CHAPTER XV

THE BEGINNING OF LAW

McTurpin's look of blind astonishment at Windham's words was succeeded by a whitehot fury. Two eyes gleamed with snake-like venom and two spots of red glowed in his cheeks, as though each had felt the impact of a sudden blow. For a moment he neither moved nor spoke. Then a hand, which trembled slightly, made a lightning move toward his hip.

"I wouldn't," drawled the voice of Robert Windham. His right hand, loosely in a pocket of his coat, moved slightly. "I've got you covered, Sydney Duck McTurpin ... if that's your real name."

The other's hand fell at his side. The two men's glances countered, held each other, one calm, dignified, unafraid; the other, murderous, searching, baffled. Presently, McTurpin turned and strode away. Windham looked after the departing gambler. "'Fraid I've spoiled his morning," he remarked to Nathan Spear.

"Yes--to chance a knife or bullet in the back," retorted Spear, uneasily. Their further confidence was drowned in Brannan's exhortations: "On with the sale, boys," he shouted. "The side show's over ... with nobody hurt, thank Heaven! What'll you bid for a lot in the southern part of town? They're a hundred varas square--four times as big as the others. Not as central, maybe, but in ten years I bet they'll bring a thousand dollars. What's bid for a south lot, my hearties?"

"Twenty-five dollars," said Inez Windham.

"Oh, come, now, Senorita," cried the auctioneer, intriguingly, "twenty-five dollars for a hundred-vara lot. Have you no more faith in San Francisco?"

"Its--all I have...." the girl spoke almost in a whisper.

Brannan frowned. He looked about him threateningly. "Does anyone bid higher than Miss Windham?" he demanded. There was no response. Brannan's gavel fell, decisively. "Sold!" he cried, and half a dozen voices cheered.

Inez Windham made her way to the auctioneer's stand and handed three banknotes to Alcalde Hyde. "But, my dear young lady," he expostulated, "you need only pay a fourth of the money down. Six dollars and a quarter is enough."

"Oh," said Inez, "then I could have bought more, couldn't I!" She turned to Brannan, eagerly. "I could have bought four lots--if I'd only known."

Brannan smiled at her. Then he turned to the crowd. "What d'ye say, boys, shall we let her have 'em?" he inquired. Instantly the answer came: "Yes, yes, give her the four. God bless her. She'll bring us luck."

Impulsively, Inez mounted the platform; astonished at her own temerity, at the exuberance of some new freedom, springing from the barriers of a shielded life, she shouted at these strange, rough men about her: "Thank you, gentlemen!" Then her mother's look of horrified, surprise brought a sudden red into her cheeks. She turned and fled. Her father smiled, indulgently; Anita's frown changed presently into a look of whimsical, perplexed affection. "I am always forgetting, Inez mia," she said, softly, "that this is a new day--the day of the Americano."

She watched Benito shouting bids at the side of Adrian, vying with such men as Howard, Mellus, Clark and Leidesdorff in the quest for lots. "Fifty of them have been sold already," Windham told her. "The auction will last three days because there are four hundred more."

Suddenly, Anita Windham put forth a hand and touched that of her husband. "Buy one, for me, Roberto," she pleaded.

"But--" he hesitated, "Anita carissima, what will you do with a rectangle of mire in this rough, unsettled place?"

"For sentiment," she answered, softly, "in memory of my father, who had such abundant faith in San Francisco.... And, perhaps, Don Samuel is right. We may yet bless his name."

* * * * *

The summer of 1847 had passed. Inez Windham was the wife of Adrian Stanley. He had given up his school for larger matters. Every day his ox-teams struggled over sandy bottoms to the tune of snapping whips and picturesque profanity by Indian drivers. Men with shovels leveling the sand hills, piled the wagons high with shimmering white grains which were carried to the shore and dumped into pile-surrounded bogs till the tides left them high and dry. San Francisco reached farther and farther into the bay, wresting irregular nooks and corners from the ebbing-flowing waters, building rickety, improvised piers, sometimes washed out by the northers which unexpectedly came down with tempestuous fury. Quaint, haphazard buildings made their appearance, strange architectural mushrooms grown almost over night, clapboarded squares with paper or muslin partitions for inner walls. Under some the tides washed at their full and small craft discharged cargoes at their back doors. Ships came from Boston, Bremen, Sitka, Chile, Mexico, the Sandwich Islands, bringing all manner of necessities and luxuries. Monthly mails had been established between San Francisco and San Diego, as well as intermediate points, and there was talk of a pony express to Independence, Missouri.

* * * * *

There were many crimes of high and low degree, from rifled tills to dead men found half buried in the sands. Rumor told of thieves and murderers encamped in the hollow bowl of a great sandhill, where they slept or caroused by day, venturing forth only at night. Aleck McTurpin's name was now and then associated with them as a leader. Men were importing safes from the States and carrying derringers at night--even the peaceful Mormons. At this time Governor Mason addressed to Alcalde Hyde an order for the election of a Town Council.

Adrian was full of these doings when he came home from an executive session before which he had appeared as an expert on reclamation. "They are good men, Inez," he declared, enthusiastically. "They'll bring law to San Francisco. And law is what we need more than all else, my dear."

"And how will they go about it, with no prison-house, no courts or judges?" asked Inez, wonderingly.

"Oh, those will soon be provided," he assured, "When there is a will for law the machinery comes." He smiled grimly. "McTurpin and his ilk had better look to themselves.... We are going after the gamblers."

[Illustration: Men with shovels, leveling the sand-hills, piled the wagons high with shimmering grains which were dumped into pile-surrounded bogs. San Francisco reached farther and farther out into the bay.]

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