“I'm obliged to you just the same,” I said. “And here's a bit of drink money. Now, where are my men?” “Don't know. In the lockup, I reckon.” “How is that?” “Why, you see, Meeker tells the fellows here he has a warrant for you,--that you're the gang of burglars that's wanted for the Parrott murder. And he had to show the constable and the landlord and some others the warrant, too.” “How many were hurt?” “Six or seven. Two of your fellows looked pretty bad when they was carried out.” We turned down a by-street, but as soon as the guard had disappeared we retraced our steps and hastened to the Thatcher stables. The rain was whipped into our faces as we bent against the wind, and the whish and roar of the gale among the trees, and the rattle of loose boards and tins, as they were tossed and shaken behind the houses, gave a melancholy accompaniment to our hasty march. “Hist!” said Fitzhugh in my ear. “Is that some one following us?” I drew him into a corner, and peered back into the darkness. “I can see no one.” “I thought I heard a man running.” “Wait a minute. If there is any one after us he must lose us right here.” We listened in silence. Only the plash of water and the voice of the storm came to our ears. “Well, if they are looking for us they have gone the other way. Come along,” I said. We nearly missed the stable in the darkness, and it was several minutes before we roused Thatcher to a state in which he could put together the two ideas that we wanted to get in, and that it was his place to get up and let us in. “Horses to-night?” he gasped, throwing up his hands. “Holy Moses! I couldn't think of letting the worst plug of the lot out in this storm.” “Well, I want your best.” “You'll have to do it, Dick,” said Fitzhugh with a few words of explanation. “He'll make it all right for you.” “Where are you going?” said Thatcher. “Oakland.” He threw up his hands once more. “Great Scott! you can't do it. The horses can't travel fifty miles at night and in this weather. You'd best wait for the morning train. The express will be through here before five.” I hesitated a moment, but the chances of being stopped were too great. “I must go,” I said decidedly. “I can't wait here.” “I have it,” said Thatcher. “By hard riding you can get to Niles in time to catch the freight as it goes up from San Jose. It will get you down in time for the first boat, if that's what you want.” “Good! How far is it?” “We call it eighteen miles,--it's a little over that by the road. There's only one nasty bit. That's in the canyon.” “I think we shall need the pleasure of your company,” I said. The stableman was moved by a conflict of feelings. He was much indisposed to a twenty-mile ride in the storm and darkness; yet he was plainly unwilling to trust his horses unless he went with them. I offered him a liberal price for the service. “It's a bad job, but if you must, you must,” he groaned. And he soon had three horses under the saddle.