When they had gone inside and shut the doors after them, Charley
winked with slow deliberation at me. But I was only a youngster,
and new to men and the ways of some men, so I did not understand.
Nor did Charley explain, though I felt there was something wrong
about the business.

Leaving them to their conference, at Charley's suggestion we
boarded our skiff and pulled over to the Old Steamboat Wharf, where
Big Alec's ark was lying. An ark is a house-boat of small though
comfortable dimensions, and is as necessary to the Upper Bay
fisherman as are nets and boats. We were both curious to see Big
Alec's ark, for history said that it had been the scene of more
than one pitched battle, and that it was riddled with bullet-holes.

We found the holes (stopped with wooden plugs and painted over),
but there were not so many as I had expected. Charley noted my
look of disappointment, and laughed; and then to comfort me he gave
an authentic account of one expedition which had descended upon Big
Alec's floating home to capture him, alive preferably, dead if
necessary. At the end of half a day's fighting, the patrolmen had
drawn off in wrecked boats, with one of their number killed and
three wounded. And when they returned next morning with
reinforcements they found only the mooring-stakes of Big Alec's
ark; the ark itself remained hidden for months in the fastnesses of
the Suisun tules.

"But why was he not hanged for murder?" I demanded. "Surely the
United States is powerful enough to bring such a man to justice."

"He gave himself up and stood trial," Charley answered. "It cost