Frontier Boys in Frisco

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His knowledge stood him in good stead now; he swerved into a narrow
passageway between two buildings, that was shut off from the street by
a wooden gate, which at this moment was left unfastened; this was not
by accident, either. Before Jim could turn, the fellow had turned the
wooden button fastening the door.

Jim was furious at this escape, almost under his fingers, and his
pleasure was not increased when he heard a gentle voice from the other
side of the gate: "Good-by, Senor Gringo, I cannot wait here all the
afternoon. I have some money to spend." Jim with one bound threw his one
hundred and eighty odd pounds against the obstruction. There was a
splintering crash, and then Jim tore into the alleyway followed a moment
later by his comrade.

At the sound, a fat policeman a block away started on a waddling run to
find the cause of the outbreak, and the father and daughter who were
watching from the window of the restaurant were more than interested.

"Ah, Mother of Mercies!" cried the girl, "he will be killed." Then she
could not help exclaiming in admiration, "What strength! It is Senor
James, as I told you, Father."

"You may be right, my daughter," he admitted; "this Americana is very
brave and strong, but I trust he will not get himself disliked by
killing this Manuel del Garrote, who is of importance not in keeping
with his size."

"He had not better come into my presence if he harms the Senor," said
the Senorita da Cordova with a bitter emphasis, which her dark eyes
endorsed.

"You must learn, my daughter, that in great enterprises we cannot always
choose our associates."

* * * * *

When Jim tore through into the passageway between two brick walls, he
saw the Mexican dodging around the corner of one of the buildings about
a hundred and fifty feet ahead. It did not take Jim many seconds to
reach the same corner, and although the rascal was nowhere in sight, the
way of his escape was plain.

Opening from the areaway back of the buildings was another gate, that
the fleeing Mexican had not time to close; beyond was the blank wall of
fog filling the side street with soft gray density. In much less time
than I write it, James was out through the gate on to the lustrous black
sidewalk, polished with the moisture. But once again the man made his
escape and it seemed this time that it was for good. There was a
four-wheeler standing near the curb, into which the fellow plunged, and
the driver, without a word, gave his two rusty blacks the whip and away
they dashed.

Jim was just in time to see the dwarf jump into the coupe. He did not
stop with his mouth open, but set out undaunted to overtake the
fugitive; neither was he distanced, for Jim had not stayed in the effete
East long enough to get pursy and to lose his wind.

Now it was different with the engineer, John Berwick. He was lithe and
active enough, and at a hundred yards, was no doubt faster than his
friend Jim, but he knew that he was not equal to a cross-city run of
several miles in the wake of a four-wheeler drawn by two sturdy
mustangs.

CHAPTER X

THE CHASE BEGINS

At the corner of a street stood a hack to which was hitched a big black,
and the rusty-looking individual who held the reins was anxious for
immediate service. "Right this way, gents!" he yelled, as he noted the
signs of a chase. "I'll catch Bill Durnell's team if I bust a wheel."

"Five dollars if you do," cried John Berwick, as he and Jim leaped into
the musty interior of the cab. Before they were fairly inside the
vehicle was in motion. The driver hit his horse a clip, and away the
hack rattled and jounced in furious pursuit, making racket enough for
ten ordinary carts. The noise of the wheels upon the cobbles aroused the
immediate interest of the street urchins on both sides of the
thoroughfare. They threw compliments as well as stones. One, quicker
than the others, managed to get a perilous hold on the back of the
vehicle, only to be hurled sprawling on the hard road as the hack
whirled around a corner on two wheels. He stayed there for a few
seconds, with a pained and surprised look on his befreckled face, then
he jumped up and fired a rock from the gutter that swatted the coach
squarely making a big dent in the black expanse of back.

"I'll break ye for that ye little gutter snipe," yelled the infuriated
driver standing up on his box.

"Yer ought to drive a coal wagon, you chump," retorted the urchin with a
shrill yell.

"He's been to a wake," greeted another crowd of boys, who stretched an
audacious line across the street directly in front of the surging gallop
of the black horse. This time the driver got some revenge by lashing a
couple of them with his long whip. This provoked a volley of stones,
causing Jim and his friend to duck down to avoid being hit.

"Boys certainly are the deuce," declared the engineer with a laugh;
"they think we are fair game."

"I'll give them a little of their own game!" grinned Jim as he picked up
a couple of stones on the seat opposite, and he leaned out of the window
of the door, sending a stone at the group with accuracy and precision.

"Look at the guy!" they yelled; "paste him in the head."

To their surprise Jim did not duck back at their return volley but
fended off a couple of the shots with his forearm, and one he caught
with his right hand as though it were a baseball, and hurled it back
with a snappy, short arm throw that caught the thrower squarely on the
thigh.

"Hurrah for you, fellar!" yelled the crowd.

Jim acknowledged the salute with a graceful wave of his hand.

"Catching 'em Bill!" he yelled up at the driver.

"Gained half a block on 'em!" cried Bill with enthusiasm. Jim could just
make out a dark blur in the fog ahead where the pursued hack was
galloping to some unknown destination. At the sight all the fierce
excitement of the chase came over Jim. He must not let that Mexican
escape this time. It meant everything to get a hold of him. He would
recover his treasure belt, whose loss was not only a serious blow to his
present plans, but an injury to his natural pride and confidence in
himself. He could imagine his brother Tom saying:

"Ought to have had me along, Jim; you are too innocent to travel alone."

Hearing the voice of his comrade, Jim drew in his head.

"Catch a sight of the black pirate craft?" inquired the engineer.

"Dead ahead, and a smooth sea, sir," replied Jim touching his hat.

"Glad to be off the pebbles anyway, Captain," returned the engineer; "it
may aid digestion, but it is doocid hard on old bones, like mine."

"I'm going upon deck with the pilot," said Jim. "I can't stay below here
while that fellow is within hail."

"Natural feeling, Jim," agreed the engineer, "but you will have to have
the Jehu up there slow down."

"Can't afford to lose the time," declared Jim. "I can reach the forward
step and make it all right."

"Risky," said the engineer, "but that fact won't stop you."

He was correct, it did not, and the driver almost fell off his box in
astonishment when he saw Jim's head at his elbow.

"Hey! what's this!" he yelled, as he clubbed his whip to strike. "Oh!
it's you is it, Mister," he changed his tone when he saw who it was. "By
thunder! I thought I was to be kilt."

"I'll sit in front here, Bill," said Jim genially. "I want to keep an
eye open to see that that greaser don't give us the slip."

"He's there in that hack yet," assured the driver; "he hain't had a
chance to jump out yit."

"They ain't pulling ahead are they?" inquired Jim, anxiously.

"Holding 'em level going down this hill," replied the driver. "My horse
is a leetle heavy for a down grade, but you will see something different
when we are going up hill or on the flat."

"I believe you," said Jim heartily; "that horse of yours is a good one."

"Paid five hundred for him, he ought to be," declared his owner proudly.

Inside the hack the engineer was making himself as comfortable as
possible. His feet were upon the opposite seat, the green carriage robe
was wrapped snugly around him and his head was dented back into the soft
cushions. He was thoroughly enjoying the chase in his own way. The
lurching of the vehicle did not disturb him, and he felt a certain
pleasure in the freedom from any immediate responsibility. There was an
excitement, too, in not knowing where the chase would carry. It was all
a strange section of the city where they now were. He could see the
ghostly fronts of long lines of houses, one not distinguishably
different from another, but as similar as if they had been sawn from
the same block of wood. The fog palliated many a monstrosity of wooden
ornament, little balcony, or carved pinnacle.

If John Berwick was quiescent on the inside of the hack, Jim was on the
_qui vive_ on the outside. He had no idea of the direction in which they
were going, but he was determined never to lose sight of that particular
hack. At this moment they reached the bottom of a long hill. An eddy of
air lifted the fog aside for an instant and Jim saw a head thrust out of
the window of the hack.

"Geewillikins!" he exclaimed, wrathfully; "that isn't the greaser!"

Sure enough the head was not that belonging to the Mexican at all. It
was a shaggy bearded face that leered back at Jim, and then he shouted
some direction to the driver, and with a belligerent shake of his fist
at Jim, jerked his head back.

"I guess that hunchback is in there all the same," cried the driver.

"He'd better be," growled Jim.

At the motion made by the bushy whiskered man, the driver of the first
carriage in this active procession, turned his team at right angles into
a street running east. "Bill" followed suit making a dangerous swerve,
that almost overturned his vehicle, but it righted itself against the
curb, and on the pursuit went. But Jim was beginning to be worried, for
the big horse was tiring rapidly, while the mustangs seemed unflagging
in their energy.

"How far have we gone?" asked Jim.

"About two miles, Boss," replied the driver.

"It won't be long till dusk," said Jim, "with this fog rolling in."

"I'll get back, what they have gained on us," declared Bill with
conviction, "before they have gone another mile."

Jim noticed that this new turn was taking them into an apparently better
section of the city, where there were really some fine-looking
residences.

"They are making a stern chase of it, Jim," called Berwick, poking his
head out of the window.

"We will catch them yet, Chief," declared Jim with outward confidence.

"Good boy!" replied the engineer. "I must say I like your spirit."

"How are you putting in the time down there, John?" queried Jim.

"Taking it easy," replied Berwick; "resting up in case I have to hustle
a little later on."

"Wise man!" rejoined Jim; "just as well to save your energies. There
will be something doing pretty soon or I miss my guess. We should
overhaul them on the next hill."

"You look kind of damp, better get under cover, Jim," urged John
Berwick. Indeed Jim did have a dampish look--his eyelashes and eyebrows
were beaded with the moisture.

"No, I'm going to stay on deck until we overhaul those pirates," he
replied, "and it won't be long either."

However, it was somewhat longer than Jim thought. It seemed that the
driver of the forward coupe was determined to make a clean getaway at
this point for he laid on the whip with fierce determination.

CHAPTER XI

THE CHASE CONTINUED

After going a half a mile further, the leader in the race made another
sharp turn, and a short distance ahead his goal was in sight, or it
would have been had not the heavy fog prevailed. Of this, Jim was of
course in nowise aware. Suddenly the hack ahead whirled and came to a
stop. Two figures leaped out into the fog and started on the run.

Jim thrust a coin into the willing grasp of "Bill," and leaped to the
ground closely followed from the cab by John Berwick, leaving the two
drivers to themselves, and only a few yards apart. These worthies taking
no further interest in the performance of their recent fares, engaged in
a wordy altercation as to the rival merits of their steeds, and each had
a different answer to the problem of "who won the race?" The outcome of
this led to blows; as to the result, that belongs to another chronicle
than mine. We are at present concerned with the race between Jim and the
Mexican, with the chief and "Bushy Whiskers" as runners up.

Jim bounded after the fleeing Mexican and his comrade, with all the
speed of his pent-up energy, and was overtaking him rapidly, when what
looked like a high dark rampart showed indistinct through the fog a few
rods ahead. Then the Mexican bent low and darted out of sight, and his
sturdy companion bounding high in the air disappeared.

Jim was thrown suddenly backward; as in mad pursuit, he dashed into an
almost invisible fence of wire, steel colored,--which luckily was not
barbed. The engineer who was a few paces behind, stopped in the nick of
time, his outstretched hand easily breaking the force of his collision.

"Hurt, Jim?" he queried.

"Naw!" replied James. "Come on, John, let's see if you can jump like his
whiskers."

"I'm no rat like that greaser," replied Berwick; "I can't crawl through,
I've got to jump."

He showed himself something of an acrobat by the grace and agility with
which he vaulted the six foot fence, and Jim went over with more power
if less grace. Now they were in a quandary for directly before them was
a wood of the tall and ghostly eucalyptus, into which the two fugitives
had fled.

"We ought to have told our carriage to wait, Jim," said the chief
engineer, with nonchalant humor. "This reminds me of two needles and a
haystack."

"I've got their trail, Chief, come on before it gets too dark," ordered
Jim, who had been casting around like a hound for a scent.

"You are the 'Boy Scout, or the Young Kit Carson,' for fair, James,"
cried Berwick, giving him a hearty slap of admiration between his broad
shoulders.

Jim grinned but made no reply as he followed the trail into the depth of
the wood, which was made weird by the slender forms of the trees whose
high tops were hidden by the low hanging mists that were as the breath
of the huge ocean. The waters of the ocean not far away were slowly
surging through the narrow pass of "The Golden Gate."

Then the hanging white strips of bark from the tall eucalyptus trees,
added to the ghostly effect of the interior of the wood. James noticed
none of these things for his attention was fixed on following the trail
of his enemies. Here his long training in wood and plain craft stood him
in good stead. It was his friend, Captain Graves, way back in Colorado,
who had given him his first lessons in this difficult art and he could
have had no better tutor than the captain, who had himself qualified in
many a hard contest with the crafty Indian.

Now the Mexican was subtle, if not crafty, and the ordinary observer,
even if he were as intelligent and quick as John Berwick, undoubtedly
would have been entirely at sea in following the trail. Jim's keen
senses, however, trained for such work, were not to be so easily
baffled. The Mexican alone would have been exceedingly hard to have
tracked, but his heavier footed comrade disturbed the fallen leaves or
left a print in the red soil that betrayed the trail.

However, the pursuers were of necessity slowed down to a certain degree
so that their chance of overtaking the two rascals grew slimmer every
second. At that moment, however, their chase was given a new impetus. It
came with a suddenness that was startling. From some distance ahead, it
was difficult to tell how far, there came a furious chorus of yelps,
barks and howls.

"Dogs!" cried Jim; "they have got our quarry treed!"

"Wild dogs, too!" said the engineer. "I've run across packs of them
traveling in Mongolia. Ugly customers they are, too, unless you are
good and ready for them."

At that instant there came the sharp report of half-a-dozen pistol
shots, and the yelps were turned to howls of pain.

"Why didn't our friends in front ambush us and load us up with some of
those lead pellets," remarked John Berwick thoughtfully.

"Perhaps they hadn't got to the place that suited them," said Jim, "or
maybe they have orders from old Captain Broome to take us alive rather
than dead. You know he is a man who likes to settle his own grudges,
rather than by proxy."

"You must be something of a mind reader, James," remarked Berwick.

"I'm not that," declared Jim, "but I have had some dealing with Captain
Bill Broome so I can judge."

Meanwhile the two friends were making straight for the noise of the
fracas, and when they had gone about two hundred yards they were
surprised by the dash of a big, gaunt, snarling yellow hound, who made a
leap for Jim with teeth wide spread. Now James was unarmed, not his
usual practice, but he was not in the habit of taking lunch at a
restaurant armed to the teeth so that when this chase started he was not
armed, else the venture would have come to an end long ago.

However, he did have his long, sharp-edged poniard with him. This he
could carry inconspicuously in a belt around his waist. He slipped it
from its sheath and met the charge of the hound squarely on his bent
knee. He was bent back by the fury of the hound's rush, but he got in a
thrust with a deadly precision that left the dog done for on the ground.

The engineer was not so lucky as Jim, he had no weapon of any kind and a
small limb of a tree that he had hurriedly picked up proved no defense
against the attack of a huge black brute, true of mongrel breed, but
none the less ugly. He had knocked prostrate the engineer, who was not a
large man, and was raving for his throat with cruel jaws, being held off
for the moment only, by Berwick's clever use of the stick he had
retained in his clutch when felled.

Jim was quick to see his friend's need. He dared not waste one single
second, but with a low rush, he grappled with the brute, and by a sudden
surge of his really great strength he thrust the beast to one side and
for a moment they struggled fiercely on even terms, Jim's hand gripping
the animal's throat, while the red, dripping jaws were striving to close
on Jim's shoulder.

Exerting all his strength he managed to twist the beast off his balance
and before it could recover had sent the death thrust home. The rest of
the pack of smaller dogs evidently did not dare to come on and for a
moment Jim rested panting, covered with sweat and blood.

"You certainly saved my neck that time, Jim," acknowledged John Berwick.
"I guess it is hanging I'm reserved for."

"If you are ready we will move on; I'm afraid that trail will get cold,"
said Jim.

"I'm with you," declared the engineer, "but I rather hope that we will
soon be out of these woods."

"Here's a little stream," remarked Jim, after they had gone a few yards,
"guess I had better remove the signs of the late murder."

"You can see where those fellows crossed," remarked Berwick; "here is
the mark of the big fellow's shoes."

"You have the making of a detective in you, John," said Jim with a
perfectly sober face.

"Oh! I can detect all right, if it is thrust directly under my nose,"
agreed the engineer, with a smile.

"I don't see for the life of me how you keep so neat, Chief," remarked
Jim, as he wrung out his stained handkerchief; "you look ready to enter
into the best society, at a moment's notice." The engineer had taken off
his brown hat and was smoothing his hair with a gentle stroke that Jim
recognized was characteristic of him and this had provoked his remark
about his friend's neatness.

"Hardly as bad as that, James," returned Berwick with a smile, "but I
must admit that for some reason I never get very badly mussed in
appearance no matter what the occasion may be."

Jim regarded his friend thoughtfully, carefully drying his hands
meanwhile.

"I should like to wager a reasonable amount, Berwick, that you always
don a dress suit for dinner," said Jim finally.

"Why, yes, I do," agreed the engineer, "whenever there is a chance. It
makes you feel like a human being after the grease and grime of the
engine room."

"Something in that," admitted Jim. "Well, let's hike."

CHAPTER XII

THE CASTLE

Jim's persistence was rewarded in a short time, when they came to the
boundary of the wood. Here they found the trail very clearly marked, as
in the old game of hare and hounds where the point of a new departure is
marked by a bunch of cut paper. So in this case there were clear
footprints, where the two rascals had cleared the fence and lighted on
the damp earth on the other side.

"Where do you suppose they are heading for?" asked the engineer.

"The devil or the deep sea," replied Jim, humorously inclined.

"If they follow this direction, it will be the deep sea for certain,"
remarked Berwick, "for this trail is making straight for the bay, or I
miss my guess."

"I bet anything that those two guys are planning to reach the _Sea
Eagle_, and there will be a boat lying in some cove to take them out,"
said Jim decisively.

"Surely Captain Broome wouldn't have the gall to bring your captured
yacht into the bay right under the nose of the authorities," said the
engineer.

"Huh!" grunted Jim; "that wouldn't be anything extraordinary for old
Broome to do. He'd delight in it; and another thing, according to my
idea the authorities and Captain William Broome ain't on such bad terms
but what they can shut an eye to some of his performances. Besides it
was his ship in the first instance," concluded Jim with a grin.

"A pirate don't have any title, anyhow," remarked the engineer.

"Maybe he does in San Francisco," remarked Jim with great simplicity.

At this Jim's chief engineer laughed heartily.

"That would be true doctrine enough for my native town of New York," he
said.

"Well, howsumever, Captain Broome don't need any title. He keeps what he
has and takes what he hasn't."

"You are an epigrammatist, Jim," said Berwick, smiling.

"Won't I ever outgrow it?" asked Jim anxiously.

"No, you will get worse as you become older," declared his friend.

"Gee, that's a bad outlook. Well, where there is life there is hope,"
replied Jim; "no use nosing this trail along, we have got the general
direction and we want to get to the beach just as soon as we can so as
to head those fellows off."

The two of them then started on a brisk trot and in a short time they
heard the roar of the surf on the sand. But about a quarter of a mile
from the beach they came to a halt, for a high fence barred their way.

"Hello, what does this mean?" inquired Jim with interest.

"It means we have come on someone's private estate," remarked the
engineer, "and judging from the sharpness of these iron spikes, they are
not at home to ordinary folks like us."

"I can just make out the house," remarked Jim, "and it looks like a big
one."

There was the indistinct loom of the house through the fog; it appeared
to be made of brick, with white trimmings and a huge chimney in the
center clad with ivy. This was a good many years ago, and no remnant of
this place remains to-day, for fire and earthquake wrought the ruin of
this mansion, long before the catastrophe of 1906.

"Let's walk around this estate before it gets completely dark," said
Jim, "which will be pretty soon now."

"You don't suppose that those two misguided pirates live here, do you?"
questioned the engineer.

"Hardly," admitted Jim, "but they might be hiding in the yard."

"It would be tough work getting over," said the engineer, "especially
with what is coming from the direction of the house." Jim looked and
pulled his friend down behind the parapet of stone in which the iron
fence was set.

"Perhaps it won't see us," said Jim in a low voice. But they were a wee
bit too late to escape detection. Between the shrubbery there came at a
menacing lope, a huge, yellow-white, bloodhound, with hanging dew laps,
and following him a great Dane whose velvety black form held a real
ferocity. They leaped high with their forefeet against the iron fence,
striving frantically to reach the two men on the other side.

"They are more dangerous than the mountain lion, those dogs," said
Berwick.

"I'm very glad to be on this side of the fence," admitted Jim. "We
wouldn't stand much show without our guns."

"I thought you ate them alive," laughed John Berwick, referring to the
incident in the wood.

"It was to keep you from being eaten up yourself," grinned Jim. "Say,
Chief, let's move out of range, or these beasts will rouse the whole
country."

"All right, Captain," agreed Berwick, using Jim's sea title, and as they
were rather at sea, it was quite appropriate. They reached a large rock
that stood out on the plain away from the house, and sat down on it,
until the noise of the baying had ceased.

"Did you think to fetch a lunch with you on this festive occasion,
James?" inquired Berwick.

"Bah Jove, old chap," replied James, "we left in such haste that it
slipped my mind, don't yer know."

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