“I haven’t learned her name.  She’s from the north coast with a lot of sick men.  They’ve the scurvy and flux, I’m told.  Dr. Jones has gone aboard.”

“I wonder what McTurpin’s doing at the ship?” said Spear.  “He’ll get no gambling victims out of ailing seamen.”

“It’s something else he wants, I fancy,” said Bob Ridley, coming from the dock toward them.  “He’s looking for a preacher—­”

“Preacher?” cried the other men in unison.

“Yes,” responded Ridley.  “Aleck’s going to be married, the sly dog.  And since the padres will have nothing to do with him, he’s hard pressed.  Perhaps the wench is a stickler for proprieties,” he laughed.  “Someone told him there was a sky pilot aboard the ship!”

* * * * *

Inez Windham removed her veil.  She was in a small room, almost dark, where McTurpin had left her after locking the door on the outside.  It was like a cell, with one small window high and narrow which let in a straggling transmitted light, dimming mercifully the crude outlines of a wooden stool, a bedstead of rough lumber, covered by soiled blankets, a box-like commode upon which stood a pitcher and basin of heavy crockery.

The walls were very thin.  From beyond them, in what was evidently a public chamber, came snatches of talk interspersed with oaths, a click of poker chips and coin, now and then a song.  An odor of rank tobacco seeped through the muslin-covered walls.  With a sudden feeling of nausea, of complete despair, the girl threw herself face down upon the bed.

For a time Inez lay there, oblivious to all save the misery of her fate.  If only her father had not gone with those northern engineers!  If only Benito were here to advise her!  Benito, her beloved brother, in whose path the gallows loomed.  It was that picture which had caused her to yield to McTurpin.  Even darker, now, was the picture of her own future.  A gambler’s wife!  Her hand sought a jewelled dagger which she always carried in her coiffure.  Her fingers closed about the hilt with a certain solace.  After Benito was safe—­

Voices in the next room caught her interest by a mention of the Santa Clara battle.

“Hull is fighting mad,” she heard.  “He promises to bring the greasers to their knees.  It’s unconditional surrender or no quarter, Brannan says.”

“First catch your pig—­then butcher it,” said another, meaningly.  “The Spaniards have the best of it thus far.  Hull’s shouting frantically for reinforcements.  Well, he won’t get me.  I think the rancheros have their side as well as we.  If this stiff-necked commander would listen to reason.”

“He hasn’t heard the other side,” the first speaker resumed.  “If he knew what Alcalde Bartlett had done to these poor devils through his horse and cattle raids—­”

A third man laughed.  “He’ll never learn that, partner, have no fear; who’ll tell him?”

“Well, here’s to Uncle Sam,” said a fourth voice.  Followed a clink of glasses.  Inez Windham sat up swiftly and dried her eyes.  A daring thought had come to her.