style."

"And if you show yerself square an' the right sort," he went on,
"why, you kin run with us. But if you don't" (here his voice
became stern and menacing), "why, it'll be the sickest day of yer
life. Understand?"

"Sure," I said.

After that and more warning and advice of similar nature, the
conversation became general, and we learned that the beds were to
be raided that very night. As they got into their boats, after an
hour's stay, we were invited to join them in the raid with the
assurance of "the more the merrier."

"Did you notice that short, Mexican-looking chap?" Nicholas asked,
when they had departed to their various sloops. "He's Barchi, of
the Sporting Life Gang, and the fellow that came with him is
Skilling. They're both out now on five thousand dollars' bail."

I had heard of the Sporting Life Gang before, a crowd of hoodlums
and criminals that terrorized the lower quarters of Oakland, and
two-thirds of which were usually to be found in state's prison for
crimes that ranged from perjury and ballot-box stuffing to murder.

"They are not regular oyster pirates," Nicholas continued.
"They've just come down for the lark and to make a few dollars.
But we'll have to watch out for them."

We sat in the cockpit and discussed the details of our plan till