Part 27 (1/2)
Soon they are coursing along the strand, towards the upturned boat, silently, and without asking explanation. If they did, they could not get it; for their leader is panting, breathless, almost unable to utter a word. But five issue from his throat, jerked out disjointedly, and in hoa.r.s.e utterance. They are:
”Crozier--Cadwallader--waylaid--robbers--murderers!”
Enough to spur the _Crusaders_ to their best speed, if _not_ already at it. But they are; every man of them straining his strength to the utmost.
As they rush on, cleaving the thick fog, Harry at their head listens intently. As yet he can distinguish no sound to alarm him; only the monotonous swas.h.i.+ng of the sea, and the murmur of distant voices in the streets of the town. But no cries--no shouts, nor shots; nothing to tell of deadly strife.
”Thank the Lord!” says the brave sailor, half speaking to himself; ”we'll be in time to save them.”
The words have scarce pa.s.sed from his lips, when he comes in sight of the capsized launch; and almost simultaneously sees two figures upon the beach beyond. They are of human shape, but through the fog looking grand as giants.
He is not beguiled by the deception; he knows it to be the two officers, their forms magnified by the mist. No others are likely to be coming that way; for he can see they are approaching; and, as can be told by their careless, swaggering gait, unsuspicious of danger, little dreaming of an ambuscade, that in ten seconds more may deprive them of existence!
To him, hurrying to avert this catastrophe, it is a moment of intense apprehension--of dread chilling fear. He sees them almost up to the place where the a.s.sa.s.sins should spring out upon them. In another instant he may hear the cracking of pistols, and see flashes through the fogs. Expecting it even before he can speak, he nevertheless calls out:
”Avast there, Mr Crozier! We're _Crusaders_. Stop where you are.
Another step, and you'll be shot at. There's four men under that wall waiting to murder ye. D'ye know the names, Calderon and Lara? It's them!”
At the first words, the young officers--for it is they--instantly come to a stand. The more promptly from being prepared to expect an attack, but without the warning. Well-timed it is; and they have not stopped a moment too soon.
Simultaneous with the sailor's last word, the sombre s.p.a.ce under the wall is lit up by four flashes, followed by the report of as many pistols, while the ”tzip-tzip” of bullets, like hornets hurtle pa.s.s their ears, leaving no doubt as to who has been fired at.
Fired at, and fortunately missed; for neither feels hurt nor hit!
But the danger is not yet over. Quick following the first comes a second volley, and again with like result. Bad marksmen are they who design doing murder.
It is the last round of shots. In all likelihood, the pistols of the a.s.sa.s.sins are double-barrelled, and both barrels have been discharged.
Before they can reload them, Harry Blew, with his _Crusaders_, has come up, and it is too late for De Lara and his confederates to use the steel.
Crozier and Cadwallader bound forward; and placing themselves at the head of the boat's crew, advance toward the shadowed spot. They go with a rush, resolved on coming to close quarters with their dastardly a.s.sailants, and bringing the affair to a speedy termination.
But it is over already, to their surprise, as also chagrin. On reaching the wall, they find nothing there save stones and timber! The dark s.p.a.ce for an instant illuminated by the pistol-flashes, has resumed its grim obscurity. The a.s.sa.s.sins have got away, escaping the chastis.e.m.e.nt they would surely have received had they stood their ground.
Some figures are seen in the distance, scuttling along a narrow lane.
Cadwallader brings his pistol to bear on them, his finger upon the trigger. But it may not be they; and stayed by the uncertainty, he refrains from firing.
”Let them go!” counsels Crozier. ”'Twould be no use looking for them now. Their crime will keep till morning; and since we know their names, it'll be strange if we can't find them; though not so strange if we should fail to get them punished. But that they shall be, if there's a semblance of law to be found in San Francisco. Now, thanks, my brave _Crusaders_! And there's a hundred pound note to be divided among you.
Small reward for the saving of two lives, with a large sum of money.
Certainly, had you not turned up so opportunely--But, Harry, how come you to be here? Never mind now! Let us get on board! and you, Blew, must go with us. It'll do you no harm to spend one more night on your old s.h.i.+p. There you can tell me all.”
Harry joyfully complies with a requisition so much to his mind; and, instead of tossing discontentedly on a couch of wet sand, he that night sleeps soundly in his old bunk in the frigate's forepeak.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.
A NEGLECTED DWELLING.
A Country-House some ten miles from San Francisco, in a south-westerly direction. It stands inland about half-way between the Bay and the Pacific sh.o.r.e, among the Coast Range hills.
Though a structure of mud-brick--the sort made by the Israelites in Egypt--and with no pretension to architectural style, it is, in Californian parlance, a _hacienda_. For it is the headquarters of a grazing estate; but not one of the first-cla.s.s, either in stock or appointments. In these respects, it was once better off than now; since now it is less than second, showing signs of decay everywhere, but nowhere so much as in the dwelling itself, and the enclosures around.