But to Benito it spelled home. For him and for Alice. This should be hisChristmas gift. Old Antonio, his former major-domo, lingered still inSan Francisco. He would send him out this very day to set the place inorder. Tomorrow he and Alice would ride--his brow clouded. He shouldhave to borrow two horses. No matter. Tomorrow they would ride--
A startled exclamation from Bob Ridley roused him from his rhapsody.
"Benito, come here! Look! What the devil is that?"
From their eminence the town of San Francisco was plainly visible; tall,thin shafts of smoke rising straight and black from many chimneys; theblue bay shimmering in the morning sunshine; the curious fretworkshadows of that great flotilla of deserted ships. But there wassomething more; something startlingly unnatural; a great pillar of blackvapor--beneath it a livid red thing that leaped and grew.
"Good God! The town's afire!" cried Benito.
CHAPTER XXVI
FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!
Benito's first thought was of Alice. He had left her sleeping. Perhapsshe had not yet awakened, for the morning was young. Adrian had gone toSan Jose the previous afternoon. His wife, his sister and her childwould be alone.
Benito sprang upon his horse; the others followed. In less than half anhour they crossed Market street and were galloping down Kearny towardthe Square. At California street they were halted by a crowd, pushing,shouting, elbowing this way and that without apparent or concertedpurpose. Above the human babel sounded a vicious crackle of burning woodlike volleys of shots from small rifles. Red and yellow flames shot highand straight into the air. Now and then a gust of wind sent the lickingfire demon earthward, and before its hot breath people fled in panic.
Benito flung his reins to a bystander. He was scarcely conscious of hismovements; only that he was fighting for breath in a surging,suffocating press of equally excited human beings. From this he finallyemerged, hatless, disheveled, into a small cleared space filled withflying sparks and stifling heat. Across it men rushed feverishlycarrying pails of water. Dennison's Exchange on Kearny street, midway ofthe block facing Portsmouth Square, was a roaring furnace. Flame spranglike red, darting tongues from its windows and thrust impertinentfingers here and there through the sloping roof.
Somewhere--no one seemed to know precisely--a woman screamed, "My baby!Save my baby!" The sound died to a moan, was stilled. Benito, passing abucket along the line, stared, white faced, at his neighbor. "What wasthat?" he asked.
"Quien sabe?" said the other, "hurry along with that pail. The roof'sfalling."
It was true. The shingle-covered space above the burning buildingstirred gently, undulating like some wind-ruffled pond. The mansardwindows seemed to bow to the watchers, then slowly sink forward. With aroar, the whole roof sprang into fire, buckled, collapsed; the verandatoppled. Smoke poured from the eight mansard windows of the ParkerHouse, next door. South of the Parker House were single-storiedbuildings, one of wood, another of adobe; the first was a restaurant;over its roof several foreign-looking men spread rugs and upon thempoured a red liquid.
"It's wine," Bob Ridley said. "But they'll never save it. Booker's storeis going, too. Looks like a clean sweep of the block."
Broderick's commanding figure could be seen rushing hither and thither."No use," Benito heard him say to one of his lieutenants. "Water won'tstop it. Not enough.... Is there any powder hereabouts?"
"Powder!" cried the other with a blanching face. "By the Eternal, yes! Astore of it is just around the corner. Mustn't let the fire reach--"
Broderick cut him short. "Go and get it. You and two others. Blow up orpull down that building," he indicated a sprawling ramshackle structureon the corner.
"But it's mine," one of the fire-fighters wailed. "Cost me ten thousanddollars--"
Fiercely Broderick turned upon him. "It'll cost the town ten millions ifyou don't hurry," he bellowed. "You can't save it, anyhow. Do you wantthe whole place to burn?"
Broderick's commanding figure was seen rushing hither andthither.... "You and two others. Blow up or pull down that building," heindicated a sprawling, ramshackle structure.]
"All right, all right, Cap. Don't shoot," the other countered with asudden laugh. "Come on, boys, follow me." Benito watched him and theothers presently returning with three kegs. They dived into the buildingindicated. Presently, with the noise of a hundred cannon, the cornerbuilding burst apart. Sticks and bits of plaster flew everywhere. Thecrowd receded, panic-stricken.
"Good work!" cried the fire marshal.
It seemed, indeed, as though the flames were daunted. The two smallstructures were blazing now. The Parker House, reeling drunkenly,collapsed.
Unexpectedly a gust of wind sent fire from the ruins of Dennison'sExchange northward. It reached across the open space and flung a rain ofsparks down Washington street toward Montgomery. Instantly there came ananswering crackle, and exasperated fire-fighters rushed to meet thelatest sortie of their enemy. Once more three men, keg laden, made theirway through smoke and showering brands. Again the deafening reportreverberated and the crowd fell back, alarmed.
Someone grasped Benito's arm and shook it violently. He turned andlooked into the feverishly questioning eyes of Adrian Stanley.
"I've just returned," the other panted. "Tell me, is all well--withInez? The women?"
"Don't know," said Benito, half bewildered. The woman's wail for a lostchild leaped terrifyingly into his recollection. His hand went up as ifto ward off something. "Don't know," he repeated. "Wasn't homewhen--fire started."
It came to him weirdly that he was talking like a drunken man; thatAdrian eyed him with a sharp disfavor. "Where the devil were you, then?"
"At the ranch," he answered. Suddenly he laughed. It all seemed veryfunny. He had meant to give his wife a Christmas present; later he hadridden madly to her rescue, yet here he was passing buckets in a firebrigade. And Adrian, regarding him with suspicion, accusing him silentlywith his eyes.
"You take the pail," he cried. "You fight the fire." And while Stanleylooked puzzledly after him, Benito charged through a circle ofspectators up the hill. He did not know that his face was almost black;that his eyebrows and the little foreign moustache of which they hadmade fun at the mines was charred and grizzled. He knew only that Alicemight be in danger. That the fire might have spread west as well as eastand north.
As he sped up Washington street another loud explosion drummed againsthis ears. A shout followed it. Benito neither knew nor cared for itssignificance. Five minutes later he stumbled across his own doorsill,calling his wife's name. There was no answer. Frenziedly he shouted"Alice! Alice!" till at last a neighbor answered him.
"She and Mrs. Stanley and the baby went to Preacher Taylor's house. Isthe fire out?"
"No," returned Benito. Once more he plunged down hill, seized a bucketand began the interminable passing of water. He looked about for Adrianbut did not see him. He became a machine, dully, persistently,desperately performing certain ever-repeated tasks.
Hours seemed to pass. Then, of a sudden, something interrupted theaccustomed trend. He held out his hands and no bucket met it. With alook of stupid surprise he stared at the man behind him. He continued tohold out his hand.
"Wake up," cried the other, and gave him a whack across the shoulders."Wake up, Benito, man. The fire's out."
Robert Parker, whose hotel was a litter of smoking timbers, and TomMaguire, owner of what once had been the Eldorado gambling house, werediscussing their losses.
"Busted?" Parker asked.
"Cleaned!" Maguire answered.
"Goin' to rebuild?"
"Yep. And you?"
"Sartin. Sure. Soon as I can get the lumber and a loan."
"Put her there, pard."
Their hands met with a smack.
"That's the spirit of San Francisco," Ridley remarked. "Well we'velearned a lesson. Next time we'll be ready for this sort of thing.Broderick's planning already for an engine company."
"I reckon," Adrian commented as he joined the g
roup, "a vigilancecommittee is what we need even more."
To this Benito made no answer. Into his mind flashed a memory of thetrio that had left Thieves' Hollow at daybreak.
CHAPTER XXVII
POLITICS AND A WARNING
Benito Windham rose reluctantly and stretched himself. It was verycomfortable in the living-room of the ranch house, where a fire crackledin the huge stone grate built by his grandfather's Indian artisans. Manyof the valuable tapestries imported from Spain had been removed byMcTurpin during his tenure, but even bare adobe walls were cheerful inthe light of blazing logs, and rugs of native weave accorded well withthe simple mission furniture. In a great chair that almost swallowed hersat Alice, gazing dreamily into the embers. Family portraits hung uponthe wall, and one of these, stiff and haughty in the regimentals of asoldado de cuero, seemed to look down upon the domestic picture with acertain austere benignity. This was the painting of Francisco Garvez ofhidalgo lineage, who had stood beside Ortega, the Pathfinder, when thathonored scout of Portola had found the bay of San Francisco and theGolden Gate.
"Carissima, how he would have loved you, that old man!" Benito's tonewas dreamy.
Alice Windham turned. "You are like him, Benito," she said fondly."There is the same flash in your eye. Come, sit for awhile by the fire.It's so cosy when it storms."
Benito kissed her. "I would that I might, but today there is an electionin the city," he reminded. "I must go to vote. Perhaps I can persuadethe good Broderick to dine with us this evening; or Brannan--though heis so busy nowadays. Often I look about unconsciously for Nathan Spear.It seems impossible that he is dead."
"He was 47, but he seemed so young," commented Alice. She rose hastily."You must be very careful, dear," she cautioned, with a swift anxiety,"of the cold and wet--and of the hoodlums. They tell me there are many.Every week one reads in the _Alta_ that So-and-So was killed at theEldorado or the Verandah. Never more than that. In my home in the Eastthey would call it murder. There would be a great commotion; theassassin would be hanged."
"Ah, yes; but this is a new country," he said, a little lamely.
"Will there never be law in San Francisco?" Alice asked him,passionately. "I have not forgotten--how my father died."
Benito's face went suddenly white. "Nor I," he said, with an oddintensity; "there are several things ... that you may trust me ... toremember."
"You mean," she queried in alarm, "McTurpin?"
Benito's mood changed. "There, my dear." He put an arm about hershoulders soothingly. "Don't worry. I'll be careful; neither storm norbullets shall harm me. I will promise you that."
* * * * *
Early as it was in the day's calendar--for San Francisco had no knack ofrising with the sun--Benito found the town awake, intensely active whenhe picked his way along the edge of those dangerous bogs that passed forbusiness streets. Several polling places had been established. Towardeach of them, lines of citizens converged in patient single-filedetachments that stretched usually around the corner and the length ofanother block. Official placards announced that all citizens of theUnited States were entitled to the ballot and beneath one of these, awag had written with white chalk in a large and sprawling hand:
"No Chinese Coolies in Disguise Need Apply."
No one seemed to mind the rain, though a gale blew from the sea, causinga multitude of tents to sway and flap in dangerous fashion. Now andthen a canvas habitation broke its moorings and went racing down thehill, pursued by a disheveled and irate occupant, indulging in the mostviolent profanity.
At Kearny and Sacramento streets Benito, approaching the voting station,was told to get in line by Charley Elleard, the town constable. Elleardrode his famous black pony. This pony was the pet of the town and haddeveloped a sagacity nearly human. It was considered wondrous sport togive the little animal a "two-bit" piece, which it would gravely holdbetween its teeth and present to the nearest bootblack, placing itsforefeet daintily upon the footrests for a "shine."
As he neared the polls in the slow succession of advancing voters,Benito was beset by a rabble of low-voiced, rough-dressed men, whothrust their favorite tickets into his hands and bade him vote asindicated, often in a threatening manner. Raucously they tried to cryeach other down. "Here's for Geary and the good old council," one wouldshout. "Geary and his crowd forever."
"We've had the old one too long," a red-shirted six-footer bellowed."Fresh blood for me. We want sidewalks and clean streets."
This provoked a chorus of "Aye! Aye! That's the ticket, pard," until asatirical voice exclaimed, "Clean streets and sidewalks! Gor a'mighty.He's dreamin' o' Heaven!"
A roar of laughter echoed round the town at this sally. It was repeatedeverywhere. The campaign slogan was hastily dropped.
At the polling desk Benito found himself behind a burly Kanaka sailor,dark as an African.
"I contest his vote," cried one of the judges. "If he's an American, I'ma Hottentot."
"Where were you born?" asked the challenging judge of election.
"New York," whispered a voice in the Kanaka's ear, and he repeated theword stammeringly. "Where was your father born?" came the secondquestion, and again the word was repeated. "What part of New York?"
"New York, New York." The answer was parrot-like. Someone laughed.
"Ask him what part of the Empire State he hails from?" suggestedanother. The question was put in simpler form, but it proved too muchfor the Islander. He stammered, stuttered, waved his hand uncertainlytoward the ocean. Perceiving that he was the butt of public jest, hebroke out of the line and made off as fast as his long legs couldtransport him.
The man whose whispered promptings had proved unavailing, fell sullenlyinto the background, after venomous glance at the successful objector.Benito caught his eyes under the dripping crown of a wide-brimmed slouchhat. They seemed to him vaguely familiar. Almost instinctively his handsought the pocket in which his derringer reposed. Then, with a laugh, hedismissed the matter. He had no quarrel with the fellow; that murderouslook was aimed at Henry Mellus, not at him. So he cast his ballotand went out.
Opposite the Square he paused to note the progress of rehabilitation inthe burned area. It was less than a fortnight since he had stood therefeverishly passing buckets of water in a fight against the flames, butalready most of the evidences of conflagration were hidden behind theframework of new buildings. The Eldorado announced a grand opening inthe "near future"; Maguire's Jenny Lind Theater notified one inconspicuous letters, "We Will Soon Be Ready for Our Patrons, Bigger andGrander Than Ever."
Benito nodded to Robert Parker, whose hotel was rising, phoenix-likefrom its ashes.
"Things are coming along," he said with a gesture toward the buildings."Have you seen anything of Dave Broderick?"
Parker shook the rain-drops from his hat. "Saw him going toward theBella Union," he replied. "They say he's as good as elected. A fineState senator he'll make, too." Taking Benito's arm, he walked with himout of earshot of those nearby.
"Benito," his tone was grave. "They tell me you've resumed possession ofyour ranch."
"Yes," confirmed the younger. "Half a dozen of my old servants are therewith Mrs. Windham and myself. I've bought a little stock on credit andall's going well."
For a moment Parker said nothing; then, almost in Benito's ear, he spokea warning: "Do you know that McTurpin is back?"
CHAPTER XXVIII
ON THE TRAIL OF McTURPIN
Benito, in a mood of high excitement, strode uphill toward the BellaUnion, pondering the significance of Parker's startling information.
So McTurpin had come back.
He had been about to ask for further details when one of the hurryingworkmen called his informant away. After all it did not matter much justhow or when the gambler had returned. They were sure to meet sooner orlater. Once more Windham's hand unconsciously sought the pistol in hispocket. At the entrance of the Bella Union he halted, shook the rainfrom his hat, scraped the mud from his feet
upon a pile of gunnysackswhich served as doormats, and went into the brilliant room. Since thetemporary closing of the Eldorado, this place had become the mostelegant and crowded of the city's gaming palaces. A mahogany barextended the length of the building; huge hanging lamps surrounded byornate clusters of prisms lent an air of jeweled splendor which thelarge mirrors and pyramids of polished glasses back of the counterenhanced. On a platform at the rear were several Mexican musicians inrich native costumes twanging gaily upon guitars and mandolins. Now andthen one of them sang, or a Spanish dancer pirouetted, clicking hercastanets and casting languishing glances at the ring of auditors abouther. These performers were invariably showered with coins. Tables of allsizes filled the center of the room from the long roulette board to thelittle round ones where drinks were served. Faro, monte, roulette, rougeet noir, vingt-un, chuck-a-luck and poker: each found its disciples;now and then a man went quietly out and another took his place; therewas nothing to indicate that he had lost perhaps thousands of dollars,the "clean-up" of a summer of hardships at the mines. A bushy beardedminer boasted that he had won $40,000 and lost it again in an hour and ahalf. Henry Mellus offered him work as a teamster and theother accepted.
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