“About half an hour. I figured that everybody in a place like this would be wanting news. So I sorted out that bundle of old newspapers you fellows were always laughing at, and I went out and sold them. Lucky I got busy with them early; for I don’t doubt the arrival of the Oregon broke the market.”
“How much did you get for them?” asked Johnny.
“A dollar apiece for most, and fifty cents for the rest. I came out two hundred and seventy dollars ahead all told. That, with Frank’s and my ten dollars, gave me sixty dollars above the necessary amount.”
Johnny arose and kicked himself solemnly.
“For not guessing what newspapers were good for,” he explained. “Go on! What next? What did you do with the rest of the day?”
Talbot leaned forward, and all the animation of the dinner table returned to his manner and to his face.
“Boys,” said he earnestly, “this is the most wonderful town that has ever been! There has been nothing like it in the past; and there will never be anything like it again. After I had sold out my papers I went wandering across the Plaza with my hands in my pockets. Next the El Dorado there is a hole in the ground. It isn’t much of a hole, and the edges are all caving in because it is sandy. While I was looking at it two men came along. One was the owner of the hole, and the other said he was a lawyer. The owner offered to rent the hole to the lawyer for two hundred and fifty dollars a month; and the lawyer was inclined to take him up. After they had gone on I paced off the hole, just for fun. It was twelve feet square by about six feet deep! Then I walked on down toward the water front, and talked with all the storekeepers. They do a queer business. All these goods we see around came out here on consignment. The local storekeepers have a greater or lesser share and sell mainly on commission. Since they haven’t any adequate storehouses, and can’t get any put up again, they sell the stuff mainly at auction and get rid of it as quickly as possible. That’s why some things are so cheap they can make pavements of them when a ship happens to come in loaded with one article. I talked with some of them and told them they ought to warehouse a lot of this stuff so as to keep it over until the market steadied. They agreed with that; but pointed out that they were putting up warehouses as fast as they could–which wasn’t very fast–and in the meantime the rains and dust were destroying their goods. It was cheaper to sell at auction.”
“And a heap more exciting,” put in Johnny. “I went to one of them.”
“Well, I wandered down to the shore, and looked out over the bay. It was full of shipping, riding high at anchor. I had an idea. I hired a boat for five dollars, and rowed out to some of the ships. Believe me or not, most of them were empty; not even a watchman aboard! I found some of the captains, however, and talked with each of them. They all told the same story.”
“Crews skipped to the mines, I suppose?” said Yank.
“Exactly. And they couldn’t get any more. So I offered to hire a few of them.”
“The captains?” I inquired.
“No; the ships.”
“The what?” we yelled in chorus.
“The ships.”
“But if the captains can’t get crews─”
“Oh, I don’t want to sail them,” went on Talbot impatiently. “It was hard work getting them to agree; they all cherished notions they could get crews and go sailing some more–good old salts! But I hired four, at last. Had to take them for only a month, however; and had to pay them in advance five hundred apiece.”
“I beg pardon,” said Johnny softly, “for interrupting your pleasing tale; but the last item interested me. I do not know whether I quite heard it right.”
“Oh, shut up, Johnny,” said Yank; “let the man tell his story. Of course he didn’t have the money in his pocket. How did you get it, Tal?”
Ward shot him a grateful glance.
“I told them I’d pay them at four o’clock which gave me plenty of time.”
“Two thousand dollars–oh, of course!” murmured Johnny.
“So then,” continued Talbot, “I hustled ashore; and went to see some of my merchant friends. In two hours I had contracts with twelve of them that totalled six thousand dollars.”
“Why didn’t some of them go out and hire ships on their own account?” asked Yank shrewdly.
“Because I didn’t mention the word ‘ship’ until I had their business,” said Talbot. “I just guaranteed them storage, waterproof, practically fireproof, dustproof, and within twenty-four hours. I guess most of them thought I was crazy. But as it didn’t cost them anything, they were willing to take a chance.”
“Then you didn’t raise your ten thousand dollars from them in advance payments!” I marvelled.
“Certainly not. That would have scared off the whole lot of them. But I got their agreements; I told you it took me two hours. Then I walked up the street figuring where I’d get the money. Of course I saw I’d have to divide the profits. I didn’t know anybody; but after a while I decided that the best chance was to get some advice from honest and disinterested man. So I asked the first man I met who ran the biggest gambling place in town. He told me Jim Recket.”
“Jim Recket?” I echoed. “He’s the man I was to leave change for my gold slug with.”
“Recket keeps the El Dorado, next door in the tent. He impressed me as a very quiet, direct, square sort of a fellow. The best type of professional gambler, in matters of this sort, generally is.
“‘I am looking for a man,’ said I, ‘who has a little idle money, some time, no gold-mining fever, plenty of nerve, and a broad mind. Can you tell me who he is?’
“He thought a minute and then answered direct, as I knew he would.
“‘Sam Brannan,’ he said.
“‘Tell me about him.’
“‘To take up your points,’ said Recket, checking off his fingers, ‘he came out with a shipload of Mormons as their head, and he collected tithes from them for over a year; that’s your idle money. He has all the time the Lord stuck into one day at a clip; that’s your “some time.” He has been here in the city since ’48 which would seem to show he doesn’t care much for mining. He collected the tithes from those Mormons, and sent word to Brigham Young that if he wanted the money to come and get it. That’s for your nerve. As for being broad minded–well, when a delegation of the Mormons, all ready for a scrap, came to him solemnly to say that they were going to refuse to pay him the tithes any more, even if he was the California head of the church, he laughed them off the place for having been so green as to pay them as long as they had.’
“I found Sam Brannan, finally, at the bar in Dennison’s Exchange.”
“What was he like?” asked Johnny eagerly. “I’ll bet I heard his name fifty times to-day.”
“He is a thickset, jolly looking, curly headed fellow, with a thick neck, a bulldog jaw, and a big voice,” replied Talbot. “Of course he tried to bully me, but when that didn’t work, he came down to business. We entered into an agreement.
“Brannan was to furnish the money, and take half the profits, provided he liked the idea. When we had settled it all, I told him my scheme. He thought it over a while and came in. Then we rowed off and paid the captains of the ships. It was necessary now to get them warped in at high tide, of course, but Sam Brannan said he’d see to that–he has some sort of a pull with the natives, enough to get a day’s labour, anyway.”
“Warp them in?” I echoed.
“Certainly. You couldn’t expect the merchants to lighter their stuff off in boats always. We’ll beach these ships at high tide, and then run some sort of light causeway out to them. There’s no surf, and the bottom is soft. It’ll cost us something, of course; but Sam and I figure we ought to divide three thousand clear.”
“I’d like to ask a question or so,” said I. “What’s to prevent the merchants doing this same hiring of ships for themselves?”
“Nothing,” said Talbot, “after the first month.”
“And what prevented Brannan, after he had h
eard your scheme, from going out on his own hook, and pocketing all the proceeds?”
“You don’t understand, Frank,” said Talbot impatiently. “Men of our stamp don’t do those things.”
“Oh!” said I.
“This,” said Johnny, “made it about two o’clock, as I figure your story. Did you then take a needed rest?”
“Quarter of two,” corrected Talbot, “I was going back to the hotel, when I passed that brick building–you know, on Montgomery Street. I remembered then that lawyer and his two hundred and fifty dollars for a hole in the ground. It seemed to me there was a terrible waste somewhere. Here was a big brick building filled up with nothing but goods. It might much better be filled with people. There is plenty of room for goods in those ships; but you can’t very well put people on the ships. So I just dropped in to see them about it. I offered to hire the entire upper part of the building; and pointed out that the lower part was all they could possibly use as a store. They said they needed the upper part as storehouse. I offered to store the goods in an accessible safe place. Of course they wanted to see the place; but I wouldn’t let on, naturally, but left it subject to their approval after the lease was signed. The joke of it is they were way overstocked anyway. Finally I made my grand offer.
“‘Look here,’ said I, ‘you rent me that upper story for a decent length of time–say a year–and I’ll buy out the surplus stock you’ve got up there at a decent valuation.’ They jumped at that; of course they pretended not to, but just the same they jumped. I’ll either sell the stuff by auction, even if at a slight loss, or else I’ll stick it aboard a ship. Depends a good deal on what is there, of course. It’s mostly bale and box goods of some sort or another. I’ve got an inventory in my pocket. Haven’t looked at it yet. Then I’ll partition off that wareroom and rent it out for offices and so forth. There are a lot of lawyers and things in this town just honing for something dignified and stable. I only pay three thousand a month for it.”
Johnny groaned deeply.
“Well,” persisted Talbot, “I figure on getting at least eight thousand a month out of it. That’ll take care of a little loss on the goods, if necessary. I’m not sure a loss is necessary.”
“And how much, about, are the goods?” I inquired softly.
“Oh, I don’t know. Somewhere between ten and twenty thousand, I suppose.”
“Paid for how, and when?”
“One third cash, and the rest in notes. The interest out here is rather high,” said Talbot regretfully.
“Where do you expect to get the money?” I insisted.
“Oh, money! money!” cried Talbot, throwing out his arms with a gesture of impatience. “The place is full of money. It’s pouring in from the mines, from the world outside. Money’s no trouble!”
He fell into an intent reverie, biting at his short moustache. I arose softly to my feet.
“Johnny,” said I, in a strangled little voice, “I’ve got to give back McGlynn’s change. Want to go with me?”
We tiptoed around the corner of the building, and fell into each other’s arms with shrieks of joy.
“Oh!” cried Johnny at last, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Money’s no trouble!”
After we had to some extent relieved our feelings we changed my gold slug into dust–I purchased a buckskin bag–and went to find McGlynn. Our way to his quarters led past the post-office, where a long queue of men still waited patiently and quietly in line. We stood for a few moments watching the demeanour of those who had received their mail, or who had been told there was nothing for them. Some of the latter were pathetic, and looked fairly dazed with grief and disappointment.
The letters were passed through a small window let in the adobe of the wall; and the men filed on to the veranda at one end and off it at the other. The man distributing mail was a small, pompous, fat Englishman. I recognized McGlynn coming slowly down with the line, and paid him half the dust in my bag.
As McGlynn reached the window, the glass in it slammed shut, and the clerk thrust a card against it.
“Mails close at 9 P.M.”
McGlynn tapped at the glass, received no attention, and commenced to beat a tattoo. The window was snatched open, and the fat clerk, very red, thrust his face in the opening.
“What do you want?” he demanded truculently.
“Any letters for John A. McGlynn?”
“This office opens at 8:30 A.M.” said the clerk, slamming shut the window.
Without an instant’s hesitation, and before the man had a chance to retire, McGlynn’s huge fist crashed through the glass and into his face.
The crowd had waited patiently; but now, with a brutal snarl, it surged forward. McGlynn, a pleasant smile on his face, swung slowly about.
“Keep your line, boys! Keep your line!” he boomed. “There’s no trouble! It’s only a little Englishman who don’t know our ways yet.”
Inside the building the postal force, white and scared yet over the menacing growl of the beast they had so nearly roused, hastened to resume their tasks. I heard later that the last man in line reached the window only at three o’clock in the morning. Also that next day McGlynn was summoned by Geary, then postmaster, to account for his share in the row; and that in the end Geary apologized and was graciously forgiven by McGlynn! I can well believe it.
We found Yank and Talbot still at the edge of the hotel veranda.
“Look here, Tal!” said Johnny at once. “How are you going to finish all this business you’ve scared up, and get off to the mines within a reasonable time? We ought to start pretty soon.”
“Mines?” echoed Talbot, “I’m not going to the mines! I wouldn’t leave all this for a million mines. No: Yank and I have been talking it over. You boys will have to attend to the mining end of this business. I’ll pay Frank’s share and take a quarter of the profits, and Frank can pay me in addition half his profits. In return for the work I don’t do, I’ll put aside two hundred and twenty dollars and use it in my business here, and all of us will share in the profits I make from that amount. How does that strike you?”
“I don’t like to lose you out of this,” said Johnny disappointedly.
“Nor I,” said I.
“And I hate to lose the adventure, boys,” agreed Talbot earnestly. “But, honestly, I can’t leave this place now even if I want to; and I certainly don’t want to.”
I turned in that night with the feeling that I had passed a very interesting day.
*
CHAPTER XIII
UP-RIVER
Two days later Yank, Johnny, and I embarked aboard a small bluff-bowed sailboat, waved our farewells to Talbot standing on the shore, and laid our course to cross the blue bay behind an island called Alcatraz. Our boatman was a short, swarthy man, with curly hair and gold rings in his ears. He handled his boat well, but spoke not at all. After a dozen attempts to get something more than monosyllables out of him, we gave it up, and settled ourselves to the solid enjoyment of a new adventure.
The breeze was strong, and drove even our rather clumsy craft at considerable speed. The blue waters of the bay flashed in the sun and riffled under the squalls. Spray dashed away from our bows. A chill raced in from the open Pacific, diluting the sunlight.
We stared ahead of us, all eyes. The bay was a veritable inland sea; and the shores ahead of us lay flat and wide, with blue hazy hills in the distance, and a great mountain hovering in midair to our right. Black cormorants going upwind flapped heavily by us just above the water, their necks stretched out. Gulls wheeled and screamed above us, or floated high and light like corks over the racing waves. Rafts of ducks lay bobbing, their necks furled, their head close to their bodies. A salt tang stirred our blood; and on the great mountain just north of the harbour entrance the shadows of cañons were beginning most beautifully to define themselves.
Altogether it was a pleasant sail. We perched to windward, and smoked our pipes, and worked ourselves to a high pitch of enthusiasm over what we were goi
ng to see and do. The sailor too smoked his pipe, leaning against the long, heavy tiller.
The distant flat shores drew nearer. We turned a corner and could make out the mouth of a river, and across it a white line that, as we came up on it, proved to be the current breaking against the wind over a very solid bar. For the first time our sailor gave signs of life. He stood on his feet, squinted ahead, ordered us amidships, dropped the peak of the mainsail, took the sheet in his hand. We flew down against the breakers. In a moment we were in them. Two sickening bumps shook our very vertebræ. The mast swayed drunkenly from side to side as the boat rolled on her keel, the sail flopped, a following wave slopped heavily over the stern, and the water swashed forward across our feet. Then we recovered a trifle, staggered forward, bumped twice more, and slid into the smoother deep water. The sailor grunted, and passed us a dipper. We bailed her out while he raised again the peak of his sail.
Shortly after this experience we glided up the reaches of a wide beautiful river. It had no banks, but was bordered by the tall reeds called tules. As far as the eye could reach, and that was very far when we climbed part way up the mast to look, these tules extended. League after league they ran away like illimitable plains, green and brown and beautiful, until somewhere over the curve of the earth straight ahead they must have met distant blue hills. To the southeast there seemed no end but the sky.
From the level of the boat, however, we saw only a little way into the outer fringe. The water lay among the stalks, and mud hens with white bills pushed their way busily into intricate narrow unguessed waterways. Occasionally the hedge of the tules broke to a greater or lesser opening into a lagoon. These were like shallow lakes, in which sometimes grew clumps of grasses. They were covered with waterfowl. Never have I seen so many ducks and geese of all kinds. They literally covered the surface of the water, and fairly seemed to jostle each other as they swam busily to and fro, intent on some business of their own. Their comfortable, low conversational clucking and quacking was a pleasure to hear. When, out of curiosity, we fired a revolver shot, they rose in the air with a roar like that of a great waterfall, and their crossing lines of flight in the sky was like the multitude of midges in the sun. I remember one flock of snow-white geese that turned and wheeled, alternately throwing their bodies in shadow or in the sunlight, so that they flashed brilliantly.
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