The roaring of cattle and the raucous threatening of a stallion sent him flying along instantly.
"A pest on it! I prefer the sharp grass edge to these infernal stones," the ragged pebbles in the road bruising and tearing his feet, while the dry grass had cut cleanly. Still he did not waver. Bright red spots showed on his cheeks; his breath came in quick gasps, but he did not slacken the wonderful pace he had set for himself.
Once a bull compelled him to climb a tree, and once he hid under a bank while a stallion led his squadron past. "I take the rest whether or no I need it," was his laconic thought at these times.
Finally he came in sight of the towers of Mendoza's house. It was yet a league away, and more. Don Pedro tightened his belt, looked at his bleeding feet, then at the mansion gleaming white in the sun. He surveyed the landscape in search of a horseman, but in vain.
He bathed his feet in a streamlet, then darted along the rough road at a speed that might, indeed, be fitly described as only less than that of a fast-galloping horse.
*******
"Commodore Billings, float the stars and stripes over Monterey before another sun goes out!"
In the Administrator's sitting room were gathered Billings, Hamilton, O'Donnell, and a score of land barons of the valley.
The American's mouth shut in a straight line. "You Spaniards, save a handful, are clamoring for English rule. Still, Señor Mendoza, you ask me to invest the capital of this province with my ships. To what end?"
"To afford our California opportunity to appeal from her inconsiderate self to her wiser self."