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Ahead of him in the road he could see lanterns bobbing, and the

illuminated legs of the men who carried them running. Behind he

heard the muffled pound of boots in thick dust, and the hoarse

panting of others racing toward the scene of the trouble. The

frantic screeching of the steamer's whistle (that was not yet

silent) had done its work well. Freekirk Head was up in arms.

Instinctively and naturally Code Schofield ran, just as he had

run from his father's house since he was ten years old. His long,

easy stride carried him quickly over the ground, and he passed

two or three of those ahead with lanterns. They shouted at him.

"Hey, what's the trouble?" panted one. "Know anything about it?"

"No, but it might be the wharfs," he replied, without stopping.

He veered out to the edge of the road so as to avoid any more

queries. He looked with suspicion now on all these men.