"There seem to be friends waiting for us," said I. "Just get a good
grip of your clubs, boys, and keep your revolvers handy in case they
think they have a call to stop us."
"Hold on," said Porter. "There's a gang of 'em there. I see a dozen of
'em, and if we're the ones they're after we had better cut for it."
"I believe you are right," said I, peering into the darkness. I could
see a confused mass, but whether of men or boxes I could only guess.
"We'll go up here, and you can cut around the other way," said Porter.
"There's no need for you to risk it."
"There's no need for any one to risk it. We'll cut together."
"This way then," said Wilson. "I know this part of town better than you
do. Run on your toes." And he darted past Borton's, and plunged into an
alley that led toward the north. Porter and I followed, as quietly as
possible, through the dark and noisome cut-off to Pacific Street.
Wilson turned toward the bay, and crossing the street at the next
corner followed the main thoroughfare to Broadway.
"I guess we're all right now," he gasped, as we turned again to the
west, "but we'd best keep to the middle of the street."
And a little later we were in sight of the house of mystery which
fronted, forbidding and gloomy as ever, on Montgomery Street.
"Where's Barkhouse?" I asked of Trent, who was on guard.
"He hasn't come in, sir. Phillips got here a bit ago, and I think he
has something to report."
As Phillips had been sent scouting with Barkhouse I thought it likely,
and called him to my room.
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