pris'ners this night or die, sure as my name's
M'Kay!"

M'Kay was the name of the stout sheriff of
San Francisco: "a good man and true," as he
has often proved himself. In a word, Dave and
I had enrolled ourselves in the ranks of the
V.C. in pursuance of a covert understanding
with the sheriff, which had for its express
object the rescue of these unhappy prisoners. We
should have made the attempt sooner, but that
until now we had not been able to get ourselves
detailed for guard. In selecting Dave as my
comrade in this enterprise, I had not been guided
by any great respect for his intellect—which, as
I have hinted, was not well developed—but
because he was the best-hearted of men, with
unlimited strength and pluck, and, above all,
was a man who could be thoroughly depended
on. Such qualities were wanted for our
enterprise, which was of a ticklish nature. The
slightest suspicion of our purpose on the part of
the V.C. would either doom us to the gallows,
or cause our immediate extradition from the
state: the lightest punishment inflicted upon
those who made themselves obnoxious to the
ruling powers. With a sensitive knowledge of
our position, I repeated Dave's instructions over
and over again to him, before we went on guard.

"Ah's me!" he ejaculated, as he listened
rather impatiently, "if we'd only jest a score
of mountain boys from down Texas way along
now, we'd chaw up yon Vig'lance, right away!"

I was obliged to administer a "clincher"
upon this digression.

"Dave, have you got a score of mountain
boys along?"

"Wal, no."

"Have you got one?"

Dave "guessed he hadn't. Wished he had."

"Then what's the use of talking about 'em?"

Waiting until Dave recovered from this poser,
I proceeded: "Remember, there will be six of
us on guard to-night. That's four beside
ourselves, isn't it? Out of those four, two are
neutral. They belong to a moderate party in
the V.C., disgusted with its doings, but not
daring to confess themselves disgusted. They
will not interfere with us if they can keep quiet
without compromising themselves. So, there
remain only two men point blank against us.
With one of these I am acquainted; he is a bar-
keeper much given to drams, and I can engage to
make him 'safe.' The fourth man, Doctor Jonah
Fisk, is hardest to manage of the whole lot. He
is one of the chiefs of the V.C., has a great
name for 'smartness,' and though he, likewise,
drinks, it takes an immense quantity of stuff to
shut his eyes. So, Dave, we look to you to
account for this man."

"I'll give the black snake etarnal goss!"
responded Dave, feeling in his boot for his bowie.

"I tell you that violence will never do, and is
not to be used. Dave, your instructions are, to
engage the doctor at cards; he is a great
gambler, and, as we know you are 'some pumpkins'
at the 'monongahela' (namely, whisky), only
contrive to drink him 'blind,' and all will be well."

"Don't you fear, squire," said Dave; and we
parted to make preparations for the evening.

Ten o'clock came. Dave and I arrived at the
Vigilance rooms separately, in order to avoid
suspicion, and our men were there before us.
I found time to shake hands with Sims the
bar-keeper, and to exchange a significant look with
our two demi-allies: a pair of honest-looking
storekeepers. I then turned my attention to the
doctor, and surveyed him with eagerness, as an
antagonist with whom I was about to engage in
a duel of wits to the death. He was a tall
lathy man, with a low forehead and small cruel
eyes, but by no means wanting in resolution and
energy; there was evidence of that in his high
cheek-bones and massive lower jaw.

"Well, gents," he said, taking the initiative,
"we must be spry to-night, and keep our eyes
skinned. There's a report that the sheriff has
said he won't let us keep our prisoners nohow.
Guess he's jest out there, he is! To-morrow
night he may have 'em and welcome, not afore;
no, sir, ha! ha!" Making this cruel jest ring in
the ears of the prisoners, he laughed discordantly.
"By-the-by," he resumed, " have those fellows'
chain fixings been looked to?"

"I will see to that," I replied; and, hastening
to the prisoners under pretence of examining
their chains, I passed to each a couple of small
watch-spring files and a bottle of sweet oil.
What a look of gratitude those broken-down
men gave me in return! "Work for your lives,"
I whispered; "the chain must be cut through
in five hours."

Returning to the fire stove, about which the
guard was grouped, I found to my vexation
that the dunder-headed Dave had got hold of
Sims the bar-keeper, and was making insane
proposals of drink and cards to him. He had
mistaken him for the doctor. "Dave," said I,
making my fingers and thumb nearly meet in the
brawny arm of the giant as I slewed him round,
"this is the doctor."

"Glad to see you, squire," said Dave, with a
shambling bow, rubbing his arm.

Two hours passed away in desultory
conversation, during which I plied the bar-keeper,
nothing loth, with liquor from a demijohn of
"monongahela," always kept in the rooms for
the refection of the committee, until he was quite
stupified and went to sleep. The two neutrals
feigned to drink, as a pretext for following his
example, and Dave, who had now contrived to get
on good terms with the doctor, sat a little apart
with him, playing "old sledge." The prisoners
couched in an attitude of repose in the obscurity
of the end of the room, and no doubt worked
away with a will at their fetters. All seemed to
be going on well. "Two hours hence," I thought,
"and the thing is done, without risk or
bloodshed; for the doctor—seasoned vessel though
he is—must certainly succumb before then, to
the innumerable 'smiles' with which Dave is
plying him."

Thus time passed on, and from time to time I
watched the face of the doctor, rapidly reddening
under the influence of his potations, as anxiously