“Some speculating Yankees, who fancy they see far into the future, and think Don Gregorio’s pasture-land a good investment. There’s a partnership of purchasers, I believe, and they’ve paid the money down, in cash.”
“Already! What kind of cash?”
“The best kind—doubloons and dollars. Not all in coin. Some of it in the currency of California—gold-dust and nuggets.”
“That’s quite as good. Santissima! a splendid fortune. All for a piece of pasture-land, that twelve months ago wasn’t worth a tenth part the amount! What a pity my own acres are already hypothecated! I might have been a millionaire.”
“No! your land lies too far-off. These Yankees have bought Don Gregorio’s land for ‘town-lots,’ as they call them. In due time, no doubt, they’ll cover them with their psalm-singing churches and schoolhouses—though the first building put up should be a prison.”
Both laugh together at this modest jeu d’esprit; their mirth having a double significance. For neither need be over-satisfied with the sight of a prison.
“By the Virgin!” exclaims Calderon, continuing the conversation; “Don Gregorio has done well, and he may be wise in quitting California. But what the devil are we to do about the girls? Of course, as you say, they’re going to!”
“And so it may be. But not before another event takes place—one that may embarrass, and delay, if it do not altogether prevent their departure.”
“Amigo; you talk enigmatically. Will you oblige me by speaking plainer?”
“I will; but not till we’ve had our chocolate, and after it a copita of Catalan. I need a little alcohol to get my brain in working order; for there’s work for it to do. Enough now to tell you I’ve had a revelation. A good angel—or it may be a bad one—has visited me, and given it. A vision which shows me at the same time riches and revenge—pointing the straight way to both.”