Farquharson listened intently.
The signal was repeated. "Boom! Boom!—Boom! Boom! Boom!—Boom! Boom!"
"Yerba—Buena—to-morrow," Farquharson muttered, anger clinching his teeth, as his horse, under a vicious jab of the spur, dashed forward and into the town, unceremoniously leaving Brown.
"Signaling, hey? Them cannons were boomers, all right. I've been noticing that smoke, back up on the hills, all the time I was talkin' to the Cap', and I expected to see or hear somethin' answer back."
He walked leisurely through the plaza and reached the city just in time to see Farquharson and Señora Valentino ride away in hurried gallop.
"Ah, ah! Simon J. Brown, get to work yourself. Find a horse and light out for the north."
CHAPTER XXVI
BRAVING THE STORM
"A hurricane in midsummer in the temperate zone. A raging ocean, named Pacific. A non-combatant admiral commanding a fighting fleet. What a diabolical combination!"
"Add, the hurricane is piling water on the swelling tides at Half Moon Bay. Soon, the Cyane, willy, nilly, deserts her sand-banks," was Señora Valentino's doleful contribution.