For an instant Bryce Cardigan stared at her; then a slow, mocking
little smile crept around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes
lighted with mirth.

"Glorious news, my dear Shirley, perfectly glorious! So the old fox
has gone to San Francisco, eh? Left in a hurry and via the overland
route! Couldn't wait for the regular passenger-steamer to-morrow, eh?
Great jumping Jehoshaphat! He must have had important business to
attend to." And Bryce commenced to chuckle. "Oh, the poor old
Colonel," he continued presently, "the dear old pirate! What a
horrible right swing he's running into! And you want me to
acknowledge defeat! My dear girl, in the language of the classic,
there is nothing doing. I shall put in my crossing Sunday morning,
and if you don't believe it, drop around and see me in action."

"You mustn't try," protested Shirley. "Rondeau is there with his
crew--and he has orders to stop you. Besides, you can't expect help
from the police. Uncle Seth has made a deal with the Mayor," Shirley
pleaded frantically.

"That for the police and that venal Mayor Poundstone!" Bryce
retorted, with another snap of his fingers. "I'll rid the city of
them at the fall election."

"I came prepared to suggest a compromise, Bryce," she declared, but
he interrupted her with a wave of his hand.

"You can't effect a compromise. You've been telling me I shall never
build the N.C.O. because you will not permit me to. You're powerless,
I tell you. I shall build it."