Gangway!

    It tipped into the steep downslope beyond the paved apron of the gate area. Now it picked up speed ponderously, clattering and thundering like a battalion of artillery on the march. A block ahead of it, midway down the slope, the great fire engine roared into view preceded by the clangor of its bells.

    The fire engine made the turn on two wheels, horses lunging, men straining forward. One or two of them glanced back and saw the gold wagon bearing down on them. Their faces went wide with amazement.

    And on ahead of the fire engine the warning bells and sirens were being obeyed. The street emptied of pedestrians and wagon traffic all the way down to the waterfront.

    As the fire engine topped the hump of the second hill, the gold wagon roared through the trough and swung up the other side. The wagon slowed perceptibly on the upslope, but Gabe was gri

    And it did. It trundled up over the hump, seeming to hesitate for just a second. During that second the riders had a brief panorama of San Francisco spread out below them. The empty street stretched straight down through it all to the tiny listing absurdity of the San Andreas far away at the pier.

    Gabe glanced to one side because a flash of red caught his eye. It was the red hair of Officer McCorkle, watching without expression. When the wagon began to gather speed on the downslope, McCorkle took his big notebook out, licked his pencil, and began to jot something in his laborious hand.

    Now there was no time for anything but hanging on desperately while the fire engine preceded the wagon straight toward the docks, clearing the way, clanging and whooping, with the wagon catching up on it from behind.

    "We're gaining too fast!" Gabe yelled at Ittzy. "Hit your brakes!"

    "They won't work!"

    The wagon was still accelerating, and the red rear end of the fire engine was getting closer and closer… A pool table wouldn't fit between the two vehicles now… A horse could jump between them now… A man couldn't squeeze between them now…

    Gabe opened his mouth to yell, and the fire engine squealed around a corner to the right, and there in front was the panorama again, closer and emptier and clear all the way to the deck of the San Andreas.

    Except for Francis.

    He had just reached the pier after completing his false alarm task and was starting up one of the planks onto the ship. Gabe and Vangie and Roscoe and Ittzy all bawled at him at once to get out of the way, and their combined racket made him turn and look over his shoulder.

    Here came the gold wagon, crossing the flats at the bottom of the hill, barreling this way with undiminished speed.

    Ruffled for once in his life, Francis legged it up the plank. Behind him he could hear the booming thunder of the wagon as it shot out from the end of the street onto the wooden pier. The thunder was coming closer incredibly fast.

    Francis dashed for the deck. The plank suddenly rumbled beneath his feet. He didn't look behind him, because he knew something was gaining on him; it was on the plank with him.

    He dove from the plank, sideways toward the deck, trying to land on the relative softness of a coil of rope. The wagon flashed up the planks past the spot where he'd just been, thudded to the deck with a bone-rattling jar, careened across the ship and crashed to a shuddering stop against the pile of hay bales stacked up against the base of the mainmast.

    There was a second of stu

    Gabe looked at it. He seemed to be deaf. "Uh," he said.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

    As the last echoes of the self-destructing mast faded into history, Captain Flagway emerged from his cabin and walked forward toward the gold wagon as though the deck were heaving under his feet in a heavy storm. An almost empty whisky bottle was clutched in his right hand.

    Roscoe's crew was swarming over the ship, casting off lines, raising sail, shouting nautical gutterances at one another. Ittzy and Roscoe were stretching a tarpaulin over the length of the gold wagon. Vangie was seated on a water barrel, fixing her hair with the aid of an ivory comb and a small mirror. Francis was brushing hemp flecks from the seat of his trousers. Gabe was standing by the side rail, tensely watching an endless stream of mounted men pouring from the main gate of the Mint, thundering downhill toward the pier.

    And up in the rigging, there was no wind.

    Gabe collared Roscoe. "Why the hell aren't we moving? They're after us!"

    Roscoe looked up, shielded his eyes with his hand, and studied the sails. "No wind," he decided.

    Everybody else also looked up. Captain Flagway, in looking up, overbalanced himself and sat down on the deck. He went on looking up.

    "I don't believe it," Gabe said. The posse was topping the nearer slope, men and riders leaping down the second hill. "I just don't believe it," he said.

    Vangie closed her eyes, the mirror and comb forgotten in her lap. Now that disaster had struck, she was no longer loud. "I knew it," she said quietly. "I knew it, I knew it all along."

    Gabe tottered across the deck, staring upward. He still couldn't believe it.

    The Bay was filled with ship traffic, and a steamer, Daniel Webster, was sliding past just now, outward bound for the Golden Gate. It passed very close to the San Andreas and its wake made the water heave, causing the San Andreas to roll from side to side on the ripples.

    The motion took Gabe's mind away from the empty sails. Greenly he staggered back and turned to the rail. Leaning there, he watched the steamship easing by just a few feet away, nearly close enough to touch.

    Gabe stared at that other ship. Why couldn't the San Andreas move like that? He looked upward and saw no sails on Daniel Webster, only a black stack spouting smoke. And that was the difference right there-the difference between being old-fashioned and out of date and caught, or being modern and up to date and safe.

    Then the thought hit him. "God damn," he whispered, just for himself, and suddenly forgot about being sick or caught or any of that negative stuff. "I've got it!" he yelled, and smacked the rail with his palm.

    The rest of them had been alternately watching the posse getting closer and the sails staying empty. Now they turned and watched Gabe suddenly race across the littered deck toward the prow of the ship. Just beyond him, Daniel Webster steamed majestically along, matching his pace, so that to the rest it looked as though Gabe and the steamship were fixed in one spot while the San Andreas was sliding backward.

    Captain Flagway covered one eye, the better to see and comprehend what was happening. Unfortunately, he then closed the uncovered eye instead of the covered one and could see nothing at all. "An eclipse," he suggested. "They'll never find us in the dark."

    Ashore, the posse thundered to the bottom of the hill and streamed toward the pier.

    Aboard, Roscoe's crew huddled together, trying to look like a passing acrobat act that had nothing to do with all this. Ittzy was calmly lashing the tarp over the gold. Roscoe and Francis, side by side, stared at the oncoming posse. Captain Flagway tried to see in the dark. Vangie was tearing her hair.