Drake Samuel Adams
The Young Vigilantes: A Story of California Life in the Fifties
XVI
RAMON FINDS HIS MATCH
Charley at once led the way into the cabin. When all four had passed in he shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and set down the lantern on the table, when, by its dim light, Ramon saw, for the first time, the faces of his abductors. Stealing a quick glance around him he met Walter's set face and stern eye. The faces of the others gave him as little encouragement. Greatly relieved to find his worst fears unfounded, his courage began to rise again. He met Walter's look with one of defiance, and inwardly resolved to brazen it out. His life, he knew, was safe enough. To show that he was not afraid, he assumed a careless tone, as if he looked upon the whole thing as a joke. "You've got me, boys. But now you've got me, what do you want with me?" he demanded, twisting a cigarette in his trembling fingers.
"First," said Walter, a trifle unsteadily, for the sight of his enemy was almost too much for him, "first we want you to sign this paper," taking it out of his pocket. "It is – you can read it – a full confession of your robbery of Bright & Company." In spite of his effrontery, Ramon could not help wincing a little. Walter went on without mercy, "And of your clever little scheme to throw suspicion on me as your accomplice." Ramon merely gave a contemptuous little shrug. "And lastly, of what you've done with all the property you – you stole." Ramon scowled and gnawed his mustache.
Now that he knew the worst, Ramon began to bluster. "Oh, you shall smart for this when I get on shore – yes, all of you," he declared hotly. "You've got the wrong pig by the ear this time; yes, you have. As for you," this to Bill, "you hoary-headed old villain, I'll have you skinned alive and hung up by the heels for a scarecrow."
Bill could hold in no longer. "Who said anything about your goin' ashore, I'd like to know?" he asked, in his bantering way. "You never'd be missed, nohow. Here yer be, and here you stop till we've done with you. So none of your black looks nor cheap talk. They won't pass here."
"Stop me if you dare! It's abduction, kidnaping, felony!" cried Ramon, glancing fiercely from one face to the other. "I despise you and your threats. Where are your proofs? Where is your authority?"
"Ugly words those, big words. You want proofs, eh? What do you say to this?" Walter asked, in his turn, unfolding a handbill before Ramon's eyes with one hand, while with the other he held the lantern up so that the accusing words, in staring print, might be the more easily read:
STOP THIEF!!!
$500 REWARD!
The above reward will be paid for the apprehension of one Ramon Ingersoll, an absconding embezzler
This was followed by a detailed description of his personal appearance.
"Now will you sign?" Walter again demanded of the branded thief and fugitive from justice.
Ramon smiled a sickly smile. "Oh! it's the reward you're after, is it? Hope you may get it, that's all."
At this fresh insult two red spots flamed up on Walter's cheeks. Ramon's dark eyes sparkled at having so cleverly seen through the motives of his captors.
"Is that your last word?"
"Before I'll sign that paper I'll rot right here!"
"You had better sleep on it," replied Walter, turning away.
"What! before s'archin' him for the stealin's?" Bill asked, with well-feigned surprise, at the same time critically looking Ramon over from head to foot.
Ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, as if already he felt the hangman's noose choking him, the observant Bill meanwhile watching him as a cat does a mouse. "Come, my lad, turn out your pockets," he commanded, in a most business-like way.
Pale with anger, Ramon first pulled out a leather pocket-book, which he threw upon the table, with something that sounded very much like a muttered curse, after which he folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "Now you've got it, much good may it do you," he sneered.
The pocket-book contained only a few papers of little value to anybody.
"What has become of all the money you took?" Walter demanded.
"Gone," was the curt reply.
"What! gone! You can't have spent it all so soon. Think again. There must be a trifle left."
Ramon shrugged his shoulders by way of reply.
"Feel for his belt, Bill," Charley struck in. Charley had been growing impatient for some time over so much waste of words. Bill hastened to take the hint.
"Hands off! I tell you, I'll not be searched," shouted Ramon, carrying his hands to the threatened spot like a flash. In spite of his struggles, however, the belt, which every one wore in that day, was secured, and in it ten new fifty-dollar gold pieces were found, and turned out upon the table. Again Ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, nervously, tremblingly. In a twinkling Bill had twitched that article off and tossed it to Walter. "Good's a belt, hain't it?" asked Bill in answer to Walter's look. "I seed him grabbin' at it twicet. S'arch it! s'arch it!"
Rolled up in a little wad, in the folds of the neckerchief, they found two certificates of deposit of a thousand dollars each, and in another similar roll several notes of hand for quite large sums, made payable to Bright & Company, but with forged indorsements to a third party, who, it is needless to say, was no other than Ramon himself, who had thus added forgery to his catalogue of crime. Fortunately, his hurried departure had prevented the negotiating of these notes, which now furnished the most damning evidence of his misdeeds.
"Now, then," said Walter, sweeping the money and papers together in a heap, "we've drawn his teeth, let him bite if he can."
At this cutting taunt, Ramon summoned to his aid the remains of his fast-waning assurance. "Oho! my fine gentlemen, suppose I'm all you say I am, if you take my money you're as deep in the mud as I am in the mire; eh, my gallant highwaymen?" he hissed out.
"Enough of this. We shall take good care of you to-night; but to-morrow we mean to hand you over to the Vigilantes. You can then plead your own cause, Master Embezzler." So saying, Walter pointed to a stateroom opposite, to signify that the last word had been said.
Ramon's face instantly turned of a sickly pallor. As Bill afterwards said, "Walter's threat took all the starch out of him." In a broken voice he now pleaded for mercy. "I give it up. I'll confess. I'll sign all you say – anything – if you'll promise not to give me up to those bloodhounds," he almost whimpered. Truly, his craven spirit had at last got the mastery.
Walter pretended to hesitate, but in truth he was only turning over in his own mind how best to dispose of Ramon. Hitherto the wish for revenge had been strong within him, had really gone hand-in-hand with that to see wrong made right. But Ramon was now only an object of pity, of contempt. The confession was again placed before him with the addition of a clause stating that the money surrendered was the same he had taken from his employers. He himself added the words, "This is my free act and deed," after which he signed his full name as if in a hurry to have it over with. The two friends then witnessed it.
Walter put this precious document in his pocket with a feeling of real triumph. At last his good name would be vindicated before all the world. Once again he could look any man in the face without a blush. It seemed almost too good to be true, yet there sat Ramon cowering in a corner, while he, Walter, held the damning proofs of the robbery in his possession. No, it was not a dream. Right was might, after all.
Instead of asking to be set at liberty, Ramon now begged to be kept hid from the dreaded Vigilantes. "Give me just money enough to get away with, set me on shore after dark, and I'll take my chances," he pleaded. Only too glad to be well rid of him, the three friends willingly agreed to this proposal. After darkness had set in, Bill pulled Ramon to a distant spot above the town, among the sand dunes. Handing the discomfited wretch his own pocket-book, with the contents untouched, Bill gave him this parting shot: "Take it, and go to Guinea! If this is the last on ye, well an' good, but it's my 'pinion there's more rascality stowed away in that cowardly carkiss o' yourn." Without replying, Ramon stole away in the darkness, and was soon lost to sight.
XVII
A SHARP RISE IN LUMBER
"Isn't that the Sacramento boat?" asked Charley, looking off in the direction of a rapidly approaching bank of lights. "How plainly we can hear the drumming of her big paddles. Listen!"
"If it is, she's all of two hours ahead of time," was Walter's reply.
"Yes, it's the old Senator's day. She's a traveler all the time, and to-night she has the tide with her. Do you know, they say she's made more money for her owners than she could carry on one trip?"
"Sho! You don't mean it."
"True as you stand there."
They stood watching the Senator work her way into her dock, when Charley suddenly asked, "What are you so glum about to-night, Walt?"
"I was thinking what I would do if I had a boatload of money."
"Hope you may get it, that's all. Hark! Ah, here's Bill back again."
By the way that Bill was rowing, he seemed in a great hurry. Greatly to the surprise of the two friends, he was closely followed up the side by a stranger, to whom Bill lent a helping hand as this person stumbled awkwardly to the deck. At first both Walter and Charley thought it must be Ramon returning.
"Hello! what's up now?" both exclaimed in one breath.
"What's up? Lumber's up. Got any?" answered a quick, sharp voice not at all like Ramon's.
As nobody spoke Bill made a hurried explanation. "Sacramento's all burnt up, lock, stock, and barrel. Boat's goin' right back to-night. I seen her comin' lickety-split, fit to bust her b'iler; so I kinder waited round for the news. I heered this man askin' who had lumber, so I jest mittened onto him, and here he is."
"Whar's this yer lumber – afloat or on shore?" the newcomer impatiently demanded.
"Afloat," Charley replied.
"Good enough! How's it stowed: so's it can be got at?"
"It's a whole cargo. Never been broken out."
"Good again! What sort is it? Can I see it?"
"Come into the cabin and I'll get out the manifest. You can't see anything till daylight."
"Burn the manifest!" returned the stranger, still more impatiently. "Daylight's wuth dollars now. Show me the man can tell what that thar lumber is, or isn't."
"I can," Walter put in, "'cause I saw it loaded."
"Then you're the very man I want. Talk fast. I'm bound to go back on that thar boat."
Thus urged, Walter began the inventory on his fingers. "There's six two-story dwelling houses, all framed, ready to go up."
"Whoop-ee! how big?"
"About 24x36, high-studded, pitched roof, luthern windows. The rest is building stuff – all of it – sills, joists, rough and planed boards, matched boards – "
"Any shingles?" the impatient man broke in.
"Yes, a big lot; and clapboards too."
"Talk enough. Whar's the owner?"
"You're talking to him now," said Charley quickly.
"Well, then, I reck'n we'd better have a little light on the subject, hadn't we?" the stranger suggested.
Upon this hint Charley led the way to the cabin, where the parties took a good look at each other. The stranger glanced over the manifest, laid a big, brawny hand upon it, then, turning to Walter, but without betraying surprise at his youthful appearance, said pointedly, "Name your price, cash down, stranger, for the lot. I'm here for a dicker."
Walter began a rapid mental calculation. "Those houses are worth all of twenty-five hundred apiece," he declared, glancing at Charley.
"More," Charley assented positively.
"Wuth more for firewood," added Bill.
"Houses and all; all or none. How much for the hull blamed cargo?" the stranger again demanded, getting up to expectorate in a corner.
"Lumber is lumber," observed Charley, wrinkling his forehead in deep thought.
"Do I ask you to give it away? Name your figure," the would-be purchaser insisted. "Come up to the scratch. I've no time to waste here palavering. What do you take me for?" he added angrily.
Walter again had recourse to his mental arithmetic. "Six times two fifty, fifteen; lump the rest at ten; freight money five, storage five more, insurance five. Forty thousand dollars!" he exclaimed desperately at a venture, feeling the cold sweat oozing out all over him.
"It's mine. I'll take it," said the stranger, coolly suiting the action to the word by dragging out of his coat pockets first one chuggy bag of gold dust and then another, which he placed before Walter on the table. "Here's something to bind the bargain." Then, seeing Bill critically examining a pinch of the dull yellow grains in the palm of his hand, he added: "Oh! never fear! That's the real stuff. You get the rest when that lumber's delivered alongside Sacramento levee at my expense. Talk fast. Is it a whack?"
"Hold on, stranger," cried the acute Charley, pushing back the gold. "We don't agree to no such thing, mister. We deliver it right here from the ship."
The stranger smote the table with his clenched fist. "Can't waste no time loading and unloading," he declared; "that's half the battle. I must have this cargo ahead of everybody, up river. You say it's all loaded. That's why I pay high for it. I don't care shucks how you get it there; so fix it somehow; for it's make or break with me this time. Sabe?"
"Why not tow her up and back, if he pays for it?" Bill suggested.
The buyer caught as eagerly at the idea as a drowning man does at a straw. "Sartin. Tow her up!" he exclaimed. "I hire the boat and pay all expenses. How many hands of you? Three. All right. You get ten dollars apiece a day till the ship's unloaded."
The man's eagerness to buy his way through all obstacles rather confused Walter, who now turned inquiringly toward Bill.
"She draws nigh onto twenty feet this blessed minute," Bill said in a doubtful undertone.
"Why, the river is booming!" cried the stranger, looking from one to the other, with eager, restless eyes, as this unforeseen difficulty presented itself to his mind.
Again Bill came to the rescue. "I'll tell ye, mates, what we can do. Lash an empty lighter on each side of her; that'll lift her some; then if she takes the ground, we might break out cargo into the lighters, till she floats agin."
The lumber speculator listened like one who hears some one speaking in a strange tongue. He, however, caught at Bill's idea. "Yes, that's the how, shoah," he joyfully assented. "I'll hire a towboat to-night, if one's to be had in 'Frisco for money. I don't know shucks 'bout these yer ships, but when it comes to steamboats I reck'n I kin tell a snag from a catfish."
"I think we may risk it, then," observed Charley, who, as ship-keeper, felt all his responsibility for her safety.
Walter then drew up the contract in proper form, after which it was duly signed, sealed, and witnessed.
"Now, then," resumed the stranger, "you boys get everything good and ready for a quick start. Thar's your dust. You play fa'r with me, an' I'll play fa'r with you. Shake."
He then put off with Bill for the shore.
"Dirt cheap," said Charley, eying Walter sidewise.
"Thrown away," groaned Walter peevishly, by way of reply.
And to think that only the day before the lumber would not have paid for the unloading!
XVIII
A CORNER IN LUMBER
By dint of hard work the Southern Cross was got ready to cast off her moorings by the time the tug came puffing up alongside, early in the morning. They were soon under weigh, but the ship's bottom was so foul that she towed like a log.
Bill steered, while Charley and Walter went forward to pass the word from the tug or tend the hawser, as might be necessary. It being smooth water here, in an hour or so the tow passed out into San Pablo Bay, where it met not only a stiff head wind, but a nasty little choppy sea. That made towing slow work, but by noon they were abreast of Benicia and entering the Straits of Carquinez, with old Monte Diablo peering down upon them on the starboard hand.
Beyond this point the tow steamed across still another bay, for some fifteen miles more, without mishap. They had now left the coast mountains far behind, and were heading straight for what seemed an endless waste of tall reeds, through which both the Sacramento and San Joaquin wind their way out to the sea.
So far plenty of water and plenty of sea room had been found. The worst was yet to come. The young navigators, however, pushed boldly on between the low mud-banks without delay, feeling much encouraged by their success thus far, and wishing to make the most of the short two hours of daylight remaining, after which the captain of the tug declared it would be unsafe to proceed.
After seeing the ship tied up to the bank for the night, the tug pushed on in search of a wood-yard some miles farther on. It was quite ten o'clock the next morning before the boys saw her come puffing back around the next bend of the river above. She had run so far after wood, that the captain said he would not risk putting back before daylight again.
All went smoothly until the middle of the afternoon, when, to their great annoyance, the ship suddenly brought up on a mud-bank, where she stuck hard and fast. A hawser was quickly carried out astern, at which the tug pulled and hauled for some time to no purpose. The Southern Cross would not budge an inch.
It being evident that the ship would not come off by that means, hatches were taken off, the boys threw off their coats, and, spurred on by Bill's report that he believed the river was falling, all hands went to work breaking out cargo into the lighters, as if their very lives depended upon their haste. It was now that Bill's foresight came in for the warmest commendations, as without the lighters the voyage must have ended then and there.
They worked on like beavers all the rest of that afternoon, the tug giving an occasional pull at the hawser, without starting the ship from her snug berth. They, therefore, made themselves some coffee, and were talking the situation over in no very happy frame of mind, when a large, high-pressure steamboat was seen heading down the river, half of which she seemed pushing in front of her, and dragging the other half behind. "Stand by to haul away!" shouted Bill, with quick presence of mind, to the men on the tug, running aft to take another turn in the hawser. As the steamer passed by, churning the muddy water into big waves, the tug put on all steam, the hawser straightened out as tense as iron, the big ship gave a lazy lurch as a wave struck her, and to the unspeakable delight of all hands they found themselves once more afloat and in deep water.
Although the ship was aground several times after this, they were so lucky in getting her off, that by noon of the third day the Southern Cross lay snugly moored, stem and stern, to a couple of live oaks at the Sacramento levee. The first person to jump on board was the purchaser himself, followed by a gang of laborers, who had been waiting only for the ship's arrival to set to work at unloading her cargo. Meantime the boys set about making all snug aboard, and then after seeing the balance of the purchase money weighed out, on a common counter-scale in the cabin, they took turns in mounting guard over what had been so fairly earned. In plain truth, all three were fairly dazed by the possession of so much wealth.
This duty of standing watch and watch kept the friends from leaving the ship even for a single moment, if indeed they had felt the least desire to do so. In fact all that there was left of the late bustling city was spread out stark and grim before their wondering eyes from the deck of the ship, and a dismal sight it was. Acres of ground, so lately covered with buildings so full of busy life, were now nothing but a blackened waste of smoldering rubbish. Here and there some solitary tree, scorched and leafless, lifted up its skeleton branches as if in silent horror at the surrounding desolation. Men, singly, or in little groups, were moving about in the gray-white smoke like so many uneasy specters. Others were carefully poking among the rubbish for whatever of value might have escaped the flames. But more strange than all, even while the ruins were ablaze about them, it was to see a gang of workmen busy laying down the foundations for a new building. There was to be no sitting down in sackcloth and ashes here. That was California spirit.
All this time the lumber dealer was by great odds the busiest man there. He was fairly up to his ears in business, selling lumber, in small parcels or great, from the head of a barrel, to a perfect mob of buyers, who pushed and jostled each other in their eagerness to be first served. All were clamoring as loudly for notice as so many Congressmen on a field-day to the Speaker of the House. To this horde of hungry applicants the lumberman kept on repeating, "First come, first served. Down with your dust." The man was making a fortune hand over fist.
Scarcely had our boys the time to look about them, when they were beset with offers to lease or even to buy the ship outright. One wanted her for a store, another for a hotel, another for a restaurant, a saloon, and so on. Men even shook pouches of gold-dust in their faces, as an incentive to close the bargain on the spot. As such a transaction had never entered their heads, the three friends held a hurried consultation over it. Charley firmly held to the opinion that he had no right to dispose of the ship without the owner's consent, and that was something which could not be obtained at this time. Walter was non-committal. Bill was nothing if not practical. Bill was no fool.
"Ef she goes back, what does she do?" he asked, squinting first at one and then at the other. "Why, she lays there to her anchors rottin', doin' nobody no good," he added.
"She won't eat or drink anything if she does," Charley said rather ambiguously.
"Seems as though we ought to put her back where we found her," Walter suggested, in a doubtful sort of way.
"Settle it to suit yourselves," was Bill's ready rejoinder. "But how does the case stand? Here's a lot of crazy hombres e'en a'most ready to fight for her. 'Twould cost a fortin to get her ready for sea. Her bottom's foul as a cow-yard; some of her copper's torn off; upper works rotten; she needs calkin', paintin', new riggin', new – "
"There, hold on!" cried Charley, laughing heartily at Bill's truly formidable catalogue of wants; "I give in. I vote to lease the old barky by the month – that is, if Walt here thinks as I do."
"In for a penny, in for a pound," Walter assented decisively.
So the bargain was concluded before the cargo was half out of the ship, so eager was the lessee to get possession. Walter drew up the lease, a month's rent was paid in advance, and the thing was done.
"Well, now, boys, that's off our minds," said Charley gleefully; "my head's been turning round like a buzz-saw ever since this thing's been talked about."
"And a good job, too, seein' as how we skipped without a clearance," Bill put in quietly.
The two friends looked at him blankly, then at each other. It was plain that no such matter had ever entered their minds. Charley gave a long, low whistle. "By George, I never thought of that!" he exclaimed, in great ill humor with Bill. "What'll they do to us?"
"No use cryin' over spilt milk," said that worthy. "Keep dark's our lay. Didn't Noah's Ark sail without a clearance, without papers or flag, and for no port?" he added.
"We 'cleared out,' as the sayin' is, with a vengeance," Charley remarked, trying to turn the matter off with a joke.
"There's only one thing for us to do," said Walter, "and that is to go right up to the custom-house and explain matters to the collector, when we get back to the Bay. Perhaps he'll let us off with a fine, when he finds we didn't mean to run away with the ship and turn pirates."
The idea of turning the old, water-logged Southern Cross into a pirate was so comical that all three joined in a hearty laugh.
What to do with all their money was the most perplexing question. They could neither eat nor sleep for thinking of it. In every face they saw a thief, every footstep startled them. In their dilemma it was determined that the safer way would be to divide it up between them. Three miner's belts were therefore procured, and after locking themselves up in the cabin the three friends stuffed these belts as full as they would hold with the precious metal. But there was still a good-sized pile left to be disposed of when this was done, so Bill suggested sewing the remainder in their shirts. At it they went, without more words, sitting meantime in their trousers and undershirts; and a truly comical sight was this original sewing circle, stitching away for dear life under lock and key.
But even when this operation was finished, a heap of the shining metal still lay on the table before them. All were so weighed down with what they had about them that they waddled rather than walked. Bill declared that if anything happened to the boat at their returning they would all sink to the bottom like so much lead. While thus at their wits' end, Charley's eagle eye chanced to fall upon an old fowling piece hung up by some hooks in the cabin. This was quickly torn from its resting place, the charges drawn, and while the others looked on in silent wonder Charley filled both barrels with gold dust, after which the muzzles were tightly fitted with corks. "She's loaded for big game. We take turns carryin' her, don't you see?" he remarked with a broad grin.
Towards dusk the trio took passage on board the first boat bound for the Bay, nor did they feel themselves wholly safe with their treasure until they once more trod the deck of the old Argonaut, fairly worn out with a week of such rapidly shifting fortunes as no one but an old Californian has ever experienced.
The three inseparables were snugly rolled up in their blankets, Bill loudly snoring in his bunk, when the distant booming of a gun caused Walter to raise his head and say drowsily, "Hello! a steamer's in."
"I don't care if there's twenty steamers," Charley yawned, at the same time burying his nose still deeper under his blanket; "I was almost gone and now you've made me begin all over again. All ashore that's goin' ashore."
