Chapter 1

"Dear, I know how you get so bored sitting around the house and how you are not interested in the usual business activities, so I have a suggestion."

"What is it Elizabeth?"

"Have you ever heard of the 'Sydney Ducks'? They are a despicable gang of escaped English convicts who had been shipped to Australia. The word among my friends is that they prey upon defenseless citizens, murdering and stealing with impunity. They appear to be a loosely organized group of miscreants who are terrorizing many neighborhoods in our city. Gossip has it that they won't be long getting to our neighborhood."

"No, dear, I had not heard of them. Why don't the police deal with them?"

"There are simply too many for the police to handle, with all of the other things they have to do. The many fires that have burned out of control lately are also attributed to the Sidney Ducks.

"Anyway, I thought that you certainly don't need the money you get from you 'troubleshooting' escapades, so why don't you concentrate on trying to relieve San Francisco of this subhuman blight? This would give you something useful to do that you would probably enjoy and the activity would keep you near to home, which is something that I would enjoy."

"Very well, my dear Elizabeth, since you ask so nicely, I will look into it immediately," Stan said with a grin. He stood up, buckled on his bowie knife, cocked his hat at a jaunty angle, and set off to catch a cab into the main part of town.

Stan's first stop was at a saloon popular with the business crowd. It was now the middle of the afternoon, so many men had stopped in for a beer. He bought a beer and began to wander around the saloon, eavesdropping on the various conversations he heard as he passed. There was no mention of the Sydney Ducks, but several men seemed worried about the fires that had been happening around the city. Many of the fires had started in empty buildings which would not have appeared to be in any danger from catching fire. Several of the businessmen had lost quite a bit of money as a result of the fires.

Stan didn't think that he would get much useful information from this crowd, so he headed for police headquarters. He asked to speak to a supervisor and was directed to Sgt. James Wilson. Stan asked for what was known about the Sidney Ducks and was given a little information, but nothing he didn't already know. Sgt. Wilson did ask him to stop by if he had any solid evidence that the police could use. Stan agreed to do that and left.

Stan talked to some other people and was warned to stay out of the Telegraph Hill neighborhood known as Sydney-Town. This was the stronghold of the Sydney Ducks and they quickly swallowed up any "gentleman" who happened to wander in without a strong escort. Stan decided that he had to have a look at Sydney-Town in order to understand what he faced.

He returned home and changed clothes to the most disreputable he could find. He feared that he was still too well dressed to get by without notice in Sydney-Town, but it would just have to do. He took his shotgun and bandoleer, as well as his array of knives, and returned to Sydney-Town. He was immediately approached by a pimp.

"I got just tha trollop to fit yer fancy, guvner. Just come wit' me an' we'll have ya singin' a gay tune in no time."

"No thank you, my good man. I am here for a drink and nothing else. Now, begone!" Stan glowered and pointed the shotgun at the man, who shambled off. Stan found that he had to fight off pimps and panhandlers every few steps, so he decided that he wasn't accomplishing anything this way. He decided for one more try, but after dark, this time. He went home and breathed a sigh of relief to get to some clean air, at last.

He decided to try to keep completely out of sight this time and to spy through windows and such to see what was going on. He found a completely black outfit with a hood he could fasten under his chin to hide his light colored features. He also decided to wear black kid gloves so that he could still use his shotgun and knives while wearing the gloves.

He hated to do it, but he had a servant blacken the leather of his bandoleer. Fortunately, the shotgun shells did not project from their loops far enough for the brass to be a problem with its shine. His shotgun was already darkened so that he did not think that it would attract too much attention. He now was ready to stalk his game!

That evening, he went to the opera with Elizabeth and said nothing to her about his plans for the night. As was proper at that time for married people of their class, they had separate bedrooms, so it was easy for Stan to change his clothes and slip out of the house undetected.

He made his way to Sidney-Town and climbed to the roof of a saloon. It was the practice in San Francisco at that time to build business buildings with flat roofs and to put the buildings close together. Thus, one could travel over the roofs for an entire block, and often for several blocks, without ever descending to the ground.

Tonight was just a scouting expedition and Stan had no particular target in mind. He just want to see the layout of the neighborhood and what he needed to do to get around undetected. He did notice right away that he needed boots with a softer sole; he made too much noise if he tried to run over a roof. He'd take care of that tomorrow.

Stan approached an alley when he heard some grunts and groans coming from its depths. He looked over the edge of the roof and saw three men beating a well-dressed man. Stan had rigged a sling for his shotgun so that he would have both hands free for climbing; therefore, he was relatively unencumbered as he dropped over the side of the building to stop the beating.

Stan drew his bowie knife and waded in. Only a fool warned another of his intentions in a knife fight, so Stan struck the first blow without warning. He drove his knife into the back of the first man he could reach, angling it up from the kidney, through the diaphragm, and into the lungs and heart. He twisted the knife and withdrew it with relative ease; Mr. Bowie had known what he was doing when he designed the knife.

The other two men were so intent on the beating they were delivering that they did not notice the attack on the first man until he was already dead and on the ground. Stan stabbed the second man in the groin; it may not have been an immediately killing blow, but it certainly was disabling. The third man realized that he was in the presence of a killing machine and turned to run. He had hardly got turned around before Stan drove his bowie knife into his brain, starting at the base of his skull.

With all three villains out of the picture, Stan turned to the victim who had fallen to the ground. He examined the beaten man and found that the three attackers had not done their victim any permanent harm as far as Stan could tell. The man was going to be sore for days, but he would live.

Stan emptied his pockets looking for identification, but found none. However, there was a considerable sum of money on the man. He was certainly stupid to walk around carrying that much cash. Stan slung the man over his shoulder and carried him, by back alleys and dark streets, to the nearest police station. Stan laid him out in front of the door where he would surely be noticed, and Stan left before he was spotted.

It was still early by Sydney-Town time, so Stan went back to see what he could find. By the time he got back, the three corpses were missing from the alley, and Stan had no idea what had happened to them. He climbed back to the roof and resumed prowling around. At one point, he saw a naked man thrown out of a second floor window; the man didn't move so Stan was sure that he was dead.

He did see one shooting, but he didn't know the details so he didn't interfere. On the surface, at least, the contest had the appearance of a conventional duel, so Stan considered it to be a matter of honor and none of his business. Though why two men would fight a duel in the middle of the night on a poorly lighted public street was completely beyond him. He assumed that they were both drunk, since they both missed.

He kept up his patrol until nearly dawn without seeing anything else of note. Maybe this was a slow night. In any case, it was time to go home. Stan arrived at home and went to bed without disturbing the rest of the household.