“In recent vessels from the antipodes have come numerous men from Australia who, according to rumor, are deported English criminals, known as ‘Sydney Ducks.’  It is said that the English government winks at the escape of these birds of ill omen, who are lured hither by tales of our lawlessness carried by sailormen.  It is high time we had a little more law in San Francisco.”

That was another of his problems, Hyde reflected irritably.  “Sydney Ducks.”  There would be many more no doubt, for San Francisco was growing.  It had 500 citizens, irrespective of the New York volunteers; 157 buildings.  He would need helpers in the task of city-governing.  Half idly he jotted down the names of men that would prove good henchmen: 

“William A. Leidesdorff, Robert A. Parker, Jose P. Thompson, Pedro Sherreback, John Rose, Benjamin Buckalew.”

It had a cosmopolitan smack, though it ignored some prominent and capable San Franciscans.  William Clark, for instance, with whom Washington Bartlett had quarreled over town lots, Dr. Elbert Jones and William Howard.  Hyde was not certain whether they would be amenable to his program.  Well, he would see.

A shadow loomed in his doorway.  He looked up to see Adrian Stanley and Robert Windham.

“Come in.  Come in.”  He tried to speak cordially, but there was a shade of irritation in his tone.  They, too, were a problem.

“Be seated,” he invited, as the two men entered.  But they stood before him rather stiffly.

“Is there any—­news?” asked Adrian.

“Nothing favorable,” said Hyde uneasily.  He made an impatient gesture.  “You can see for yourselves, gentlemen, that my hands are tied.  The man—­what’s-his-name?—­McTurpin, has a perfectly correct conveyance signed by your son.  Benito, I understand, does not deny his signature.  And his right is unquestioned, for the property came to him direct from his uncle, who was Francisco Garvez’ only son.”

“But—­” began Adrian hotly.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Hyde interrupted.  “The man is a rascal.  But what of that?  It does not help us; I have no power to aid you, gentlemen.”

CHAPTER XIV

THE AUCTION ON THE BEACH

It was the morning of July 20.  Fog drifts rode the bay like huge white swans, shrouding the Island of Alcatraz with a rise and fall of impalpable wings and casting many a whilom plume over the tents and adobe houses nestling between sandhills and scrub-oaks in the cove of San Francisco.

Robert and Benito Windham, on the hill above Clark’s Point, looked down toward the beach, where a crowd was gathering for the auction of tidewater lots.  The Windhams, since their dispossession by McTurpin, had been guests of hospitable Juana Briones.  Through the Alcalde’s order they had secured their personal effects.  But the former gambler still held right and title to the Windham acres.  Adrian Stanley made his home at the City Hotel and had been occupied with an impromptu school where some four score children and half a dozen illiterates were daily taught the mysteries of the “Three Rs.”