CHAPTER VIII
THE POLITICAL POT SIMMERS
"Big game occupyin' mud houses endurin' the wet spell, be they Cap'?"
The Captain sharply drew up his bridle reins.
"Brown, are the wages I pay satisfactory to you?"
"You bet, Cap'. They're the best I've ever had. If the wages and the place didn't suit me, you'd have heard me talk long before this."
"Very well, my man. We are now entering Monterey, the capital of this province. Your sole concern there will be with preparations for further journeys according as I give you orders."
"Just as you say, Cap'," from the placid Brown. "Of course you remember I shipped with you on the proposition of big game huntin'."
The other did not reply.
The small adobe dwellings, dubbed "mud houses" by Brown, were succeeded by more pretentious ones as the riders neared the town proper. From every dooryard the prickly-pear cactus pointed its heavy oval leaves. Sweet peas rioted in tinting of sky and sunshine. The Castilian rose, blushing and demure, bowed from its stem in challenge to the hand of the passer-by.