the
trigger. But it may not be they; and stayed by the uncertainty, he
refrains from firing.

"Let them go!" counsels Crozier. "'Twould be no use looking for them
now. Their crime will keep till morning; and since we know their names,
it'll be strange if we can't find them; though not so strange if we
should fail to get them punished. But that they shall be, if there's a
semblance of law to be found in San Francisco. Now, thanks, my brave
_Crusaders_! And there's a hundred pound note to be divided among you.
Small reward for the saving of two lives, with a large sum of money.
Certainly, had you not turned up so opportunely--But, Harry, how come
you to be here? Never mind now! Let us get on board! and you, Blew,
must go with us. It'll do you no harm to spend one more night on your
old ship. There you can tell me all."

Harry joyfully complies with a requisition so much to his mind; and,
instead of tossing discontentedly on a couch of wet sand, he that night
sleeps soundly in his old bunk in the frigate's forepeak.

CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

A NEGLECTED DWELLING.

A Country-House some ten miles from San Francisco, in a south-westerly
direction. It stands inland about half-way between the Bay and the
Pacific shore, among the Coast Range hills.

Though a structure of mud-brick--the sort made by the Israelites in
Egypt--and with no pretension to architectural style, it is, in
Californian parlance, a _hacienda_. For it is the headquarters of a
grazing estate; but not one of the first-class, either in stock or
appointments. In these respects, it was once better off than now; since
now it is less than second, showing signs of decay everywhere, but
nowhere so much as in the dwelling itself, and the enclosures around.
Its walls are weather-washed, here and there cracked and crumbling; the
doors have had no paint for years, and opening or shutting, creak upon
hinges thickly-coated with rust. Its _corrals_ contain no cattle, nor
are any to be seen upon the pastures outside. In short, the estate
shows as if it had an absentee owner, or none at all.

And the house might appear uninhabited, but for some _peons_ seen
sauntering listlessly around, and a barefoot damsel or two, standing
dishevelled by its door, or in the kitchen kneeling over the _metate_,
and squeezing out maize-dough for the eternal _tortillas_.

However, despite its neglected appearance, the _hacienda_ has an owner;
and with all their indolenc