The undertaker was talking, but I knew not what he said. I was shaking
with the horror and grief of the situation, and in that moment I
renewed my vow to have blood for blood and life for life, if law and
justice were to be had.
"We'll take it out any time," said the undertaker, with a decorous
reflection of my grief upon his face. "Would you like to accompany the
remains?"
I decided that I would.
"Well, there's nothing doing now. We can start as soon as we have
sealed the casket."
"As soon as you can. There's nothing to wait for."
The ride to the cemetery took me through a part of San Francisco that I
had not yet seen. Flying battalions of fog advanced swiftly upon us as
we faced the West, and the day grew pale and ghostlike. The gray masses
were pouring fast over the hills toward which we struggled, and the
ranks thickened as we drew near the burial-place.
I paid little attention to the streets through which we passed. My mind
was on the friend whose name I had taken, whose work I was to do. I was
back with him in our boyhood days, and lived again for the fleeting
minutes the life we had lived in common; and the resolve grew stronger
on me that his fate should be avenged.
And yet a face came between me and the dead--a proud face, with varying
moods reflected upon it, now gay, now scornful, now lighted with
intelligence and mirth, now blazing with anger. But it was powerless to
shake my resolve. Not even Luella Knapp should stand between me and
vengeance.
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