As for the Jacobs party, what they
do is none of our business. They'll deny that they have any notion of
going--and then they'll go, just the same. The captain has other
things to tend to, than watching the passengers."

"But they'll beat us," complained Charley.

"Nonsense," laughed his father. "The crooked trail is the longest way
'round. When they get ashore in the dark they'll not be much nearer
the end than we are. We'll mind our own business and play fair, and
then you'll see who comes out ahead at last."

"Is that San Francisco?" quavered somebody near them, at the rail. She
was one of the worn, plucky women who had traveled the Gila trail. "It
looks like a big camp-meetin'."

And so San Francisco did! Many more lights had been struck; a few
flickered here and there, as if they were being carried about, but the
majority appeared to be behind canvas, through which they shone with
pale yellow glow. Evidently even some of the business buildings were
only canvas; and these, and the multitude of tents, gleamed dully like
a great encampment. Voices sounded constantly, echoing across the
water; hammering never ceased; music floated--strains of violin and
trumpet and piano! From the water-front clear back up the sides of the
hills San Francisco was alive by night as by day. And on the hour all
the vessels in the harbor struck their bells, in a great, melodious
chime.

Charley and his father and Mr. Grigsby stood long at the rail, as did
the other passengers, gazing at the dim shore and its multitude of
spectral lights, and talking. The whole ship seemed to be athrill with
great expectations; row-boats approached, circled and mysteriously
lingered, as if awaiting; and the little waves murmured low and
invitingly, as they slapped against the steamer's sides.

Yes, after the trip of forty days and nights from New Orleans (fifty
from New York!), and of six thousand miles, by water, and twenty miles
by land, here they all were, at anchor off the Land of Gold.

Charley rather hated to turn in. However, the three of them went to
bed, at ten o'clock, and San Francisco was still as lively as ever.
Once, in the night, Charley woke up, thinking that he heard a soft hail
and the splash of oars. He wondered if the long-nosed man's party were
taking their "French leave." He sat up and peered out of the open
door; and there, across the water, were the lights of San Francisco,
and the uproar of voices and hammer