“Mr. Pennington,” said Mr. Keegan, gravely, “if Chimmy has made a mistake on this, then I’m willin’ to enlist in the marine corps to-morrow.” This was more emphatic than any oath Mr. Keegan could think of. Then he concluded, with a finality which set further demur at naught: “There won’t be no trouble about a sky-pilot; there’s one on the ship ye’re goin’ on as says he will fix things up, and keep quiet till he does. And about details, there ain’t one you can mention what ain’t fixed, sir.”
Whereupon Morgan picked up the travelling-case, and went out, followed by Mr. Keegan and Pennington, the latter in a state of mind difficult to describe, and one not at all within the comprehension of either Morgan or Mr. Keegan. Mr. Keegan had brought up three horses, one of which he mounted himself, while Morgan mounted another, and Pennington mechanically got on the third. They started off at as quick a pace as the law would permit, the runners keeping silently along by their sides. Burroughs’s Hotel was situated on an eminence to the west of the town, while the Inglefield villa lay on the slopes to the northward. The road led for some distance along the high cliffs which skirt the harbor, where the anchor lights of the vessels twinkled and danced. Pennington could distinguish the Denver by her white sides and her uncompromising, bulky form, revealed by the electric lights of the big black steamer hardly a stone’s throw away from her. But his thoughts were not on the Denver; he was looking at the smoke already pouring out of the pipes of the steamer; it was time—hardly two hours. And, perhaps, then—“What nonsense!” he exclaimed to himself, half aloud. It could not be possible that this girl, who had refused him with such firmness only five months ago, would even consent to such a madcap undertaking as this, much less propose one. Still Mr. Keegan seemed, as usual, to be sure of himself, and to know what he was doing. That worthy headed the column, whistling softly a rather dubious air he had picked up in a Bowery theatre the year before. Mr. Keegan’s horsemanship was none of the best; when the pace quickened to a trot he managed to keep on, however, and comforted himself with the reflection that it was too dark for the Dago heelers to criticise. By the time they reached the town its narrow streets were almost deserted, and the wine-shops were beginning to close. Mr. Keegan reined in his horse, and waited for the others to come up.
“That there ticket agent has got to be held, Mr. Morgan,” he said.
Morgan was wise enough to see the force of this, and also that they stood a better chance of success if Mr. Keegan went up with Pennington. Although it was a bitter disappointment to him not to take a more material part in the attempt than “holding” the agent, he acquiesced at once, and had ridden off before Pennington could expostulate.
“Now, sir,” remarked Mr. Keegan, “we ain’t got no time to burn gettin’ up that hill.”
They clattered over the stones in defiance of a municipal law, and were soon on the ascent. Except for an occasional lamp at the entrance to a villa, it was so dark that they could scarcely make out the high walls on each side of them. Once or twice Pennington had almost decided to go back, but Mr. Keegan pushed ahead with such diligence, as if there could be no possible doubt of the outcome, that Pennington kept on after him. As they passed under one of the dim lights in the wall a sled shot by, in which Pennington made out, smoking with great complacency, two of the Denver’s liberty party.
“You have managed this well, Keegan,” said Pennington, as he pulled up beside him.
“Chimmy is doin’ that, sir,” Mr. Keegan replied modestly; “he is up there gettin’ ’em started.” And then he added, with a touch of satisfaction, “Unless the old one has a roller-coaster, he ain’t got much show this evenin’.”
Pennington was not in a position to express his sentiments in this matter, but he found himself fervently hoping that Mr. Inglefield was not provided with anything so fatal to his chances of success. The master-at-arms was evidently doing his duty thoroughly, and each sled that passed them tended more and more to convince him of the method in Mr. Keegan’s madness. Pennington began to think that, after all, there must be some foundation for his statements.
They urged on their horses, which by this time were fairly tired of the rapid climbing, Mr. Keegan cursing the “heelers,” as he called them, when they growled at the speed, and in the next breath offering them another dollar apiece. After what seemed an age to Pennington, they arrived opposite a recess in the wall, where Mr. Keegan drew up.