Down the inclined way the carretas went, toward the bottom of the valley where the choicest berries grew.
Mendoza wheeled his horse and gave the command to stop. "We rest a few minutes. Then, let the carretas which compete in the race range themselves as will be directed, and start at the word."
Pedro Zelaya and Fulgencio Higuera were appointed judges.
Carreta after carreta drew forward. Soon a score or more were side by side, to enter the contest.
The judges were busy moving one team forward, another back. When all were at equal advantage the stalwart Higuera called:
"Make ready! Run!"
Away they went, the caballeros fringing the sides, the other carretas trailing in the rear. Weeks of patient labor of the peons had made the course even and smooth.
"Now! Now!" cried Hernandez. "I'll show Mendoza my Mexican imported horseflesh is superior to his Californians. Boy," to the postilion, "taut with the reins, and ready with the whip!"
"Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" the drivers shouted to their straining teams, the long whiplashes curling from their hands and touching the splendid animals in stinging crack, while the caballeros admonished or encouraged.
"The spur on the wheeler, Miguel! The lash on that leader!" or, "Grande! Grande! Martino. Another such spurt and you win!"