckless energy, could be seen dragging their hose over planks that still glowed with half-extinguished embers.

At the entrance to this inferno my eye was caught by a reminder of difficulties that stirred my heart to a leap of apprehension. A long sign-board that had been set across the gate to the lumber-yards, now twisted and ready to fall from the half-burned uprights that supported it, bore across its face the words, "The Kendrick Lumber and Milling Co." Another of Wharton Kendrick's activities was destroyed, and hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of his property was now represented by a few acres of roaring flames. For a minute I was struck motionless with the fear that this loss might prove the final blow, and bring down in one avalanche the accumulated difficulties that I had evaded or postponed.

Then I was roused to attention by the words:

"Here is the man who can tell you all about it; he's the one that turned in the alarm."

The speaker wore the badge of an assistant chief of the fire department, and he was addressing two young men who held pencil and paper in their hands and looked eagerly at a roughly dressed man who seemed to be dazed at the destruction that was going on about him.

"Yes, I'm the man," he said slowly. "I'm a watchman. I was over there on the wharf--the Beale Street wharf. A while ago--it was a long time ago--"

"Never mind the long while ago--tell us about to-night," interrupted one of the young men impatiently.

"That's what I was telling you about," said the man in an injured tone. "It was a long while ago--to-night. I looked over here just the other side of that oil warehouse--there's only one wall left to it now--an' I saw a fellow strike a match. I thought he was goin' to light his pipe, but he took a box from under his arm an' stuck the match in it. The box flared up as though it was full o' shavings, an' then he stuck it under a lumber-pile. I hollered at him, an' he ran. Then the fire started up, an' I got to the fire-box an' turned in the alarm. Then there was hell to pay." The man made this announcement in a dull, matter-of-fact way that gave a touch of comedy-in-tragedy to his words.

"What sort of looking man was he?" I asked.

"Oh, he was an oldish man--an old man--tall, an' sort of stooped."

"Stout or thin?"

"Thin, I guess--he was too far away for me to say for sure, an' bein' as I was kind of flustered by the fire, too."

At his words an illuminating light came to my mind. The fire was not directed at the Pacific Mail docks. It was set to destroy the yards of the Kendrick Lumber and Milling Company, and it had succeeded. It was the crowning stroke of Peter Bolton's assault on Wharton Kendrick's fortune.

I wondered whether Peter Bolton had himself set the match to the lumber-pile. The description by the watchman fitted him, and he did not lack the will for the deed. But it was so foreign to his cautious temper to take the risks of committing such a crime with his own hand that I hesitated to believe. Yet when he had once resolved upon such a step, it might well have seemed safer to him to perform the act himself, than to confide it to an accomplice who might betray him.

I was turning over this problem in my mind, and watching with unconscious eyes the bold and resolute efforts of the firemen to fight back the flames, when I was roused by a flight of stones. Two of them struck the nearest engine; one knocked the hat off a man of my company; and a fireman was struck down, only to jump to his feet in a moment with a torrent of oaths. The fire chief roared a profane but vigorous condemnation of the assault, and devoted its authors to an even warmer place than the furnace that blazed before us.

"That's the fifth time we've got it," said the engineer, backing up his chief with a contribution of blistering words.

I looked about for the assailants.

"It's those fellows up there on top of the bluff," said the fire chief. "They've been pelting the firemen and the police for half an hour. They can't reach this end of the line very well, but they've made it hot for our men up near First Street. I hear they've killed some of the Vigilantes up there. The Vigilantes tried to rush 'em, but it's up a hundred foot of narrow stair, and they had to give it up. I wish the whole gang up there was pitched into the middle of the fire."

I looked up at the bluff, and saw a black mass lining its upper edge. Two or three hundred men and boys were clustered along its front, yelling and throwing stones. It was evident that their position could not be taken from the front. In no place was there less than fifty feet of sheer ascent. But I recalled that the bluff was open to attack from the rear by the way of First Street.

"I'll settle those fellows," I said.

"I'll see that you get the department medal, if you do," returned the fire chief. "But you can't get up there without wings."

After stationing guards along the line of hose, I still had twenty-five men who could be spared for other service. Most of them were still standing by the engines at the top of the Beale Street hill. So I made my way back to the corner, and with a few words explained the purpose of the expedition we were about to undertake. They had heard the report that a number of the Vigilantes had been killed by the hoodlums, and burning with indignation they welcomed the chance to inflict vengeance on the rioters.

"Keep together," I cautioned them, as we pushed our way through the mob of sightseers and mischief-makers up Harrison Street to First. Evil faces in the crowd gave us savage glances of dislike. But the white band on the arm that marked the members of the Safety Committee, the warning word of "Here come the Vigilantes," and the display of pick-handles, served to discourage the thought of molesting us. There was mass enough among the rough element in that crowd to swallow us ten times over, but they knew that we represented the force of law and government, and the rage for mischief fell to a muttering of threats as we passed.

When we had forced our way through the mass of sightseers to a distance of fifty yards from the edge of the bluff, there was a sudden shot, followed by an answering rattle that sounded like the firing of a pack of giant fire-crackers. Screams of women and shouts of men reinforced the noise of the guns, and we were borne backward in a terrified rush of the crowd. The infection of panic was hard to resist, but I succeeded in giving a steadying word to my men, and they breasted the current till the ground cleared before us. Then I saw that my manoeuver had been anticipated. A company of the Vigilantes had made a flank attack on the hoodlum position from the west by way of Bryant Street. We ran forward to reinforce the company, and I offered our services to its captain.

"They fired on us," he said, "and we've cleaned 'em out, I guess. Here's one fellow shot, anyhow. They've been throwing rocks down on the firemen below, and knocked out half a dozen of them--killed two of 'em, I heard. The cowardly brutes! Hunt 'em out, boys! There's some of 'em left in those yards along the bluff."

I made a dash along the edge of the bluff, and was rewarded by flushing a half-dozen hoodlums who rose from behind an outhouse, like quail from a clump of bushes, and hastily scrambled over a fence. I called to them to halt or we would shoot, and was over the fence after them in an instant. Most of my men were too old for fast work of this sort, but a glance behind me showed that half a dozen had followed me.

The hoodlums had led the way to a cul-de-sac of buildings, and were cursing as they scattered here and there in the effort to find a way out. The form and voice of their leader, and his running stride stirred faintly the chords of memory. I tried vainly to recall where I had seen him before, and the elusive recollection multiplied my desire to capture him. In this resolve chance favored me. A stumble sent him to the ground, and before he could rise I was on top of him, and held a revolver against his head.

"Damn you!" he cried, puffing hoarsely in the effort to regain his breath.

"Take it quietly," I advised him, "or you'll lose what little brains you have."

"Damn you!" he repeated. "Let me up, or I'll kill you."

This time his tone and words stirred memory to definiteness. I had in my hands the fellow whose knife-thrust had been near ending my career, and whose gift of an overcoat had led me to Big Sam. and the train of events which followed upon my visit to the King of Chinatown. Here, then, was an agent of Bolton, and perhaps of Big Sam as well, leading one of the hoodlum gangs in its career of riot and arson. And I felt, as I gripped his throat, that I had within my hand the proof of Bolton's criminal conspiracy. If this man could be got to talk, the jail would close on Peter Bolton in the hour of his triumph; and the furnace that roared and glowed below us would bring ruin to his plans as swiftly as it had consumed the property of his enemy.

CHAPTER XXX

THE END OF THE FEUD

At last the night of alarms was over, and the forces of law and order held San Francisco firmly in their grasp. The police and the Vigilantes were fagged out but triumphant. And though the warehouses and lumber-yards in the amphitheater before the Mail docks were but a smoking mass of ashes and charcoal, the dangers of the conflagration were over. The exhausted firemen were withdrawn to fling themselves down to rest, and only a few hosemen were left to guard the smoldering ruins.

The great conspiracy of the Council of Nine had come to nothing. Parks was the only leader out of jail, and, in the absence of its active heads, the revolution had deliquesced into a series of scattered and objectless riots. The Committee of Safety had proved strong enough to handle the emergency, and the militia companies, held all night in their armories without a call for their services, were dismissed with the dawn.

The first gray of the morning was lightening the eastern sky as I disbanded my company. I had landed my captive in the City Prison, stubbornly uncommunicative, and jauntily confident that he was to be protected from harm. And when at last I had made my report at the Vigilante headquarters, I was driven to Wharton Kendrick's home, consumed with anxiety lest some of the wandering bands of rioters, or another gang of bravoes sent by the highbinders, had been inspired to attack it. Peter Bolton had succeeded in one of his schemes of vengeance, and I trembled lest in the wreck of his conspiracy against the peace of the city he had struck another blow at the person of his enemy.

As we turned the corner into Van Ness Avenue my mind was relieved of one anxiety. The Kendrick house still stood untouched by fire, and the gray dawn showed no sign of further attack.

Andrews received me with composure.

"Oh, yes," he replied to my eager questions, "there was some of them hoodlums come along here--gangs of ten or twenty at a time--and they yelled a good deal. But when we showed our teeth they went by on the other side. There was some shooting a block or two away, but they didn't even throw a rock around here."

At this soothing report I flung myself down in the men's quarters for a hurried sleep, dog-tired, but gratified to feel a reviving spring of courage. It seemed but a moment later that I saw Laura Kendrick threatened by the largest dragon I have ever met--in Dreamland or out. The uncanny monster had the face of Peter Bolton, marvelously magnified to fit a hundred-foot body, and he opened his mouth in sardonic laughter as he moved forward to crush the slight figure that stood in his path. At this sight I was oppressed by a modest but terrified conviction that I would cut but a poor figure in a contest with a dragon. But spurred by fear for the life of the most important girl in the world I ran forward shouting out such threats as I could summon, in the hope of communicating some of my own terrors to the monster, when on a sudden his boiler blew up, and he was scattered into nothingness. The shock of the explosion waked me, and I started up to find Andrews at my side.

"I didn't mean to knock the chair over, sir," he said apologetically, "but you told me to call you at seven. And Miss Kendrick says you are to go upstairs to breakfast, as soon as you're ready."

I collected my faculties sufficiently to make myself presentable, and was received at the door by Laura herself.

"I'm afraid," she said, as she ushered me into the breakfast-room, "that it doesn't agree with you to stay up all night. I don't believe you've had a wink of sleep, but I've made some coffee that's warranted to bring you wide awake before you can shut your eyes."