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As good luck would have it there was not a vessel tied up to the

stand, the whole fleet being made fast to its moorings in the

bay. Code's first duty when he started running had been to make

sure that his Laughing Lass was riding safely at her anchorage.

The burning wharfs faced south. The brisk breeze was southeast

and bore a promise of possible rain. The steamer Grande Mignon,

after giving the first warning, had steamed away from her

perilous dockage to a point half a mile nearer the entrance to

the bay, and now lay there shrieking until the frowning cliffs

and abrupt hills echoed with the hideous noise.

"How'd it happen?" asked Schofield of the first man he met.

"Dunno exactly. Cal'late some tanks in the oilroom caught first.

Can't do much with them wharfs, I guess."

"Who's in charge of things here?"

"The squire."