"I don't think you can," he said, "but I'll tell you, for all that.

Yesterday I came up from the mines with two thousand dollars.  I was
about a year getting it together, and to me it was a fortune.  I'm a
shoemaker by occupation, and lived in a town in Massachusetts, where
I have a wife and two young children.  I left them a year ago to go
to the mines.  I did well, and the money I told you about would have
made us all comfortable, if I could only have got it home."

"Were you robbed of it?" asked Joe, remembering his own experience.

"Yes; I was robbed of it, but not in the way you are thinking of.  A
wily scoundrel induced me to enter a gambling-den, the Bella Union,
they call it.  I wouldn't play at first, but soon the fascination
seized me.  I saw a man win a hundred dollars, and I thought I could
do the same, so I began, and won a little.  Then I lost, and played
on to get my money back.  In just an hour I was cleaned out of all I
had.  Now I am penniless, and my poor family will suffer for my
folly."

He buried his face in his hands once more and, strong man as he was,
he wept aloud.

"Have you had any supper, sir?" said Joe compassionately.

"No; but I have no appetite."

"Have you any place to sleep?"

"No."

"Then I can offer you a supper and a night's lodging.  Don't be
discouraged.  In the morning we can talk the matter over, and see
what can be done."

The stranger rose and laid his hand on Joe's arm.

"I don't know how it is," he said, "but your words give me courage.
I believe you have saved my life.  I have a revolver left and I had a
mind to blow my brains out."

"Would that have helped you or your family?"

"No, boy.  I was a fool to think of it.  I'll accept your offer, and
to-morrow I'll see what I can do.  You're the best friend I've met
since I left home."




CHAPTER XIX

THE UNLUCKY MINER

Joe brought out some cold meat and bread and butter, and set it
before his guest.

"The fire's gone out," he said, "or I would give you some tea.  Here
is a glass of milk, if you like it."

"Thank you, boy," said his visitor.  "Milk is good enough for
anybody.  One thing I can say, I've steered clear of liquor.  A
brother of mine was intemperate and that was a warning to me.  I took
credit to myself for being a steady-going man, compared with many of
my acquaintances out at the mines.  But it don't do to boast.  I've
done worse, perhaps.  I've gambled away the provision I had made for
my poor family."

"Don't take it too hard," said Joe, in a tone of sympathy.  "You know
how it is out here.  Down to-day and up to-morrow."

"It'll take me a long time to get up to where I was," said the other;
"but it's my fault, and I must make the best of it."

Joe observed, with satisfaction, that his visitor was doing ample
justice to the supper spread before him.  With a full stomach, he
would be likely to take more cheerful views of life and the future.
In this thought Joe proved to be correct.

"I didn't think I could eat anything," said the miner, laying down
his knife and fork, twenty minutes later, "but I have made a hearty
supper, thanks to your kindness.  Things look a little brighter to me
now.  I've had a hard pullback, but all is not lost.  I've got to
stay here a year or two longer, instead of going back by the next
steamer; but I must make up my mind to that.  What is your name, boy?"

"Joe Mason."

"You've been kind to me, and I won't forget it.  It doesn't seem
likely I can return the favor, but I'll do it if ever I can.  Good
night to you."

"Where are you going?" asked Joe, surprised, as the miner walked to
the door.

"Out into the street."

"But where do you mean to pass the night?"

"Where a man without money must--in the street."

"But you mustn't do that."

"I shan't mind it.  I've slept out at the mines many a night."

"But won't you find it more comfortable here?"

"Yes; but I don't want to intrude.  You've given me a good supper and
that is all I can expect."

"He doesn't seem much like Hogan," thought Joe.

"You are welcome to lodge here with me," he said.  "It will cost you
nothing and will be more comfortable for you."

"You don't know me, Joe," said the miner.  "How do you know but I may
get up in the night and rob you?"

"You could, but I don't think you will," said Joe.  "I am not at all
afraid of it.  You look like an honest man."

The miner looked gratified.

"You shan't repent your confidence, Joe," he said.

"I'd rather starve than rob a good friend like you.  But you mustn't
trust everybody."

"I don't," said Joe.  "I refused a man to-night--a man named Hogan."

"Hogan?"

"Yes."

"What does he look like?"

Joe described him.

"It's the very man," said the miner.

"Do you know him, then?"

"Yes; he was out at our diggings.  Nobody liked him, or trusted him.
He was too lazy to work, but just loafed around, complaining of his
luck.  One night I caught him in my tent, just going to rob me.  I
warned him to leave the camp next day or I'd report him, and the boys
would have strung him up.  That's the way they treat thieves out
there."

"It doesn't surprise me to hear it," said Joe.  "He robbed me of
fifty dollars in New York."

"He did?  How was that?"

Joe told the story.

"The mean skunk!" ejaculated Watson--for this Joe found to be the
miners name.  "It's mean enough to rob a man, but to cheat a poor boy
out of all he has is a good deal meaner.  And yet you gave him
supper?"

"Yes.  The man was hungry; I pitied him."

"You're a better Christian than I am.  I'd have let him go hungry."

Both Joe and the miner were weary and they soon retired, but not to
uninterrupted slumber.  About midnight they were disturbed, as the
next chapter will show.




CHAPTER XX

HOGAN MEETS A CONGENIAL SPIRIT

When Hogan left Joe's presence he was far from feeling as grateful as
he ought for the kindness with which our hero had treated him.
Instead of feeling thankful for the bountiful supper, he was angry
because Joe had not permitted him to remain through the night.  Had
he obtained this favor, he would have resented the refusal to take
him into partnership.  There are some men who are always soliciting
favors, and demanding them as a right, and Hogan was one of them.

Out in the street he paused a minute, undecided where to go.  He had
no money, as he had truly said, or he would have been tempted to go
to a gambling-house, and risk it on a chance of making more.

"Curse that boy!" he muttered, as he sauntered along in the direction
of Telegraph Hill.  "Who'd have thought a green country clodhopper
would have gone up as he has, while an experienced man of the world
like me is out at the elbows and without a cent!"

The more Hogan thought of this, the more indignant he became.

He thrust both hands into his pantaloons pockets, and strode moodily
on.

"I say it's a cursed shame!" he muttered.  "I never did have any
luck, that's a fact.  Just see how luck comes to some.  With only a
dollar or two in his pocket, this Joe got trusted for a first-class
passage out here, while I had to come in the steerage.  Then, again,
he meets some fool, who sets him up in business.   Nobody ever
offered to set me up in business!" continued Hogan, feeling aggrieved
at Fortune for her partiality.  "Nobody even offered to give me a
start in life.  I have to work hard, and that's all the good it does."

The fact was that Hogan had not done a whole day's work for years.
But such men are very apt to deceive themselves and possibly he
imagined himself a hard-working man.

"It's disgusting to see the airs that boy puts on," he continued to
soliloquize.  "It's nothing but luck.  He can't help getting on, with
everybody to help him.  Why didn't he let me sleep in his place
to-night?  It wouldn't have cost him a cent."

Then Hogan drifted off into calculations of how much money Joe was
making by his business.  He knew the prices charged for meals and
that they afforded a large margin of profit.

The more he thought of it, the more impressed he was with the extent
of Joe's luck.

"The boy must be making his fortune," he said to himself.  "Why, he
can't help clearing from one to two hundred dollars a week--perhaps
more.  It's a money-making business, there's no doubt of it.  Why
couldn't he take me in as partner?  That would set me on my legs
again, and in time I'd be rich.  I'd make him sell out, and get the
whole thing after awhile."

So Hogan persuaded himself into the conviction that Joe ought to have
accepted him as partner, though why this should be, since his only
claim rested on his successful attempt to defraud him in New York, it
would be difficult to conjecture.

Sauntering slowly along, Hogan had reached the corner of Pacific
Street, then a dark and suspicious locality in the immediate
neighborhood of a number of low public houses of bad reputation.  The
night was dark, for there was no moon.

Suddenly he felt himself seized in a tight grip, while a low, stern
voice in his ear demanded:

"Your money, and be quick about it!"

Hogan was not a brave man, but this demand, in his impecunious
condition, instead of terrifying him, struck his sense of humor as an
exceedingly good joke.

"You've got the wrong man!" he chuckled.

"Stop your fooling, and hand over your money, quickly!" was the stern
rejoinder.

"My dear friend," said Hogan, "if you can find any money about me,
it's more than I can do myself."

"Are you on the square?" demanded the other suspiciously.

"Look at me, and see."

The highwayman took him at his word.  Lighting a match, he surveyed
his captive.

"You don't look wealthy, that's a fact," he admitted.  "Where are you
going?"

"I don't know.  I haven't got any money, nor any place to sleep."

"Then you'd better be leaving this place, or another mistake may be
made."

"Stop!" said Hogan, with a sudden thought.  "Though I haven't any
money, I can tell you where we can both find some."

"Do you mean it?"

"Yes."

"Come in here, then, and come to business."

He led Hogan into a low shanty on Pacific Street, and, bidding him be
seated on a broken settee, waited for particulars.




CHAPTER XXI

READY FOR MISCHIEF

Though Hogan was a scamp in the superlative degree, the burly ruffian
who seated himself by his side looked the character much better.  He
was not a man to beat about the bush.  As he expressed it, he wanted
to come to business at once.

"What's your game, pard?" he demanded.  "Out with it."

Hogan's plan, as the reader has already surmised, was to break into
Joe's restaurant and seize whatever money he might be found to have
on the premises.  He recommended it earnestly, for two reasons.
First, a share of the money would be welcome; and, secondly, he would
be gratified to revenge himself upon the boy, whom he disliked
because he had injured him.

Jack Rafferty listened in silence.

"I don't know about it," he said.  "There's a risk."

"I don't see any risk.  We two ought to be a match for a boy."

"Of course we are.  If we wasn't I'd go hang myself up for a milksop.
Are you sure there's no one else with him?"

"Not a soul."

"That's well, so far; but we might be seen from the outside."

"We can keep watch."

"Do you think the boy's got much money about him?"

"Yes; he's making money hand over fist.  He's one of those mean chaps
that never spend a cent, but lay it all by.  Bah!"

So Hogan expressed his contempt for Joe's frugality.

"All the better for us.  How much might there be now, do you think?"

"Five hundred dollars, likely."

"That's worth risking something for," said Jack thoughtfully.

"We'll share alike?" inquired Hogan anxiously.

"Depends on how much you help about gettin' the money," said Jack
carelessly.

Hogan, who was not very courageous, did not dare push the matter
though he would have liked a more definite assurance.  However, he
had another motive besides the love of money, and was glad to have
the cooperation of Rafferty, though secretly afraid of his ruffianly
accomplice.

It was agreed to wait till midnight.  Till then both men threw
themselves down and slept.

As the clock indicated midnight, Rafferty shook Hogan roughly.

The latter sat up and gazed, in terrified bewilderment, at Jack, who
was leaning over him, forgetting for the moment the compact into
which he had entered.

"What do you want?" he ejaculated.

"It's time we were about our business," growled Jack.

"It's struck twelve."

"All right!" responded Hogan, who began to feel nervous, now that the
crisis was at hand.

"Don't sit rubbing your eyes, man, but get up."

"Haven't you got a drop of something to brace me up?" asked Hogan
nervously.

"What are you scared of, pard?" asked Rafferty contemptuously.

"Nothing," answered Hogan, "but I feel dry."

"All right.  A drop of something will warm us both up."

Jack went behind the counter, and, selecting a bottle of rot-gut
whisky, poured out a stiff glassful apiece.

"Drink it, pard," he said.

Hogan did so, nothing loath.

"That's the right sort," he said, smacking his lips.  "It's warming
to the stomach."

So it was and a frequent indulgence in the vile liquid would probably
have burned his stomach and unfitted it for service.  But the
momentary effect was stimulating, and inspired Hogan with a kind of
Dutch courage, which raised him in the opinion of his burly
confederate.

"Push ahead, pard," said he.  "I'm on hand."

"That's the way to talk," said Rafferty approvingly.  "If we're
lucky, we'll be richer before morning."

Through the dark streets, unlighted and murky, the two confederates
made their stealthy way, and in five minutes stood in front of Joe's
restaurant.

CHAPTER XXII

CHECKMATED

Everything looked favorable for their plans.  Of course, the
restaurant was perfectly dark, and the street was quite deserted.

"How shall we get in?" asked Hogan of his more experienced accomplice.

"No trouble--through the winder."

Rafferty had served an apprenticeship at the burglar's trade, and was
not long in opening the front window.  He had no light and could not
see that Joe had a companion.  If he had discovered this, he would
have been more cautious.

"Go in and get the money," said he to Hogan.

He thought it possible that Hogan might object, but the latter had a
reason for consenting.  He thought he might obtain for himself the
lion's share of the plunder, while, as to risk, there would be no one
but Joe to cope with, and Hogan knew that in physical strength he
must be more than a match for a boy of sixteen.

"All right!" said Hogan.  "You stay at the window and give the alarm
if we are seen."

Rafferty was prompted by a suspicion of Hogan's good faith in the
proposal he made to him.  His ready compliance lulled this suspicion,
and led him to reflect that, perhaps, he could do the work better
himself.

"No," said he.  "I'll go in and you keep watch at the winder."

"I'm willing to go in," said Hogan, fearing that he would not get his
fair share of the plunder.

"You stay where you are, pard!" said Rafferty, in a tone of command.
"I'll manage this thing myself."

"Just as you say," said Hogan, slightly disappointed.

Rafferty clambered into the room, making as little noise as possible.
He stood still a moment, to accustom his eyes to the darkness.  His
plan was to discover where Joe lay, wake him up, and force him, by
threats of instant death as the penalty for non-compliance, to
deliver up all the money he had in the restaurant.

Now, it happened that Joe and his guest slept in opposite corners of
the room.  Rafferty discovered Joe, but was entirely ignorant of the
presence of another person in the apartment.

Joe waked on being rudely shaken.

"Who is it?" he muttered drowsily.

"Never mind who it is!" growled Jack in his ear.  "It's a man that'll
kill you if you don't give up all the money you've got about you!"

Joe was fully awake now, and realized the situation.  He felt
thankful that he was not alone, and it instantly flashed upon him
that Watson had a revolver.  But Watson was asleep.  To obtain time
to form a plan, he parleyed a little.

"You want my money?" he asked, appearing to be confused.

"Yes--and at once!  Refuse, and I will kill you!"

I won't pretend to deny that Joe's heart beat a little quicker than
its wont.  He was thinking busily.  How could he attract Watson's
attention?

"It's pretty hard, but I suppose I must," he answered.

"That's the way to talk."

"Let me get up and I'll get it."

Joe spoke so naturally that Rafferty suspected nothing.  He permitted
our hero to rise, supposing that he was going for the money he
demanded.

Joe knew exactly where Watson lay and went over to him.  He knelt
down and drew out the revolver from beneath his head, at the same
time pushing him, in the hope of arousing him.  The push was
effectual.  Watson was a man whose experience at the mines had taught
him to rouse at once.  He just heard Joe say:

"Hush!"

"What are you so long about?" demanded Rafferty suspiciously.

"I've got a revolver," said Joe unexpectedly; "and, if you don't
leave the room, I'll fire!"

With an oath, Rafferty, who was no coward, sprang upon Joe, and it
would have gone hard with him but for Watson.  The latter was now
broad awake.  He seized Rafferty by the collar, and, dashing him
backward upon the floor, threw himself upon him.

"Two can play at that game!" said he.  "Light the candle, Joe."

"Help, pard!" called Rafferty.

But Hogan, on whom he called, suspecting how matters stood, was in
full flight.

The candle was lighted, and in the struggling ruffian Joe recognized
the man who, three months before, had robbed him of his little all.




CHAPTER XXIII

NOT WHOLLY BLACK

"I know this man, Mr. Watson," said Joe.

"Who is he?"

"He is the same man who robbed me of my money one night about three
months ago--the one I told you of."

For the first time, Rafferty recognized Joe.

"There wasn't enough to make a fuss about," he said.  "There was only
two dollars and a half."

"It was all I had."

"Let me up!" said Rafferty, renewing his struggles.

"Joe, have you got a rope?" asked Watson.

"Yes."

"Bring it here, then.  I can't hold this man all night."

"What are you going to do with me?" demanded Rafferty uneasily.

"Tie you hand and foot till to-morrow morning and then deliver you
over to the authorities."

"No, you won't!"

He made a renewed struggle, but Watson was a man with muscles of
iron, and the attempt was unsuccessful.

It was not without considerable difficulty, however, that the
midnight intruder was secured.  When, at length, he was bound hand
and foot, Watson withdrew to a little distance.  Joe and he looked at
Rafferty, and each felt that he had seldom seen a more brutal face.

"Well," growled Rafferty, "I hope you are satisfied?"

"Not yet," returned Watson.  "When you are delivered into the hands
of the authorities we shall be satisfied."

"Oh, for an hour's freedom!" muttered Jack Rafferty, expressing his
thoughts aloud.

"What use would you make of it?" asked Watson, in a tone of curiosity.

"I'd kill the man that led me into this trap!"

Watson and Joe were surprised.

"Was there such a man.  Didn't you come here alone?"

"No; there was a man got me to come.  Curse him, He told me I would
only find the boy here!"

"What has become of him?"

"He ran away, I reckon, instead of standing by me."

"Where was he?"

"At the winder."

"Could it have been Hogan?" thought Joe.

"I think I know the man," said our hero.  "I'll describe the man I
mean and you can tell me if it was he."

He described Hogan as well as he could.

"That's the man," said Rafferty.  "I wouldn't peach if he hadn't
served me such a mean trick.  What's his name?"

"His name is Hogan.  He came over on the same steamer with me, after
robbing me of fifty dollars in New York.  He has been at the mines,
but didn't make out well.  This very afternoon I gave him supper--all