 Recorded books presents The Spoilers by Matt Braun. Narrated by me, George Quiddell. Author's note. The Spoilers is for the most part a true story. In 1882 San Francisco was the wildest, the wickedest, and certainly the most dangerous city in the West. The cow towns and mining camps, by comparison, were tame stuff. Direct to the Barbary Coast and Chinatown, now to mention a waterfront steeped in infamy, the city by the bay was a cosmopolitan hellhole. In that day and time it was considered the roughest and by far the most depraved metropolis on the North American continent. Yet during this same era San Francisco was the premier city of the Old West. A financial center, a place of sophistication and culture, it is already a mythical wonder famed for its natural beauty and idyllic setting. Beneath the surface, however, there was an unholy marriage between underworld vice-lords and corrupt politicians. Their alliance, bolstered by savage methods and a callous disregard for human life, was to rule San Francisco for nearly a quarter-century. Their downfall, when it came, happened very much as described in the story that follows. The characters who peopled the spoilers are real, their names are unchanged, and the diabolic manner in which they pillaged San Francisco required no invention. Some license has been taken with events and dates, but the spoilers themselves are, if anything, less formidable than they were in real life. Luke Starbuck represents a breed apart. A detective and manhunter, he relied on wits and guts and, when necessary, a fast gun. His assignment in the spoilers borders more on fact than fiction. CHAPTER I A brisk October wind swept across the bay. The ferry plowed toward San Francisco, buffeted by the choppy waters. Directly ahead lay the waterfront, a sprawling collection of wharves and warehouses below the hill-studded city. Luke Starbuck stood alone at the railing on the bow. The other passengers crossing on the morning ferry from Oakland were huddled inside the warmth of the main dead cabin. Faced to the wind, Starbuck appeared heedless of the damp chill and the spray that peppered him as waves slapped against the hull. His eyes were fixed on the harbor and the city beyond. He thought it the damnedest sight he'd ever seen. Telegraph Hill, towering prominently above the waterfront, was cloaked in fog. Under the curving shore of the bay, the terrain formed a bold amphitheater with inland hills surrounding the center of the city. The bay itself, perhaps the finest landlocked harbor in the world, was crowded with ships. At anchor were vessels of all nations, mast upon mast, their flags fluttering in the breeze. Westward, hidden by the fog-bound peninsula, was the Golden Gate. The rich channel and into the harbor sailed the ships of the China trade. The cargo holds were filled with copra and raw silk, coconut oil and sugar, and myriad import from the exotic orient. The trade had transformed San Francisco into one of the richest ports on earth. To Starbuck, who was not easily impressed, it was grander than anything he'd imagined. A former cowhand and rancher, he had grown to manhood in the Texas fan handle. Circumstance had thrust him into the role of range detective, and several years were spent in the employee of Cattleman's associations across the West. As his reputation grew, he'd been hired by diverse organizations like banks and mining companies. He was known to have killed at least twenty men, and among outlaws he was considered the deadliest of all man-hunters. Yet his skill as a detective by far exceeded his renown with a gun. His services were in constant demand, and though he was something of a lone wolf, his credentials were on a level with those of the Pinkerton Agency. He was celebrated as a man who never quit, that rare blend of bulldog and bloodhound. He got results. For all his experience, however, Starbuck was not widely traveled. His work had been confined primarily to the Rocky Mountains and the Southern Plains. To him, Denver was a metropolis, and anybody of water wider than the Rio Grande was beyond his kin. The site of the bay, with tall-masted clippers and ocean-going steamers, was therefore a marvel to command attention. San Francisco, wondrously situated in a ring of hills, and several times the size of Denver, was like a storybook come to life. A profusion. Sample complete. Ready to continue?