“Prospect splendid. Far better than described. Have written to-day. Hurrah!”
Like the telegram, Fred's letter came promptly in the early part of August.
The ledge was so wide, Fred said, that the miners had sunk their prospect shaft in the center of the vein, and consequently all the rock taken out was a high-grade ore. That he was going to run two drifts, and would then have a more correct idea of the character of the mine, its volume, formation, etc. Only a small portion of the hanging wall was visible at the entrance, as the shaft went immediately into the very heart of the broad vein.
“But,” Fred added, “If the mine proves to be one-tenth as good as it seems, ‘there are millions in it,’ literally.”
So Clarence must make up his mind to wait developments.
In the meantime the settlers had harvested their crops of hay and grain, and were hauling them to town. Don Mariano, as a matter of course, had paid dearly for these same crops, with the sacrifice of his fine cows, besides very heavy taxes. He had sent half of his cattle away to the sierra, and those left had been as carefully guarded as possible, but still the dumb brutes would be attracted by the green grain, and would obey the law of nature, to go and eat it, in utter disregard of the “no fence law.”
Thus, every night the fusilade of the law-abiding settlers would be heard, as they, to protect their “rights under the law,” would be shooting the Don's cattle all over the rancho. In vain did he, or his sons and servants, ride out to find who fired. There was never a man to be seen with a gun or rifle in his hands; it never could be proved that any one of these peaceful farmers had fired a shot. The cattle were killed, but who had done it no one could say. Day after day the vaqueros would come in and report the number of cattle found shot, dead or wounded, that morning, and Gabriel would make a note of the number; at the end of the month he would add these figures, and the Don had the sad satisfaction of knowing how many of his cattle were killed under the law. For although the law did not enjoin upon any one to kill cattle in this manner, the effect was the same as if it had said so plainly.
“I think Southern California isn't such a very dry country as people try to make it out. The settlers on this rancho, I reckon, will realize nice little sums on their crops this year,” Mr. Darrell observed at breakfast one morning.
“And with their little sums they should pay the Don for the cattle they have shot. It is a shame to take his land, have him pay taxes, and then kill his cattle also,” replied Mrs. Darrell. “Those heartless people keep me awake sometimes with their cattle-shooting. I think the Don and his family are too kind to bear all these daily (and nightly) outrages so patiently.”
“I thought you had given it up as a bad job to be the Don's champion, Mrs. Darrell,” said her husband.