The wisdom of this proposal was evident to Monteagle, who walked straight to a house where he had sometimes lodged when in town, and gaining an entrance after some little trouble, he felt himself safe from pursuit. Meanwhile Blodget, directing his steps towards the sand hills, was very soon out of sight. Shortly after the town was in an uproar. The quick tramp of feet was heard in the streets, cries and shouts resounded through the air, and many people threw up their windows to see what was the matter. Finally, nobody could get at the secret; the noise died away, and San Francisco lay silent and dark on the shores of its glorious Bay. -------------- CHAPTER IV The Footsteps of the Tempter. He stood in the Plaza, Lorenzo Monteagle, head clerk to the house of Vandewater & Brown. Down into the sparkling waters of the Western main, the king of day was slowly sinking, like the glorious Constantine submitting to Christian baptism at the moment he was bidding the world adieu. Monteagle surveyed the throng that was passing hither and thither on the different streets bordering the neglected public square on which he stood. They were all personable, able-bodied men, who walked and spoke as if there was no enterprise of which they were not capable, no adventure too daring for their powers. The absence of children and the scarcity of women gives a singular aspect to the city of San Francisco, and this was realized by Monteagle, as he now stood gazing upon the hardy representatives of every country on the globe, as they moved before him on the great public square of the city. As the evening shades began to gather around the black rigging of the vessels in the bay, and gloom upon the distant waters, the youth looked about him as if seeking for some individual whom he expected to meet on that spot. A man passed near him, nearer in the opinion of Monteagle than there was any occasion for. He grazed the youth’s elbow as he went by, and appeared to do it on purpose. Monteagle turned to look at the man, and the latter turning also, clapped his hands on his hips, and with a swaggering air, looked the former saucily in the face. Monteagle thought he had seen the fellow before; he was dressed much as an ordinary laborer, large in size, with big coarse features that glowed with the effect of frequent potations. Monteagle was about to turn away from the man in disgust, when he said—‘I think yees will know me when yees sees me again.’ ‘Why so?’ ‘Bekase yees trying to look off the countenance of me, I believe.’ ‘I shall look where I please, and as long as I please,’ returned Monteagle. ‘That’s unfortunit agin,’ said the Irishman, ‘for yees will see nothing but a jintleman, and that’s what yees not used to seeing inside of the looking-glass.’