her--friend," answered Larry, in some confusion; "her intimate
friend; I might almost say a sort o' distant relation--only not quite
that."

"Wall, if that's all, I guess I'm as much a friend as you," said the
man, re-entering his cabin, and shutting the door with a bang.

Larry sighed, dropped the fifty dollars into his leather purse, and
galloped away.

The journey down to Sacramento, owing to the flooded state of the
country, was not an easy one. It took the party several days' hard
riding to accomplish it, and during all that time Larry kept a vigilant
look-out for Kate Morgan and the cart, but neither of them did he see.
Each day he felt certain he would overtake them, but each evening found
him trying to console himself with the reflection that a "stern chase"
is proverbially a long one, and that _next_ day would do it. Thus they
struggled on, and finally arrived at the city of Sacramento, without
having set eyes on the wanderer. Poor Larry little knew that, having
gone with a man who knew the road thoroughly, Kate, although she
travelled slowly, had arrived there the day before him; while Ned had
lengthened the road by unwittingly making a considerable and unnecessary
detour. Still less did he know that, at the very hour he arrived in the
city, Kate, with her sad charge, embarked on board a small river
steamer, and was now on her way to San Francisco.

As it was, Larry proposed to start back again, supposing they must have
passed them; but, on second thoughts, he decided to remain where he was
and make inquiries. So the three friends pushed forward to the City
Hotel to make inquiries after Tom Collins.

"Mr Collins?" said the waiter, bowing to Sinton--"he's gone, sir, about
a week ago."

"_Gone_!" exclaimed Ned, turning pale.

"Yes, sir; gone down to San Francisco. He saw some advertisement or
other in the newspaper, and started off by the next steamer."

Ned's heart beat freely again. "Was he well when he left?"

"Yes, sir, pretty well. He would have been the better of a longer rest,
but he was quite fit to travel, sir."

Captain Bunting, who, during this colloquy, had been standing with his
legs apart, and his eyes glaring at the waiter, as if he had been mad,
gave a prolonged whistle, but made no further remark. At this moment
Larry, who had been conversing with one of the under-waiters, came
rushing in with a look of desperation on his countenance.

"Would ye belave it," he cried, throwi