"Death to Carillo and Iturbi y Moncada! Death to all! Let the poison out of the veins of California!"
"No! no! As little blood in California as possible. Put them in prison, and keep them on frijoles and water for a year. That will cure rebellion: no chickens, no dulces, no aguardiente—"
Alvarado brought his staff of office down sharply upon a board he had provided for the purpose.
"Gentlemen," he said, "will you not sit down and smoke another cigarito? We must be calm."
The Junta took to its chairs at once. Alvarado never failed to command respect.
"Don Diego Estenega," said the Governor, "will you tell us what you have thought whilst the others have talked?"
Estenega, who had been star-gazing, turned to Alvarado, ignoring the Junta. His keen brilliant eyes gave the Governor a thrill of relief; his mouth expressed a mind made up and intolerant of argument.
"Vallejo," he said, "is like a horse that will neither run nor back into his stall: he merely stands still and kicks. His kicking makes a noise and raises a dust, but does no harm. In other words, he will irritate, but never take a responsibility. Send him an official notice that if he does not keep quiet an armed force will march upon Sonoma and imprison him in his own house, humiliating him before the eyes of his soldiers and retainers.
"As for Pio Pico, threaten to fine and punish him. He will apologize at once and be quiet for six months, when you can call another secret session and issue another threat. It would prolong the term of his submission to order him to appear before the Junta and make it an apology with due humility.
"Now for Carillo and Reinaldo Iturbi y Moncada." He paused a moment and glanced at Chonita's grating. He had the proofs of her brother's rascality in his pocket; no one but himself had seen them. He hesitated the fraction of another moment, then smiled grimly. "Oh, Helen!" he thought, "the same old story."