partners, as well as of the strike he had made, but perhaps he had robbed this slender, defenseless girl of even more.
“I’ll find him,” he vowed. “If it takes me the rest of my days. Wherever he’s gone, I’ll follow him, Mercy! He’s had almost a month’s start, but there’ll be no place in San Francisco where he can hide. There are bound to be people who’ll remember him. Jasper Morgan is not a man to pass unrecognized in a crowd.”
And he would not anticipate pursuit, Luke thought wryly, for had he not brought half a hillside down to hide the evidence of the crime he had committed?
Mercy was silent for a long moment. Then she said reluctantly,
“He may not be in San Francisco by the time we get there. Have you thought of that, Luke? He may not even be in California.”
“No,” Luke admitted. He frowned. “Where else would he go?”
“He talked of Australia to me more than once,” Mercy told him. And it was true… . Luke’s heart sank as he recalled remarks Morgan had made in his own hearing. He had talked of a man named Hargraves, and Tom and Frankie had talked of him, too. Hargraves was an Australian who had suggested that there might well be gold among the rivers and mountains of his native land. The country was similar to California, he had claimed, and there had been rumors of gold finds there, rumors that Tom said had been suppressed… . Luke’s frown deepened. Morgan might not anticipate pursuit, but he would make sure there was no risk of it.
“Well …” He shook off his momentary despondence. “If Morgan has gone to Australia,” he said recklessly, “then I’ll follow him there. But I think he’ll still be in “Frisco.”
Mercy turned again to look at him, and Luke saw that for the first time she was smiling.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” she said practically, “and pray that he’s still there. And don’t tell me that it will be a rough journey, little brother,” she added, her smile suddenly mocking as she saw him open his mouth to speak. “It can be no worse than crossing the Sierra with a wagon train.” She waved a small brown-skinned hand in the direction of the distant mountains, already capped with snow.
Luke, deprived of his last argument, held his peace, but his arms tightened around her. It would, he told himself, be good to have a companion on the journey. Or for the first part of it, at least.
CHAPTER III
For both Mercy and Luke, San Francisco swiftly became a place of nightmare terror. Its vast harbor was a forest of masts and spars, thronged with abandoned ships whose crews had deserted to join the rush to the goldfields. And still more ships arrived, from all corners of the globe, to suffer the same fate as those that had come before and to swell the crowds of sullen and angry men, many of them unable to find shelter and lacking sufficient funds to pay for transport to the distant diggings—or even to feed themselves.
Prices were high, necessities in short supply, accommodations in the hotels and lodging houses at a premium. Most of the buildings were hastily constructed wooden shanties, the best-appointed being the saloons and gambling houses— although even some of these were housed in canvas tents or marquees—and spreading out from the town center was a mushroom city of tents, inhabited by people of all nations.
To walk the streets in daylight was an ordeal; at night it was fraught with peril, with robberies so commonplace as to excite no comment, violence and drunkenness seemingly unrestrained and certainly unpunished. There were vigilantes, a passerby told Luke, led by a man named Brannan and controlled by his committee, and San Francisco had a governor and two elected senators, but … He had shrugged and gestured to a block of blackened and burned-out buildings a short distance away, asserting grimly that it was the work of arsonists.
“Them the vigilantes did catch. They hanged four of ‘em, flogged a couple, an’ deported the
“I’ll find him,” he vowed. “If it takes me the rest of my days. Wherever he’s gone, I’ll follow him, Mercy! He’s had almost a month’s start, but there’ll be no place in San Francisco where he can hide. There are bound to be people who’ll remember him. Jasper Morgan is not a man to pass unrecognized in a crowd.”
And he would not anticipate pursuit, Luke thought wryly, for had he not brought half a hillside down to hide the evidence of the crime he had committed?
Mercy was silent for a long moment. Then she said reluctantly,
“He may not be in San Francisco by the time we get there. Have you thought of that, Luke? He may not even be in California.”
“No,” Luke admitted. He frowned. “Where else would he go?”
“He talked of Australia to me more than once,” Mercy told him. And it was true… . Luke’s heart sank as he recalled remarks Morgan had made in his own hearing. He had talked of a man named Hargraves, and Tom and Frankie had talked of him, too. Hargraves was an Australian who had suggested that there might well be gold among the rivers and mountains of his native land. The country was similar to California, he had claimed, and there had been rumors of gold finds there, rumors that Tom said had been suppressed… . Luke’s frown deepened. Morgan might not anticipate pursuit, but he would make sure there was no risk of it.
“Well …” He shook off his momentary despondence. “If Morgan has gone to Australia,” he said recklessly, “then I’ll follow him there. But I think he’ll still be in “Frisco.”
Mercy turned again to look at him, and Luke saw that for the first time she was smiling.
“We’ll leave in the morning,” she said practically, “and pray that he’s still there. And don’t tell me that it will be a rough journey, little brother,” she added, her smile suddenly mocking as she saw him open his mouth to speak. “It can be no worse than crossing the Sierra with a wagon train.” She waved a small brown-skinned hand in the direction of the distant mountains, already capped with snow.
Luke, deprived of his last argument, held his peace, but his arms tightened around her. It would, he told himself, be good to have a companion on the journey. Or for the first part of it, at least.
CHAPTER III
For both Mercy and Luke, San Francisco swiftly became a place of nightmare terror. Its vast harbor was a forest of masts and spars, thronged with abandoned ships whose crews had deserted to join the rush to the goldfields. And still more ships arrived, from all corners of the globe, to suffer the same fate as those that had come before and to swell the crowds of sullen and angry men, many of them unable to find shelter and lacking sufficient funds to pay for transport to the distant diggings—or even to feed themselves.
Prices were high, necessities in short supply, accommodations in the hotels and lodging houses at a premium. Most of the buildings were hastily constructed wooden shanties, the best-appointed being the saloons and gambling houses— although even some of these were housed in canvas tents or marquees—and spreading out from the town center was a mushroom city of tents, inhabited by people of all nations.
To walk the streets in daylight was an ordeal; at night it was fraught with peril, with robberies so commonplace as to excite no comment, violence and drunkenness seemingly unrestrained and certainly unpunished. There were vigilantes, a passerby told Luke, led by a man named Brannan and controlled by his committee, and San Francisco had a governor and two elected senators, but … He had shrugged and gestured to a block of blackened and burned-out buildings a short distance away, asserting grimly that it was the work of arsonists.
“Them the vigilantes did catch. They hanged four of ‘em, flogged a couple, an’ deported the
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