CHAPTER XXX
"GROWING PAINS"
On the morning of February 28, 1850, Theodore Shillaber, with a number of friends, made a visit to the former's leased land on the Rincon, later known as Rincon Hill. Here, on the old government reserve, whose guns had once flanked Yerba Buena Cove, Shillaber had secured a lease on a commanding site which he planned to convert into a fashionable residence section. What was his surprise, then, to find the scenic promontory covered with innumerable rickety and squalid huts. A tall and muscular young fellow with open-throated shirt and stalwart, hirsute chest, swaggered toward him, fingering rather carelessly, it seemed to Shillaber, the musket he held.
"Lookin' for somebody, stranger?" he inquired, meaningly.
Shillaber, somewhat taken aback, inquired by what right the members of this colony held possession.
"Squatter's rights," returned the large youth, calmly, and spat uncomfortably near to Shillaber's polished boots.
"And what are squatter's rights, may I ask?" said Shillaber, striving to control his rising temper.
The youth tapped his rifle barrel. "Anyone that tries to dispossess us'll soon find out," he returned gruffly, and, turning his back on the visitors, he strode back toward his cabin.
"Wait," called Shillaber, red with wrath, "I notify you now, in the presence of witnesses that if you and all your scurvy crew are not gone bag and baggage within twentyfour hours, I'll have the authorities dispossess you and throw you into jail for trespassing."