enabled, without discovery, to gain the roof adjoining and to cut through into the loft.  He crept cautiously in through the opening, and out upon a floor of joists sealed on the lower side, then lit a candle, and, locating McNamara’s office, cut a peep-hole so that by lying flat on the timbers he could command a considerable portion of the room beneath.  Here, early the following morning, he camped with the patience of an Indian, emerging in the still of that night stiff, hungry, and atrociously cross.  Meanwhile, there had been another meeting of the mine-owners, and it had been decided to send Wheaton, properly armed with affidavits and transcripts of certain court records, back to San Francisco on the return trip of the Santa Maria, which had arrived in port.  He was to institute proceedings for contempt of court, and it was hoped that by extraordinary effort he could gain quick action.

At daybreak Dextry returned to his post, and it was midnight before he crawled from his hiding-place to see the lawyer and Glenister.

“They have had a spy on you all day, Wheaton,” he began, “and they know you’re going out to the States.  You’ll be arrested to-morrow morning before breakfast.”

“Arrested!  What for?”

“I don’t just remember what the crime is—­bigamy, or mayhem, or attainder of treason, or something—­anyway, they’ll get you in jail and that’s all they want.  They think you’re the only lawyer that’s wise enough to cause trouble and the only one they can’t bribe.”

“Lord!  What ’ll I do?  They’ll watch every lighter that leaves the beach, and if they don’t catch me that way, they’ll search the ship.”

“I’ve thought it all out,” said the old man, to whom obstruction acted as a stimulant.

“Yes—­but how?”

“Leave it to me.  Get your things together and be ready to duck in two hours.”

“I tell you they’ll search the Santa Maria from stem to stern,” protested the lawyer, but Dextry had gone.

“Better do as he says.  His schemes are good ones,” recommended Glenister, and accordingly the lawyer made preparation.

In the mean time the old prospector had begun at the end of Front Street to make a systematic search of the gambling-houses.  Although it was very late they were running noisily, and at last he found the man he wanted playing “Black Jack,” the smell of tar in his clothes, the lilt of the sea in his boisterous laughter.  Dextry drew him aside.

“Mac, there’s only two things about you that’s any good—­your silence and your seamanship.  Otherwise, you’re a disreppitable, drunken insect.”

The sailor grinned.

“What is it you want now?  If it’s concerning money, or business, or the growed-up side of life, run along and don’t disturb the carousals of a sailorman.  If it’s a fight, lemme get my hat.”

“I want you to wake up your fireman and have steam on the tug in an hour, then wait for me below the bridge.  You’re chartered for twenty-four hours, and—­remember, not a word.”