Gabe smiled disarmingly and took another step.

    The nearest guard's flinty stare drilled into him, but then it slid away without change of expression. Obviously he didn't consider Gabe a threat. A dude, and alone.

    It irritated Gabe to be dismissed lightly. But on the other hand it might not be bright to change the guard's opinion right now. Gabe rose above injured pride-and moved a step closer to the wagon.

    The boxes were moving up the gangplank, one by one. He watched a guard pick up one of them from the wagon. Made of rough wood, the box had a tag hanging from it. The tag was stenciled in black:

    TO: U. S. MINT, SAN FRANCISCO

    "Hey, friend."

    Gabe looked slowly toward the big guy on the horse.

    "Me?"

    "You."

    "You want something from me?"

    "I want you should get back away from that wagon."

    "I just wanted to look," Gabe said reasonably. "There's no harm in looking."

    "You want to look at that gold," the big guy said, "you can visit it at the Mint."

    Gabe looked at the wagon and back up at the big guy. "Thanks," he said. "Maybe I will."

    The big guy lowered the muzzle of his rifle an inch. Gabe backed off and made a half turn, back toward the ticket window. That brought the stern of the riverboat into view, past the side of the wharf. The stern was riding slowly up and down. Gabe fixed his eyes on it, mesmerized.

    He just didn't like the motion of that boat. Three gangplanks connected it with the pier; passengers and freight were going steadily aboard and the boat was moving softly up and down, up and down, up and down. Not even in a regular motion like the click-click-click of the train wheels, but in a sickening rolling manner that first attracted Gabe's eye, then his mind, and then his stomach…

    Oh, no.

    He wheeled around and locked his eyes on the first stationary object: a sign next to the ticket window, which said:

    Fares:

    Pittsburg - $2

    Port Chicago - $4

    Richmond - $9

    San Francisco - $16.50

    Sure, he thought.

    The clerk at the window leered at him. "Four minutes, friend."

    They had a language of their own out here, and Gabe was beginning to learn the vocabulary. When a guy called you friend, it was like when a tiger showed you his teeth. It didn't pay to assume he was smiling.

    Over on the wharf the gold wagon was empty and the muleskinner was bellowing a rich stream of oaths at his animals. The wagon curled away. Four characters in overalls came out of a shed and took the reins of the big guys' horses. All the big guys were dismounted now, half of them up on the forward deck and the other half stomping toward the gangplank.

    So the guards were traveling with the gold, not with the wagon. They were all clustering around the pile of gold boxes on deck now and keeping the passengers away.

    Passengers. Gabe looked off to his right, and it seemed as though just about everybody who'd been on the train was already on the boat. If he didn't hustle himself, he'd get left behind and not make it to San Francisco. And if there was one thing worse than being on that riverboat it was not being on it, if the alternative was life in this place. What did that fat fellow say it was? Sacramento.

    Plus there was Twill, and that associate of Twill's waiting for Gabe to show up in San Francisco. It would be a very very poor idea to disappoint him.

    Also, there was that gold. For some reason Gabe liked the idea of traveling with a wagonload of gold for companionship. It made a voyage by boat almost worthwhile.

    Almost. Taking a step closer to the ticket window, Gabe gave the sign beside it an affronted look. To hear that sign talk, you'd think California was nothing but major metropolises. Pittsburg, Port Chicago, Richmond indeed. The truth was that these gully-jumpers wouldn't know a city if it fell on them.

    The ticket clerk said, "You goin' someplace, or you just practicin' your lip-readin'?"

    Gabe lifted one eyebrow in a big-city stare. "You in a hurry?"

    "No, I'm not, but you ought to be. The boat's about to leave."

    Gabe looked over at the boat, and damn if they weren't starting to pull the gangplanks in. "Yeah," he said. "I'm going to San Francisco."

    "You are if you run for it." The clerk slapped a ticket down on the counter. "That'll be sixteen and four bits."

    "Ah. Well, I…"

    Gabe hadn't known about this extra expense at the end of the line and wasn't sure exactly how much cash he still had. He'd left New York in something of a hurry and hadn't been able to scrounge together too much of a road stake. Did he even have sixteen dollars and fifty cents?

    He watched the gangplanks sliding upward over there at the boat while he fumbled in his pockets. A ten-dollar eagle. A five-dollar half eagle.

    He dug. He dug fast now because he had sudden thoughts of the telegram that would go out to Twill if Gabe didn't show up in San Francisco. He dug through every pocket and, counting the dime in his left trouser cuff, he had seventeen dollars and five cents.

    "There you are," Gabe said at last, dumping a double handful of coins onto the counter.

    "And there you are," the clerk said. "Have a great trip."

    That just had to be sarcastic. Clutching his ticket Gabe peered at the clerk's face, but saw only a guileless smile as the man closed the board shutters over his window.

    And a lot of shouting was taking place over at the riverboat. Gabe saw only one gangplank still connecting ship to pier, and he made a run for it, waving the ticket and shouting, "Hi! Hi!"

    The scenery was moving. Hills were going by. There was open water between Gabe and the nearest land. And the water was moving and the boat was moving.

    Slowly, like a statue toppling off a pedestal, Gabe bent over the rail.

CHAPTER TWO

    She came walking happily along the deck, smiling in the sunshine. It was good to be sailing the Sacramento River once again. I really ought to do it more often, she thought. A change of air, a couple of days in the sun-it could do wonders for a girl's complexion.

    She turned into the saloon lounge and cast her eye over the crowd. Pilgrims, most of them. The crowd was denser in the men's bar, but she wasn't allowed in there of course. In the saloon lounge ladies in stays and heavy dresses sat fanning themselves against the heat. Fools-but they'd learn.

    She went out again to take a turn on deck; she hadn't explored the port side yet. She knew she was drawing stares from the gentlemen passengers but she didn't acknowledge any of them although she knew how-the droop of an eyelash, the loss of a handkerchief. Today she was not interested in romance.

    Toward the bow she turned past the lifeboat and suddenly a huge tough loomed, blocking her way.

    "Sorry, Miss. You can't go up no further."

    The rifle was large in his fists. His eyes were sizing her up in appreciation.

    She blinked at him. "But I always ride up front. I love to ride up front."

    "Sorry, Miss. Everybody stays back of this line today."

    "Oh," she said. "Another gold shipment."

    "Yes, Miss."

    "They're such a bore."

    She felt the guard's eyes on her when she turned away. She glanced up and saw the Captain on the Texas deck. He was watching her, too. It made her smile a little and it put a little extra bounce in her step.