Part 16
I had followed her with the purpose of keeping between her and possible missiles and my misdirected solicitude was rewarded. As she put foot within the hall, she staggered and would have fallen had I not caught her. For an instant she clung to me with a convulsive gasp of fear. Then her grasp relaxed, her head sank back, and her full weight rested on my encircling arm. At the sight of her white face, and the crimson stains on her hands and dress that had come from her uncle's blood, I gave a cry of alarm, and lifted her limp form as carefully as one takes up a sleeping child.
For a minute of tumultuous joy and fear I held her in my arms, as I carried her to the room into which her uncle had been borne. But before I reached the door she opened her eyes languidly. Then with a startled look, full consciousness returned.
"Put me down," she said, and struggled to her feet. But so unsteadily did she stand that she was forced to reach out for support, and I put a sustaining arm about her.
"What is it?" she asked in a whisper. "Did I get knocked down? My head is going round and round."
"No, you are all right," I said soothingly. "There was a little too much excitement outside for you, I'm afraid."
"Oh, I was goose enough to faint, was I?" she said, disengaging herself with a swift movement. But once more in full command of herself, tears of apprehension gathered in her eyes, and she asked, "Where is uncle?"
And as I motioned to the door, she turned and ran into the room where Wharton Kendrick lay white and still upon a couch. Mercy Fillmore's deft hands were washing the wound, a servant was assisting, and the four men who had brought the wounded master into the house stood about in wait for orders. With a word I sent three to rejoin the line of defense, and directed the fourth to slip out the back way in quest of Doctor Roberts.
Laura Kendrick took her place quietly at Mercy Fillmore's side and with tense self-possession assisted at the dressing of the wound. And in the calmness and practised touch with which they played the part of surgeons I had demonstration of the skill they had acquired in the weeks of service which they had devoted to Moon Ying.
"I don't see why he doesn't come to himself," said Laura, when the bandage had been adjusted. "I wish we could get the doctor."
"I have sent a man after him," I said.
"Do you think he can get through that howling mob of savages? I'm afraid he will be killed; and if he isn't, the doctor can never get in."
"Oh, there's the back gate. I hope the doctor's not above taking it." I had hardly spoken when I was checked at seeing my messenger standing in the hall. Before I could exclaim at his sudden return, he had beckoned me out with a warning finger on his lips.
At his signal I left the room with an attempt to disguise my disturbance of mind under the pretense of idle restlessness.
"What's the matter?" I asked, as soon as I got the man away from the door.
"There's a gang over in the next yard," he said, "and I couldn't get through. I'm afraid they're getting ready to set fire to the house. I smelt kerosene when I climbed on the fence. One of 'em says something about 'smoking 'em out,' an' I guess they're fixing up some sort of fire-balls."
"Where are you going?" asked Miss Kendrick, coming to the door. "You are not meaning to venture out among those savages again?"
"I think it's time I told them to go home," I said. "They are making a good deal of noise out there."
"You must not do anything of the sort," she said, catching my arm. "I told them to go, and if they won't go for my telling, they won't go for yours."
I bent over her with more tremors than I had felt in the midst of the mob.
"I shouldn't go unless I thought it would help to protect you," I said.
"Well, if you must go," said Miss Laura, "please be careful and do not go out the front way. Take the side door, where there's nobody likely to see you." And leading the way down the passage between the library and the dining-room she slipped a bolt and opened the door enough to let us out. She held out her hand to me.
"You're not to get hurt," she murmured, as I paused.
"That settles it. I shall preserve a whole skin." And with a pressure of the hand, I hastened out the door.
The yells from the front came with renewed distinctness, but no sounds of attack were to be heard. The mob appeared to have resolved itself into a disorderly debating society. I hurried to the rear of the house with my messenger.
"Are any of our men back here?" I asked.
"One--Reardon is at the kitchen steps," replied the man.
Reardon proved to be awake and ready for any enterprise, and we advanced to the fence and reconnoitered. The dim light showed a band of fifteen or twenty men gathered a few yards away in the vacant lot behind the Kendrick place.
"Aren't they ready yet?" asked one impatient conspirator. "I could have fixed forty fire-balls in the time you've taken to fix those three."
"Why didn't you come and do it then?" was the resentful and belligerent answer. "I'll have them ready in a jiffy."
With a few whispered words of direction I stationed my men by the fence, a dozen yards apart, and took my place between them. Then climbing up I gave a blast on a police whistle, and cried:
"Now, boys, gather them in. Don't let one get away." And at the word I fired three or four shots at the group and my men followed my example.
The surprise was complete. At the fusillade there was a scattering of the gang, and with a sudden realization of the importance of their personal safety they took to their heels and ran into Franklin Street.
"That was a foine job, sor. We must have hit a power of thim," said Reardon, with an exemplary faith in our marksmanship.
"I hope so," I said. I had been roused to fury by the deliberate preparations to burn the house, and had shot to do mischief. "It looks as though we had got one fellow, anyhow," I added, as I discovered a dark heap on the ground, and heard a whimpering groan.
We jumped down from the fence, and an advance of a few steps confirmed my guess. A man lay writhing on the earth, giving utterance to suppressed sounds of pain. Reardon knelt over him.
"Why, it's Danny Regan!" he cried. "What th' divil are ye doin' here, Danny?"
"Go 'way, ye murderin' spalpeen!" replied the stricken Danny. "Me leg is bruk. 'Tis a bullet sthruck me knee."
"'Twas me that give it to yez, Danny," said Reardon with a chuckle. "I picked ye out, me lad--an' whin Pat Reardon takes aim he niver misses. If he don't hit wan thing he hits another--an' it's dollars to dimes the other thing's jist as good."
The wounded man replied to this boast with an outbreak of curses.
"Yer timper's been soured, Danny," said Reardon. "That comes of mixin' in bad company. ''Tis evil communications corrupts a good disposition,' says Father Ryan; an' if you'd listened to him you'd a-been home an' in bed now wid two sound legs instead of wan."
"Well, take me home, Pat," groaned the wounded conspirator; "though maybe you'd like to make a clane job of it by puttin' wan iv yer bullets t'rough me head."
"Faith, I wouldn't waste another wan on yez. Bullets cost money. If I did me dooty I'd settle yer case by mashin' yer head in wid a rock."
"We wouldn't get so far as that," I said. "We'll compromise by holding him prisoner of war. Up with him now."
Our inexpert handling brought whimpers and curses from the prisoner. And in a few minutes we had him bestowed as comfortably as possible in the little room that the watchmen had used as a lounging place.
"Now," said I to my messenger, "get over to Doctor Roberts' house as fast as you can. Tell him Mr. Kendrick is hurt, and bring him back with you. Hurry!"
The messenger had scarce disappeared when Reardon exclaimed:
"Whist! There comes some more of 'em."
Above the excited hubbub of the besieging crowd in front could be heard a swelling roar that became more distinct with each moment. The significance of the sound was unmistakable. Another reinforcement was approaching, and in fear lest the assailants who had been beaten off were returning to attack us from the rear we ran back to the fence. All was quiet in that direction, and the hostile sounds now came so plainly from the front that I doubled speed to the threatened quarter just as a scattering crackle of pistol-shots punctuated the inarticulate language of the mob, and a volley of stones hurtled against the house with the explosive tinkle of breaking windows.
I reached the front yard just as another volley took out every window that faced the street, and saw that a concerted rush was being made against the place. A body of men was being pushed up the steps between the flanking walls by the pressure of the mob behind, and immediately before me--at the side of the garden--two young men were mounting the wall on the shoulders of their companions, the vanguard of a flank attack that would capture the place if they once got a foothold. I fired a shot at one, who disappeared with a surprising suddenness, and then bethinking myself of the unwisdom of wasting bullets, I ran forward and brought down my revolver on the head of the other invader. He had just got his knee on the railing, but he went down the eight-foot drop with a yell of pain and a torrent of bad language. At the same moment the men who were defending the steps threw the assailing column into confusion by a fortunate volley, and the attack gave back. A score of answering shots came from the mob, and a bullet whistled so close to my ear that I clapped my hand to the spot with the thought that a piece had been taken off. The agreeable disappointment of finding that I was mistaken was overshadowed a moment later by the discovery that the wall at the farther side of the garden had been scaled by a dozen of the mob, and that others were clambering up in their path.
"Look out there on your right, Andrews!" I cried, hastening to join the company. "They are on the terrace."
Before I reached the steps the dozen had increased to a score, and it looked as though we were to be overwhelmed by numbers. For an instant it seemed that our best chance lay in retreating into the house in the hope that it would serve as a fortress until the police arrived. But as the house was only a wooden structure, and it was the expressed purpose of the mob to burn us out, I felt it was to be regarded as the last resort of resistance.
"Shoot them down!" I cried.
"Not much chance," said Andrews as I reached him. "We're down to our last cartridges."
This was a sickening bit of information, but it assured me that prompt action was of the last importance. I took one of my men by the shoulder and pushed him over toward the position I had just left.
"Here," I said, "see that nobody gets over that wall. You two," picking out a pair of the guards, "hold the stair. Come on, the rest of you. We must clear these fellows out. Double quick, now."
At this command the men sprang forward by my side, and we ran to the invaded quarter, firing off our remaining cartridges as we charged.
The mob was mostly of but poor stuff, after all. Half of those who had been bold enough to climb to the terrace halted at sight of our advance, and dropped over the wall to the sidewalk in panic. But we were, nevertheless, greatly outnumbered by those who stood their ground, and a scattering though harmless fusillade gave evidence that they were armed.
In a moment we were in the thick of it. Fists, clubs and revolvers were flying, and the thud of body blows could be heard under the cries and curses that formed the dramatic chorus to the struggle. We used our empty revolvers as clubs, and we appeared to do more execution with them handled thus than with all the bullets we had fired. A bullet has a way of wandering from its mark, but a pistol-barrel brought down with a vigorous arm on a man's head never fails in execution, and has a tendency to turn the most ardent warrior into the ways of peace. But in spite of good luck, discipline and desperation, we were far from having the battle all our own way. I had envied the ease with which my favorite heroes of romance bowled over half a dozen enemies with fist or sword, and I envied them still more when I found myself in a place to put their lessons into practice. I had not been in the conflict more than a minute when a knock on the head from a bony fist and a thump on the shoulder from a club sent me to the grass with a realization of how much better it is to give than to receive. But I was fortunate enough to be up again in a moment, and laying about me with a savage hope of repaying with usury the men who had sent me to the ground.
How the battle would have gone if we had been left to our unaided strength, I shall leave to less partial historians to say. But just as I had been thoroughly impressed with the fact that seven men have their work cut out for them when they are called on to attack a score, I heard a roar from the mob that finally separated into an articulate cry of--
"Here come the cops! Look out for the police! Knock their heads off!" And a company of the guardians of order could be seen charging down the avenue.
The pugilistic activities of the mob in the presence of the police, however, appeared to be purely vocal. So far as I was able to observe, the head-knocking business was wholly on the other side.
At the warning cry there was a sudden slackening of activity among the invaders of the terrace. Then they began to drop over the wall to rejoin the retreating main body, and in a minute, with a panic rush, they were all gone. And while I caught my breath once more I had the satisfaction of seeing the mob driven like sheep before a company of some twenty-five policemen, who were savagely rapping with their clubs at every head they could reach. The crowd was flying from a body of men that it could have swallowed up, smothered, annihilated, by sheer force of numbers, awed less by the physical force represented by the clubs than by the moral force of law that lay behind them.
I hailed the police captain as a brother and a preserver, and hastily explained the state of affairs.
"It's a bad night for us all," he said. "We're fighting 'em from North Beach to Tar Flat. They've killed a dozen Chinamen, an' I'll bet my straps there isn't a Chinese wash-house left with a window in the whole city."
"I'm afraid we aren't much better off here," I said, with a rueful look at the vacant sashes of Wharton Kendrick's windows.
"It's bad--it's bad," said the officer. "We got word they were coming here, and the chief sent us up to clear the avenue. Then we heard that they were settin' fire to Stanford's and Crocker's so we rushed over to Nob Hill. It was only a small crowd there, though, and after chasin' them out, we hurried up here."
"You were just in time," I said. "We were hard pressed."
"I'm sorry I can't leave you a few men," said the captain, "but we've got too much work ahead of us. I don't think they'll try it again. But we'll look around this way again in an hour or two."
*CHAPTER XXII*
*I BECOME A MAN OF BUSINESS*
I was a sorry sight when I entered the house once more, with one sleeve torn from my coat, a large and growing lump over my right eye, and my clothing an impressionist study in grass-stains and earth colors.
In the excitement of the moment I was not aware of the picturesque figure I made until I saw the horror-stricken look that swept over Laura Kendrick's face as she met me in the hall.
"Oh," she cried, "you did go and get yourself murdered, after all!"
"No, indeed. I had a day's work crowded into a few minutes, but we got them driven off, and I'm as sound as a dollar." I spoke with the exultation of victory; but with the reaction from the excitement and fatigue of the battle I felt the need of a place to sit down and pull myself together.
"Then you're very well disguised," she returned anxiously. "Are those dreadful wretches all gone? Come into our hospital here--right away--and we'll wash the blood off your face, and try to put you to rights."
"How is Mr. Kendrick?" I asked, as she led me toward the "hospital."
"He has opened his eyes and said a few words. Doctor Roberts is here, and has stitched up his head, and says he will be all right in a week or two if we take good care of him."
The room set aside for the hospital had a highly professional look. Wharton Kendrick lay on the same couch on which I had left him. Doctor Roberts was bending over him, carefully adjusting the bandage on his head. Near them I was surprised to see Danny Regan of the broken leg, attended by Mercy Fillmore, while at the other side of the room, propped up in an easy chair, was Moon Ying, looking on the scene with passive wonder.
"Sit here," ordered Miss Kendrick, wheeling a big chair to the table, and I was glad to obey. "Yes," she continued, noting my scrutiny of Danny Regan and Moon Ying. "The cook complained of the groans she heard from the men's room, so we found out what had happened and had the man brought here. And just before the rocks began to fly I had run up to see about Moon Ying, so I had her carried down. It was lucky I did, for we had hardly got out of the room when bang-cling! went every window in the front of the house. I thought she had best be on the ground floor in case of fire, and this room was as safe as any in the house. My! what a bump you did get. A riot is 'most as bad as falling downstairs, isn't it?"
With deft fingers she had wiped away the stains of battle, and now she wrung out a cloth in cold water, folded it into a compress, and bound it skilfully over my swollen forehead.
I leaned back luxuriously, and gazed with admiration on my nurse.
"It's quite worth while, after all," I said.
She colored, but looked steadily at me as she worked.
"Don't get too appreciative," she said.
"Impossible!" I interrupted.
"Because," she said, "I'm coming to believe that you're not so badly hurt as your poor head looks. The blood on your face isn't yours at all, but came from somebody else--"
"You ought to see the other fellow," I murmured softly.
"--and you've been getting sympathy under false pretenses, and I really think I ought to call Jane to look after you while I attend to uncle."
"I shall sink into the last stages of dissolution," I protested, "if you turn me over to an incompetent nurse."
"Incompetent! Why, Jane is twice as competent as I."
"It depends on the complaint. I'm sure she wouldn't understand mine at all."
Laura smiled indulgently as she adjusted the last knot on the bandage.
"There," she said, "you're quite picturesque, and you'll be all right in the morning. And I don't think you need anybody to look after you at all."
I was about to protest that my condition was most serious when she was called to Wharton Kendrick's couch, and I caught Moon Ying's eyes fixed on mine. I smiled and nodded, and she beckoned me, so I wheeled my chair to her side.
"What I tell-em you?" she said. "I no go 'way, bad man come, all same shoot, fight, tly bu'n house, eh?"
"This not for you, Moon Ying," I reassured her. "Bad man come, anyhow. Plenty of that kind outside of Chinatown."
Moon Ying shook her head and pointed to Danny Regan.
"Him Li'l John's explessman--I sabby him many time come Li'l John's place."
I looked at Danny Regan's low-browed countenance, and realized that an attack of the highbinders' mercenaries had been made under cover of the larger attack of Bolton's hirelings and the anti-Chinese mob.
"I think you're right, Moon Ying," I said. "But just you sabby this: bad men in front of house, they no come from Little John; they were after Mr. Kendrick. You can claim those fellows behind the house. But you see we are no worse off for having you here. 'Twas the other fellows who broke the windows."
I was just on the point of interrogating Danny Regan as to the inspiring cause of his raid when I heard Wharton Kendrick's voice rise in querulous tones:
"Here, I must get up," he said with evident effort. "Is the city on fire?"
"After a while," said the soothing voice of the doctor. "The city is all safe, and you'll have to wait till to-morrow before you get out."
"I must look after things to-night," said the patient, his voice rising complainingly. "I must look after things."
I got to my feet and walked softly to his couch. He was vainly trying to rise, and beating the air helplessly with his hands.
"I must get out--help me, somebody!" he cried in an appealing voice. He tried to lift himself, but his body refused to obey his will.
The doctor uttered a soothing protest.
Miss Kendrick added her voice to the authority of the doctor and at her quieting words Wharton Kendrick closed his eyes. Then on a sudden he opened them widely, and again attempted to raise his head.
"It's the business--it's the business!" he cried with the voice of one who had brought a forgotten thing from the depths of his memory. "It's all upset. I must see to it, or it will be too late."
She patted him again with gentle hand.
"There--there," she said, in the comforting mother-tone. "It will be all right. You can't do anything to-night. It's after ten o'clock."
He gave a groan.
"The markets will go to smash in the morning unless we get ready for them to-night. It's all up," he moaned. "It was all in my head, and it's all gone. There'll be a smash in the market to-morrow, and I can't help it." Then he broke into passionate sobbing, while Laura Kendrick knelt over him, wiped away his tears, and made above him those murmuring sounds with which the mother comforts the hurt child.
It was with something of the awe with which one meets the earthquake that I witnessed the collapse of the fortitude and self-control in Wharton Kendrick. The foundations of the earth seemed breaking up when I saw this type of self-reliant manhood whimpering and weeping like a whipped schoolboy.
Doctor Roberts had been attending to Danny Regan of the broken leg, but he now returned to his more demonstrative patient.
"Come, come," he said in his most cheerful professional tone. "This is no way to get well. If you want to be out to-morrow, you must be quiet." And he motioned us away.
"It's all going to smash--I can hear it going," sobbed Kendrick, "and I can't remember what to do." He lay looking anxiously from side to side and repeated over and over, "I can't remember what to do."
As Doctor Roberts motioned us away again, I took him aside.
"Is there any chance of his getting down to business to-morrow?"
"Not the slightest. And he must not be excited by talking of it."
"I think I can ease his mind somewhat," I said. An idea had been slowly forming in my brain, and now it sprang forth complete. I sat down by him and took his hand to help his wandering attention.
"I'll look out for the business," I said. "I'll see Mr. Coleman to-night. We'll get the syndicate together, and protect the markets to-morrow."
"That's it--the syndicate--that's it," he cried with a visible relief. "That's what I was trying to think of--the syndicate. Coleman will know; Partridge will know."
I called for paper, pens and ink, and wrote out in duplicate a formal authorization by which Wharton Kendrick gave Arthur Hampden, his attorney, the power to act for him in all his business affairs.
In the meantime I had despatched one of my men to summon a notary who lived down by Polk Street. The official was at home, up, and dressed, and he hurried to the Kendrick house, hot on the scent of the liberal fee that the name called up before his imagination. When he had come, I read aloud the power of attorney I had drawn.