BUILDING FROM WHICH STANISLAUS AND HIS FOLLOWERS
STOLE TWO HUNDRED INDIAN MAIDEN
"When Padre Osuna trails us he can perform
a hundred double weddings at once"

The Bride of Mission
San José

A Tale of Early California

By
JOHN AUGUSTINE CULL

THE ABINGDON PRESS
NEW YORK CINCINNATI

Copyright, 1920, by
JOHN AUGUSTINE CULL

CHARACTERS PROMINENT IN THE STORY

SEÑOR MENDOZA, former Colonel in Napoleonic wars; subsequently, Administrator of Mission San José de Guadalupe, Santa Clara Valley, California; later Governor of the province.

CARMELITA MENDOZA, daughter of Señor Mendoza.

PADRE LUSCIANO OSUNA, Spiritual Head of Mission San José de Guadalupe.

CAPTAIN MORANDO, Comandante of the Pueblo of San José; afterward General of all the land forces of the department of California.

COLONEL BARCELO, Comandante of the Presidio of Monterey, and acting Governor of California.

CHARLES O'DONNELL, in the secret service of the United States.

SEÑORA VALENTINO, in the secret service of England.

CAPTAIN FARQUHARSON, English representative extraordinary in the province.

COMMODORE BILLINGS, Commanding the American fleet in the Pacific.

ADMIRAL FAIRBANKS, Commanding the British fleet in the Pacific.

YOSCOLO, Famous Indian chief.

STANISLAUS, Lieutenant of Yoscolo.

BROWN, Factotum of Captain Farquharson; later, in the employ of Señor Mendoza.

Time: 1842 to 1846.

Contents

Chapter

I. [A Serenade in the Moonlight]
II. [The Lion and the Lamb Lie Down Together]
III. [A Dip into the Past]
IV. [A Stranger Visits Señor Mendoza]
V. [Another Stranger Makes a Visit]
VI. [The Merienda]
VII. [A Night Spent in a Cave]
VIII. [The Political Pot Simmers]
IX. [Señora Valentino Seeks to Interest Padre Osuna]
X. [The Beginning of the Ball at Señor Mendoza's Hacienda House]
XI. [At the Supper]
XII. [Carmelita Dances El Son]
XIII. [Returning from the Ball]
XIV. [O'Donnell Takes A Horseback Ride]
XV. [Señora Valentino Makes a Report]
XVI. [The Señorita of the Window Pane]
XVII. [O'Donnell Settles with Yoscolo]
XVIII. [Farquharson Meets with a Loss]
XIX. [Señora Valentino and Captain Morando Continue Conversation]
XX. [Bitter Sweet]
XXI. [A Few Diplomatic Touches]
XXII. [Almost—]
XXIII. [Pedro Zelaya Brings Important News]
XXIV. [The Next Day]
XXV. [Brown Takes a Hand at Diplomacy]
XXVI. [Braving the Storm]
XXVII. [But Yet a Woman]
XXVIII. [A Daughter of the De La Mendoza]
XXIX. [A Departure]
XXX. [Odds and Ends]
XXXI. [Across the Years]
XXXII. [A Wedding]

CHAPTER I
A SERENADE IN THE MOONLIGHT

"Fairer art thou than the lily, than the rose more sweet," sang a mellow baritone voice. A guitar thrummed accompaniment. At the end of his improvisation the singer waved the instrument gracefully, now in sweeping stroke, again in shorter measure, as if he were a maestro directing his musicians. Then he touched the strings in melancholy strain:

"Beat, beat, little dove, thy tender wings against thy iron cage."

Next triumphantly he intoned:

"Fly away, little dove, fly away; the cruel bars are broken."

Once more in pantomime he directed his fancied musicians.

"What is it, Don Alfredo? Art fanning thyself, or do mosquitoes annoy thee?"

He looked upward into a pair of dark, laughing eyes not three feet distant.

"O, Doña Carmelita," rapturously, "I was marking rhythm for the angel choirs which sing in praise of thy beauty and charm. They sing of one angel, even thou, Doña mia, more fair than they."

The girl withdrew from the embrasure, brushing her fan across its iron-barred front.

"I shut out, Don Alfredo, thy foolish words. I drive them back into the air. I fear the angels are displeased at thy presumption. Many nights have you sung here meaningless words, empty nothings; but even better such than to speak thoughts which must offend the saints in heaven."

"O, Doña Carmelita, let me once again see thy eyes sparkle in the moonlight; add a flash or two from thy teeth of pearl——"

"Hush, Don Alfredo, or I leave. Perhaps at other embrasures not far away wait caballeros, not so vain as to fancy themselves directors of the music celestial. Good night, Don Alfredo. Clip the wings of thy imagination lest thou fly too near the sun."

"O, Doña mia, do not go away. If it please thee I'll praise the heavenly angels."

The window was suddenly closed.

"Caramba! again. It's difficult for a soldier to trim his tongue that he may speak words of love to the tender ears of the capricious señorita."

"Good evening, Captain Morando."

The soldier turned abruptly. At his side stood Señor Mendoza, administrator of the Mission of San José, gravely looking at him.

"Good evening, your Excellency. I hope your health is all of the best," somewhat discomposedly.

"Many thanks, Captain. Your hope is generously fulfilled in me, for my health is indeed good."

The Administrator's expression became quizzical. "May I ask you, brave soldier, why you stand on guard here in the moonlight, bearing that singular-appearing firearm?" pointing to the guitar. "Can it be that renegade Indians threaten?"

"When a soldier stands at guard, Señor Administrator, may there not be motives many, other than renegade Indians?"

The other laughed and changed the subject. "Did I but dream the comandante of the pueblo of San José was to be here to-night, he would have been invited to sit with our council meeting but now concluded. Spring advances, and the rains fall not. Never has Alta California seen such drought. Our live stock sadly need grazing and water. Hence I called the council. I would that you had been present. The military mind is fertile in expedient."

"I fear it would be sadly deficient in surmounting the need of a south wind."

"Our Captain has wit, as well as vigilance. But I am forgetting hospitality, soldier protector of the Mission. Come within. Let others woo, if they will, the goddess of dreams, but for you and me the pleasures of fellowship will hasten lagging hours."

"I thank you, Señor Mendoza, but I fear——"

"Fear never a moment, friend Morando. Sentinels watch over us in valley and on hill, men trusty, tried, and true. Eyes have they as keen as eagles; the ears and the swiftness of the fox are theirs. Therefore no vigil need thou keep for us."

Morando still hesitated.

"Come now. Right glad am I that you are here. Within, a glass of wine, a chat, perhaps a harmless game at cards, await us. Soon roll the hours away. Then you gallop across the pastures, alas! dry and bare now, to the pueblo of San José. I seek my couch soothed by your young companionship. Now, what wilt thou?"

An inarticulate sound behind the embrasure. Don Alfredo could have sworn it concealed a silvery laugh from the fair Doña Carmelita.

"The night birds are calling, Don Alfredo. Did you not just hear them?" looking slyly at the captain. "They are sleepy and we arouse them."

Holding his arm and talking the while about the drought and other difficulties the Administrator led Don Alfredo within.

"Brave Captain, place that death-dealing weapon on the chair," pointing a second time to the guitar. "Some new invention, of course, though I seem to see something familiar about it. Seat yourself on that settee. It came to me from Madrid."

"Thank you, señor."

With a smile as gracious as the moonlight the señor said: "At another time I would ask my daughter, the Doña Carmelita, to join us for a little visit, but the child is young and the night already late. She would doubtless wish to sleep."

They were in the Administrator's private sitting room, the duplicate of a room in his father's castle in Spain. Priceless Persian rugs were on the floor, with high-back chairs of solid mahogany everywhere about. A massive secretary, likewise of mahogany, stood at one side. Tapestries designed in Seville hung on one of the walls; weapons of the hunt and of war, another; while oil paintings of battles, in many of which the family Mendoza had been distinguished, completed the adornment.

"Caramba! I ride miles to serenade the daughter; and here I am in the hacienda house, the guest of the father, while the señorita is somewhere in the courtyard, laughing, I'm sure—yes, laughing," thought the young soldier.

"Some wine, my Captain? Genuine Malaga it is, guaranteed by government stamp, not the juice of the old Mission grape, excellent as that is. Now, the cigarros. Let us speak, Señor Captain, of the General Guerrero. I understand he was once commander of that division in Spain from which you have so lately come. Am I correct?"

"You are, señor. The General was my commander so recently that one year will more than bridge the time."

"Guerrero was my captain when, as a subaltern, I sailed these western seas, and saw service in the Philippines—service that was service. Tell me of my one-time leader. Is he well?"

"He is well, and the years have small meaning to his strength."

Captain Morando talked with his host of the campaigns of General Guerrero in the Spanish trans-Mediterranean dependencies; of the newly concluded peace there; and of the retirement of the General by the age limit, but all the while his mind was fashioning love songs outside the window of the fair señorita. Through the haze of tobacco smoke the strong, kindly face of the Administrator of Mission San José de Guadalupe softened into the sweet face of the doña, with her laughing eyes and beautiful hair; his deep voice gave way to the lighter tones of the daughter.

"Peace in North Africa brought relief to the young soldier from discomforts of the campaign. Was it not so?"

"Señor Mendoza, it brought the weariness of camp and garrison. The morning drill, the after-luncheon parade, the society function in the evening, ill filled my idea of the life a man should live. Besides, the ambitious soldier sees advancement only in a life of action. I sought a change and I found one. My resignation was easily effected. I then carried my letters to the Mexican war secretary, whom I made acquainted with my preference. Accordingly, came my assignment to San José pueblo."

"Good! Good, my Captain! During my visit in Mexico just concluded I learned that you had been appointed comandante. Some wine in your glass?"

"No more, thank you."

"What, not any? The young man is abstemious. That is well. Strong and lusty age follows youth lived along the way of moderation."

The men puffed their cigars. Higher and higher, in widening circles, rose the incense of the fragrant leaf. The Administrator was busy with his thoughts; likewise the guest. "His daughter, he intimates, is too young for late hours. Many a night, at low twelve, during his sojourn in Mexico, have I sung to her from my corner in the courtyard. What would he say if he knew that to-night is not my first visit thither—nor yet my second—nor my third—nor yet——"

The older man broke the silence. "Soldier, our California needs men."

Morando started slightly, then signified by a movement of the head that he had heard. Mendoza exhaled several whiffs of his Havana before speaking further, meanwhile surveying the alert form and soldierly features of the Captain.

"Life is not all play, as many appear to think it is. Our province has passed the years of childhood. With maturity comes duty as waking with day."

The soldier listened with interest.

"I believe the cleavage of California and Mexico is near at hand. They fall apart by their own weight. Even the Mexican secretary of state spoke openly of this to me a month ago."

"Then what comes, Señor Mendoza?"

"There comes that which we ourselves make. On an ethical foundation of the highest order must we build our body politic. Then, when our province becomes free, some protecting nation will extend to us a sister's hand. If in this fruitful land there should prevail the spirit of sweet-do-nothingness, how can we hope that others will consider us highly while we deem ourselves lightly?"

"My time here has been too short to have studied these matters carefully. However, I have heard men speak of a California republic."

"The vision of dreamers, my Captain. We have neither army nor navy, nor can we hope to have them. How could we unaided hold this province situated as it is, the commercial center of these seas and the bosom of resources as yet scarcely touched?"

"Then, in your judgment, it should not be a question of absolute independence?"

"In one sense, no. Yet, I favor a rule by the people. People of enlightenment will govern wisely. Captain Morando, we need men, more men, who will place the common good above their private interest."

"You speak the duty of the soldier, Señor Mendoza."

"It is so, Captain." Then turning the conversation back to the situation in the Santa Clara valley: "Have you run across Stanislaus yet? No? Nor Yoscolo? Well, I hope you will soon see both over your pistol barrel. They are a menace to the peace in our valley. Yoscolo is the abler of the two. Many a lively skirmish have my fighting peons had with the scoundrel."

During this time the Doña Carmelita mounted a staircase and walked along a passage which had its way over a high, wide adobe wall leading from one part of the house to another. The moonlight fell in weird fantasy on the hacienda grounds. Palms, evergreens, flowers assumed moving shapes, as if engaged in low but animated conversation.

Breezes from San Francisco Bay flowed intermittently into the courtyard, shaking the branches and rattling the leaves. One stronger gust caught spray from a fountain and sent it eddying into the white night. The awakened birds murmured sleepily and myriad crickets chirped remonstrance. Three Spanish mastiffs, guardians of the inclosure, edged away from the impromptu shower, then looked up furtively at the girl, ashamed of temporary cowardice.

Anon there floated down to her from the heights beyond the call of the Indian sentinel as he made his rounds, "Love to God!" followed by the reply from one of his fellows, "Love to God!" With a dozen tongues the hills took up the refrain, "Love to God! Love to God!"

"What can my father and Captain Morando find to talk about so long! Men can gossip as well as women when they are so minded."

She mounted another flight of outside stairs that led to the top of the buildings which formed three sides of the courtyard. The courtyard door was open. Several peons were holding the struggling watchdog while another brought Morando's horse.

"Hold fast those dogs!" Señor Mendoza said to the Indians. "They are as fierce as tigers. Good-night, Captain Morando. Remember two weeks from Thursday evening, at six. My daughter's dueña will be home from Monterey, and we'll have both to dine with us, with perhaps a few friends, just a valecito casero—a little house party. Good-night. Glad you've some men in the village. The country won't be safe till we rid it of those miscreant renegades. Good-night, Captain."

The heavy door closed. The doña saw that Captain Morando rode around the courtyard to the embrasure window, halted and looked up anxiously. Walking to the edge of the roof she stood there, a beautiful picture. He waved his hand.

"O, doña mia—" he began. Unfastening a rose from her hair she tossed it to him. The pulsing air caught it, and swaying, whirling, it fell. He reined in his horse, urged it forward, swung it around, keeping in the uncertain downward path of the rose, till finally its stem rested in his hand.

He kissed the flower again and again; then holding it up to her, waved it in rhythmic motion as he had done before with the guitar.

"O, doña mia—" he began once more, but the watchdogs bayed savagely and rushed against the adobe fence. His horse shied and sprang away. He wheeled back again.

The señorita had disappeared.

CHAPTER II
THE LION AND THE LAMB LIE DOWN TOGETHER

Most unwonted drought had laid a withering hand on fertile Santa Clara valley that year. March had come and no vast stretches of wild oats measured the way from foothill to bay; no juicy grazing for cattle and horses on the rich bottom lands. The plain-brown color-tone of autumn prevailed, not that of spring, in triumphant green and promise of rich harvest.

This interchange prevailed almost everywhere except around the gushing springs at the Mission San José. Here rioted nature in her proudest fancy, for the intense warmth of day and night had brought to blossom before their time wild plant, oleander, and fruit tree. Here was green grass in luxuriant abundance, while the tall mustard flaunted its yellow top as usual, and afforded a resting place for chattering blackbird and twittering linnet.

The springs on the Administrator's property several miles north of Mission San José had gradually diminished in flow until only unsightly, trampled mud remained where was a limpid lake in happier years.

The geyserlike warm springs on the property of Don Fulgencio Higuera, Señor Mendoza's neighbor to the south, had suddenly run dry. In fact, not more than half a dozen sources of water-supply remained within a radius of a score of miles. The like had never been known, not even in the memory of the oldest Indian in the valley.

Weird relics of Druidic worship, half forgotten under the tutelage of the Mission padres, were revived in forest and mountain. Vast columns of smoke, odoriferous of cedar and bay-leaf, reached high toward heaven in the motionless air. The ancient name of Oroysom replaced on many a tongue that of the smoothly flowing Mission San José de Guadalupe, which name the missionaries had given the region when their work of Christianizing the Indians began.

"Oroysom, Oroysom, begs thee, Great Spirit, to awake," sang the aborigine. "Let the perfume of laurel propitiate thee. Let the sweetness of the smoke of cedar be a gracious offering unto thee. On the fields of Oroysom no food for beast is found. Gaunt famine is rushing hither in wind-swift pace. Our hunters search stream and wildwood, but find no food for the child, the women, the old people. There is no maize, no field of growing wheat; and, lo! the garden is dry and empty. Oroysom calls on thee, Father of the rain, Source of the springs, and Giver of the harvest, to arouse from slumber and forget no longer the people who from old have honored thee."

Around the great fires at night the Indians swung hand in hand, swaying in willowy motion as they chanted their incantation. Their shadows danced in wildest abandon on the mammoth rocks or mountain peaks which formed the background of the strange scene.

Señor Mendoza, the leading spirit among the landholders on the eastern side of the valley, endeavored, as, indeed, did his neighbors, to maintain equanimity, but there was much anxiety among all.

Even water for family use had to be carried on horseback, the vaqueros from ranchos miles away coming to the few remaining water-supplies, and riding back with the precious water skins over the pommel of the saddle.

It was the last week of January when the Administrator first called his fellow landowners together to consider what could be done. They gathered in his sitting room. Graybeards they were, the most of them, and rich in the wisdom of many years, as well as in landed possessions.

Long they smoked the cigarros of the provident Administrator and sipped his rare wines, the while exchanging polite remarks on the nothings of the day. This was their way while waiting to begin attack on some weighty subject. Finally Señor Mendoza ordered the serving peons to bring on his choicest cognac, a select French product.

"The Administrator is vastly disturbed over this rainless winter," whispered Don Pedro Zelaya, of the rancho San Lorenzo, to Don Fulgencio Higuera, of the rancho Aguas Calientes. "Paris knows no better cognac than I see here. I divine his anxiety by the quality of his liquors. Last year when renegade Indians threatened he furnished our meeting here with a Portuguese cordial mild as milk. Much as he fears the prowling Yoscolo and Stanislaus, he measures them not high in comparison with this drought."

The leonine-appearing Señor Higuera squared his yard-wide shoulders to attention as he sat in his high-backed chair. His eye ran slowly over the slender and dapper Señor Zelaya. A trace of humor stole into his eyes, then over his bearded face. "Brandy in the head seldom lends swiftness to the feet. Is it not so?"

Pedro Zelaya was the swiftest foot-racer in the province of California. He was also a lover of good eating and drinking. When training for his famous races he must forego the delicacies of his French cook, and the bouquet of imported wine, which deprivations he relished not over well.

"A thimbleful of brandy is given even to a bull-fighter before the contest," replied Señor Zelaya, bowing politely and suavely smiling.

Years before the doughty Señor Higuera had seized and held by the horns an infuriated bull which, maddened by eating the dreaded rattleweed, a venomous plant then common, had left the herd and rushed up on Higuera, who was standing, with his wife and children, in the open before the courtyard of his hacienda house.

The peons served the cognac in long, slender-stemmed goblets. Señor Mendoza raised his glass, looked for a moment at the amber liquid, then sipped it gently. Lowering the glass he glanced around at the assembled company. Each man, following the example of the host, tasted the contents of his own glass, and then allowed his eyes to rest on the Señor Administrator.

This process was repeated once, twice, three times, until each had finished his beverage.

Señor Mendoza's aquiline features, garnished by mustache and imperial, and embellished by a waving iron-gray hair, fell into severer mold.

"Señors, my friends, may I have your attention?"

No one spoke.

"Señors," his tones serious and resonant, "it is not raining to-day."

His assertion was not disputed. The rays of the sun streamed into the room. It was afternoon and the delicately tinted stained glass of the windows was resplendent in the light.

"It rained not yesterday, nor in the yesterday of many months," looking from one to another of his company, as if in search of opposition.

The señors, in solemn concord, bowed in corroboration of his statement.

"The soft south wind blows not. Overhead is the summer sun. I see no hope of rain to-morrow."

The grave señors acquiesced.

"Indians in thousands, beasts in tens of thousands, are on our lands. Responsibilities, neither few nor doubtful, weigh on our shoulders. If it rains not to-morrow, nor yet till the to-morrows touch late spring, how can we fulfill the duty this province of Alta California lays at our door, that our aborigine wards lack not the sustenance their condition demands?"

His look went from face to face. Suddenly he stood upright.

"Señors, to save our people we must save our cattle. Even if the rain comes, the feed will be late. Therefore our herds must go elsewhere soon, or only their dried bones will see another year. Whither shall we take them?"

The foremost in the council gave their views.

"The river to the north, called Russian, nourishes vast cañons of redwood forest. The soil is ever moist where the heaven-searching redwood grows. Let rafts be made to ferry the animals to the shore of Contra Costa. In another year they will return, with increase, fat and safe. Our peons throughout the year can call hither from that region the supplies we need." Thus Don Antonio Peralta.

As he concluded the other leaders bowed to him solemnly.

The dapper Zelaya indicated to his host, who was yet standing, his wish to speak.

The quiet humor in the heart of Señor Higuera stole again into his eyes and over his face and reached his tongue. "Swiftness in the feet means quickness in the mind directing those feet. Let us hear Señor Zelaya."

The lord of the rancho San Lorenzo looked musingly at his friend. "I doubt greatly that even Señor Higuera could hold a grizzly bear by the horns, since that creature possesses none. At any rate, the grizzly has strength yet greater than our mighty Higuera here. The deep shadows of the Russian river cañons shelter these enemies in numbers. Our vaqueros could little protect their charges in those glades and thickets. Señors," impressively, "if our live stock are to leave their bones bleaching anywhere this season, why send them abroad to seek this privilege?"

"Brava!" said the giant Higuera, smiling approval.

Some one then spoke of the pasturage away to the south, in the valley of the Salinas, or even the rolling lands of Santa Barbara. But the feed could but poorly support the herds already there, so one said who recently had traveled about.

Mendoza resumed his seat, since no one spoke further. For a moment he silently regarded his neighbors. At last: "Friends and brothers mine, Señor Peralta has spoken of the north country as a possible solution for our imminent difficulties. Señor Zelaya is right. The Russian bear, as well as the California grizzly, would divide our property by piecemeal there. There are yet the river beds of the Sacramento and the San Joaquin."

"But Yoscolo and Stanislaus and their thousand renegades!" objected one. "We go to the mouth of the tiger. More than ever are these men active now."

"Our fighting peons equal in strength their recreant fellows. Nothing remains but for us to cross the passes to the soft bottom lands in the eastern valleys. Señors, shall we go?"

The Administrator's judgment was accepted, and the visitors, standing, drank another glass of brandy and departed.

Early the next day began a great exodus of cattle and horses through mountain defile, north and south, to the flat lowlands across the mountain ranges, Indian vaqueros, peons armed with bows and arrows, and here and there a Spaniard with a flint-lock musket going with the herds.

Despite the general departure of live stock the late spring saw wondrous commotion about the watering troughs of Señor Mendoza. Cattle from the hills, from the marshes of the bay, from no one knew where, scented water and rushed in thirst-madness to the Mission of San José; bellowing, leaping, rolling over and over in their frenzy to reach the water!

All day long did the vaqueros rush into the surging tumult, springing with the swiftness of the cat from back to back of cattle or horse in the plunging mass, separating the press here to save the weaker animals from suffocation, opening lanes there to allow ingress to the troughs. Bellowing of cattle mingled with neighing of horses in wildest confusion. Famine showed feverlike in their eyes and echoed madly in their cries. During the day the battle raged, but at night they drew away to the hills looking for the lower tree-foliage and the scanty leaf-forage.

Then came other animals to the water. Thirst drew them from the mountains and drove away their fear of man. The gaunt bear lapped from the trough, and though the bow of the hunter was bent and the arrow aimed to slay, pity withheld the arrow.

The timid deer stood unafraid at the side of its ancient enemies, man and bear. The scream of the mountain lion mingled with the howl of the wolf, as they ran about among men, looking for food after they had quenched their thirst at the watering place.

Some strange chivalry, deep residing in the beasts of prey, held the weaker denizens of the wildwood in safety from claw and fang. In their dire adversity came a literal fulfillment of the old prophecy that the lion and the lamb should lie down together.

Señor Mendoza and his friends faced bravely the difficult situation.

"Our Indian brother shows now his likeness of spirit to the four-footed dwellers of the wood. Famine madness possesses both. Together do they roam by day and weirdly cry by night," said Mendoza in the council of his neighbors.

"The Indians lack not food or water," said some one. "What need of such strange actions?"

"The savage is close to the surface in every nature," replied Mendoza. "Among our Indian friends the outcropping is more easily apparent."

Several began speaking at the same time, an unusual thing in that placid assembly. Like a murmur it began, but rose to distinct word and ordered expression. "Our wives, our children, our lives, are in danger from these mad wards the province has given us."

"Our soldiers are at the pueblo," said one.

"They number less than fifty. The Indians have strength and to spare to drive our few troopers into the San Francisco bay," said Zelaya.

"Why were so many aborigines trained in the use of the musket and lance?" from some one else.

"They have fought our battles against their untamed brethren for a generation," replied Mendoza.

As usual this meeting was in Mendoza's house. Directly across the road was the Mission church.

As if to give emphasis to the fears but just expressed from everywhere there came the peculiar semitone that only moccasined feet can make. A thousand footfalls centered their way to the old adobe church. The Indians poured through the open doors into the auditorium until it overflowed. Like restless ants those who could not get within ran around the building, filling every approach, surging in resistless multitude, as did the thirst-driven cattle around the water source.

"They have gone entirely mad! First they will destroy the church, then fall on our families and on us," came somewhere from the elders. "Let us fly to our hacienda houses, barricade our gates, and fight to the end."

"Let us wait," suggested Mendoza, "and see further."

With sudden impulse the aborigines began to move from side to side in singular unison. At first they uttered no sound, then came a crooning of strange medleys in lifeless, indistinct tones.

"They commence thus their war dance!"

Señor Mendoza shrugged.

A tall Indian mounted the church steps. He turned. His face was wrinkled, his long hair, white, yet straight and sturdy he stood before the undulating throng.

"'Tis old Juan Antonio, major-domo of the Mission there. When did he come from the region of the San Joaquin? He and the padre drove thither their cattle even before we sent away ours."

The man waved his hand over the people. The tumult was lessened. From the church came the soft chords of the organ. A powerful voice intoned.

"My soul hath magnified the Lord and my spirit hath rejoiced in God, my Saviour."

The organ swelled in thunder notes, as the faithful within the church took up the antistrophe:

"For behold he hath regarded the humility of his handmaid, and from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed."

Thus was sung the Magnificat.

A man came out to the church door. Youth was on face and figure, but care and illness lined his features and bowed the shoulders that showed broad even under his friar's robe. In movements as graceful as a feather's dip he pointed to the Indians, then to their homes scattered over valley and hill. In another gesture he motioned to the neophytes to be on their way. They looked stolidly at one another, then back to the padre who remained standing with his arm outstretched. Savagery flamed anew in their faces. With the growl of an angry beast about to rend its prey they rushed up the steps. The friar, motionless, still stood before them, still pointing to their houses. The mob charged on. They were but a pace distant when, as one man, they paused, held in check by the unswerving calm of the churchman. Back from him, step by step, they went till the ground was reached. Again they paused and looked up at the friar, indecision written on their faces. The padre did not move. With a single impulse they turned homeward and silently filed along the road, in obedience to Padre Osuna's unspoken command. Soon the friar and Juan Antonio were alone. They walked down to a courtyard gate not unlike Señor Mendoza's, and disappeared within.

Mendoza and his friends had witnessed the drama to its close.

A rumbling sounded in the distance which soon resolved itself into the measured tramp of horses, so many that their coming shook the ground. The riders, in uniform, with lance in hand and carbine slung over shoulder, pushed their mounts foaming at mouth and flank to the courtyard gate.

"The cavalry from San José!" cried Mendoza. "What brings them in such haste?"

An officer sprang from his horse.

The Administrator opened his window. "Captain Morando!"

The Captain saluted.

"Why this force, Señor Captain?"

"Message was hurried to me that your Indians, frenzied by pagan rites, were about to make an attack. I gathered my men, together with such volunteers as the pueblo afforded, and hot-foot came to the rescue. I see, instead, the Indians going quietly to their homes. What does it mean?"

"Come within, Señor Captain."

In a moment Morando stood with the others.

The señor told him of the coming of the padre and his dispersal of the Indians.

Señorita Carmelita entered the room, bowing to her father, then to the others.

"O, papacito, my Indian maids who ran away last week, in their madness, are back all sane and cool. They ask your forgiveness and a new lease of service."

"You alone have to do with them, my child."

The Captain was standing at attention. Red lightly tinged the girl's cheek as she saw him. She again bowed, and went out, with "I thank you, papacito."

The Indian maidens were heard on the outside loudly wailing their thanks to the señorita, as was the way of children of the wild when penitent.

"Señors, we need——"

"Rain," interrupted the quiet Higuera.

"Señors," continued Zelaya, taking no notice of the interruption, "we need thank the reverend padre for his work this day. Besides, he is ill, and even an enemy who is ill is entitled to our consideration and sympathy. I do not mean he is our enemy," he quickly added.

"I shall do myself the honor of calling upon him," came from Mendoza. "As Administrator of this Mission and its lands I am interested in everyone in the Mission, including its spiritual head. Some Jesuit bark I chance to have will not come amiss in this fever of the river bottoms. I fancy but little remains in the province."

The company departed, the soldiery to the San José pueblo, the land barons to their hacienda houses.

The hundreds of white adobe cots which swarmed around each grandee's mansion, as well as around the Mission buildings, sheltered that evening the retainer occupants who for days had forgotten service to their feudal lords and the ways civilization had taught them. Once more hill and valley were dotted with the blaze of camp fires before the Indian doorposts.

CHAPTER III
A DIP INTO THE PAST

The family Mendoza had deserved well of the Spanish crown. Stanch supporters of the kingdom had they ever been. Their talents, their wealth, their lives they held only as in trust to be devoted, whenever came the call, to the higher, the nobler good.

Adventurous too were the citizens of that name. With Pizarro they overthrew the Incas of Peru. With Hernando Cortez they stormed the place of strength of the Montezumas. Their swords flashed north and south in the conquering of vast empires. Few of them returned from these scenes of glory, and of those few the greater part were maimed and broken men. The native arrow or the fever swamp claimed life or health of the valiant conquistador, not excepting the famous Mendozas.

Thus sifted in the sieve of centuries, the family Mendoza fell gradually in numbers from men sufficient to fill half a regiment, as in the old crusader times, to but two representatives, of whom the younger was Jesus Maria y José.

By law of entail the elder brother received the land and fortunes of that once powerful family. A lieutenantship in the army was the portion of the young Jesus Maria y José, a slender consolation, it might seem, but the bold-spirited youth accepted it with gracious willingness.

His eighteenth year found him embarking on a transport bound for the dangerous service of the Philippines, with a soldiery gathered from the Spanish prisons. To quell and govern such men was a pleasing experience to the Castilian boy; not that the task was an easy one, or that he would have it so.

In the becalmed waters of the tropics the sterling metal of the youthful officer first showed itself. Here the mutinous intent of the men, long smoldering under restraint of discipline, resolved into action.

Early one morning the alarm bell rang loud of danger. The officers hurried on deck to find nearly every soldier under arms and calling aloud for vengeance on the oppressors, as they called their superiors. The leader was a huge, bull-necked cutthroat who once had been a bandit in the Pyrenees.

"Each mincing ladies' man among you shall walk the plank, before the guns of my brave fellows here, and we'll cheer you pretty, scented gentlemen as you battle in the water with the sharks," shouted the jeering leader.

Shouts of applause came from the men, mingled with jibes and curses.

Mendoza asked of his captain that he be allowed to speak with the chief mutineer. He stated briefly his purpose. Permission was given, for the situation was desperate.

The officers, but a score, faced full five hundred men, all armed. Even the artillery of the regiment, shotted to the mouth, was gaping angrily at them from the ranks of the ruffians across deck.

The lieutenant walked to the front bearing his naked rapier in his hand, while the mutinous soldiers, half drunken with liquor looted from the stores of the ship, howled at him.

"Mamma's pet comes straight from the bath to drive about as cattle men that are men. Back to your crib, you reptile infant, or I'll grind you under my heel," threatened the leader.

In incoherent echo his followers stormed: "Throw him to the sharks, for cubs become wolves—cut him into pieces—cast him into the ovens!"

"Attention!" called the young man.

Something, perhaps innate animal respect for bravery, called for obedience. Silence and expectancy fell over them.

"You pretend to despise all your officers. I am the youngest and least among them, yet I dare the best among you to fight me here, I with this light rapier against your heavy cutlass."

The boastful leader pushed forward. Around the villain's head swung his cutlass flaming and glancing in the tropic sun.

"Aha! Aha! young sprig!" in half-drunken glee. "Hear the whistling air divide before my cutlass's edge. I'll strip you from your skin, inch by inch, and dry it on your cabin door. Come now, point to point, you young patrician fool!"

He struck a cleaving blow at the figure before him. The lieutenant's rapier caught the descending blade, wound itself in serpentine curves around it and drew away. The cutlass hurtled to the floor a half dozen paces distant. Numbness seized the mutineer's arm from wrist to shoulder. He examined the member in search of a wound, but found none.

The pack of insubordinates, impelled by their wolf-nature, would follow the leader if he conquered, or rend him if he fell.

Murmurs like the first swell of an angry sea rose among the mob, then burst into yells of derision.

"A schoolboy makes our mighty leader play the fool!"

"Yes, he swings his cutlass as a housewife the broom."

"Throw him overboard and elect a man, not some awkward cow!"

Young Mendoza stood with rapier poised, aimed at his opponent's heart.

"Curse the tricks of feinting and legerdemain your namby-pamby schools teach you in Madrid. Drop your steel fork there and I'll tear you to pieces with my hands."

Instantly the rapier was side by side with the cutlass.

The leader darted forward, his fists striking flaillike blows at the lithe form of the lieutenant.

Mendoza stepped lightly to one side. The opponent stumbled past him.

As the mutineer turned, the open palms of the clever boxer landed right and left with resounding smack on his nose and mouth. Raging and cursing, the ruffian again sprang at the officer. Once, twice, thrice, did the youth's palms beat tattoo on his adversary's bleeding features. Dazed by the blows the man at last fell to the deck.

Hoarse, derisive cries from the band of mutineers again greeted the prostrate man.

"He went forth to chastise a babe, but, behold! it is a wondrous infant," groaned some fellow. "Rise up, brave one, a chance this time may help thee land that useless fist of thine."

The leader writhed alike at the ignominy of defeat and at the irony of his followers. Drawing a knife, as he gained his feet, he flew at Mendoza, despite warning cries even from the ranks of his own men.

The weapon drove straight out with murderous intent. A hush fell over both officers and mutineers.

It seemed an age before the blow came.

It struck on empty air, for the youth, as before, had deftly stood aside. As the other was driven past by his own momentum the boy seized him by the waist and neckband, raised him from the deck, and whirling him over his head, flung him headlong from the taffrail to the sea below.

A man-eating shark which had been following the ship swam toward its prospective prey. Its back fins swirled through the water, as it came dashing up. The poor wretch shrieked in agony. He tried to climb the slippery wood of the ship's side. Time after time he struck deep into the planks the knife which he still held, in vain endeavor to raise himself out of the water by this leverage.

"Help! help, friends, in the Virgin's name!" he entreated.

The shark had nearly reached him and was already turning on its side in preparation for its stroke of death.

Helplessness seemed to possess all.

A figure fell from the taffrail to the side of the desperate man. It was none other than Lieutenant Mendoza. Balancing himself lightly in the water, he wrenched the knife from his enemy's hand, and, as the shark came up, he buried it to the handle in the monster's brain. Its jaws snapped sullenly not the inches of a span away from the head of the screaming bully. Floundering helplessly the creature rolled away. Other man-eating sharks came to the scene. Some of them seized on their helpless brother and tore at his flesh while he still lived. Others swam straight for the human beings at the side of the ship.

By this time the spectators had recovered power of action. A boat was quickly lowered. Muskets and pistols in numbers were fired at the onrushing school of sharks.

Soon the rescued and rescuer were safe on board. There was talk among the officers of court-martials and executions, with the outcome, that, after much persuasion on the part of the young lieutenant, the commander granted his request that the leader be pardoned pending his good behavior.

The troops were not again recalcitrant.

From the swamps and the heat of the Philippines Captain Mendoza—for he had been promoted—returned to Europe. Events which shook the world were stirring there. As an eagle flies to the rescue of its eyrie so hastened the descendant of the valiant Mendozas to the Spain of his fathers, to do battle for its safety.

The figure of Napoleon loomed ominously against Europe's peace. His ambitious hand was reaching for the crown of Spain, as, indeed, for all other crowns.

Into the awful carnage plunged Mendoza. A hundred blows he struck at the terrible Corsican, even though, often enough, the recoil threw him and his command reeling backward in defeat. Nevertheless, did he right nobly add honor and renown to the spotless banner of his house.

Only when Napoleon was exiled to Elba did he leave the field. Then, in command of his regiment, as colonel, he returned to Madrid.

His elder brother, rich in titles and wealth, influential at the Cortes, united his personal petition with the strong voice of the colonel's service in the field, to obtain for the younger man place and emolument.

The vast region of Alta California was then coming into great and favorable notice. Need there would surely be, in the Californias, of men of mettle and of wisdom to hold that province and its riches secure to Spanish rule.

Accordingly, large parcels of land in the valley of Santa Clara, fairest and most fertile in all that western Eden, California, were conferred by letters-patent on the soldier, Mendoza.

He loved a lady fair—Romalda. What man of his family had not? Every knight of La Mancha had his Dulcinea, and Jesus Maria y José was true to his descent, even to the very finger-tips. The old crusader Mendozas, whose faces were carved in marble or painted on canvas in the ancestral home in Castile, had not been more chivalrous and romantic than was this now famous colonel.

Beautiful daydreams he wove and told to the listening ears of the noble lady. He had seen California, and knew well that part of it where his estate lay. The fire of poetry touched his words, as he sketched for her the estate mightier in length and breadth than any in Castile, fairer than Elysian fields, more fertile than the Andalusian meadows.

No landscape painter could limn mountains more picturesque and stately than did the words of Don Jesus Maria y José describe the eastern boundary of their domain in the land of far-away California. No minstrel could tell, in song or verse, of lake or bay so fair, so blue, as the inland sea which laved the western limit of their home-to-be.

Lady Romalda hearkened, and she smiled approvingly as she gave him her hand to kiss at parting.

"Soon will I return and claim my bride. The days I spend in the Californias, in preparation for your coming, will be as months and years to me."

She smiled kindly yet again, and waved a kiss at him as he rode forth from her father's gate to prepare the home for her across the many seas.

The soldier reached his California estate in due season, and with industry set about his task of love.

A hacienda house reached high its walls on an eminence near the mountain side of the estate. Moorish in architecture, its towers proudly surveyed the leagues of miles comprising the Mendoza grant. Tree and plant and flower smiled around it in the genial warmth of semitropic atmosphere. Avenues of olive lined its approaches. The Mission grapevine draped many arbors which were arranged in labyrinthine plan, all centering, after infinite curious turns, at the front door of the mansion.

Many ships brought furnishings from the world over for this wonderful palace.

The herds fattened for the killing, and were of great increase on this domain, as needs be, for the expense of the hacienda house was in keeping with its size and beauty.

At last all was ready for the bride. But——

Mexico had declared for independence, and was making good this declaration by force of arms. California would be compelled either to stand with Mexico or to fall with mother Spain. Colonel Mendoza's natural gifts included statecraft. He did not oppose the inevitable. California became a province of the republic of Mexico.

Now hastened the Colonel to claim his bride. In Madrid he found his brother dead, leaving no direct heir. The soldier-cavalier claimed title and estates, but the royal court rebuffed him. He was a foreigner now. His acceptance of Mexican dominion had cost him his Spanish citizenship. The laws of entail debarred him from succession.

He urged the inevitableness of the separation of Mexico from Spain, also his years of service in the Spanish army; likewise the claims of his family to the good will of the kingdom. All was in vain.

Hastening to the castle of his betrothed, he made known his presence, and asked to see the Lady Romalda.

Her father met him in his stead.

"My daughter, the noble doña, desires to see you not, Sir Foreigner. For my part I request that you depart from this place and never return."

"Foreigner or not, I'll hear the rejection from the lady's own lips. I demand to see the Lady Romalda, my affianced wife."

After much parley the father brought his daughter to see the determined man.

Mendoza told her again of the home prepared for her near the shores of the sunny Pacific, of the beauty and luxuriance well-nigh Oriental, of the wealth of the land, of the promise of the future.

"Peons, slaves, señorita, numbering hundreds, await your pleasure there. A princess will you be, and I will be your lover-husband. Say you will come with me."

The Lady Romalda smiled coldly. "You may become a self-styled prince among a barbarous and rebellious people. Be assured I shall never be a princess of such dishonor."

She swept in disdain from the room.

Mendoza returned to Madrid. Calling on the commander-in-chief of the Spanish army, he held before him the written letters of his colonelcy.

"This paper means I am a colonel in the army of this kingdom. I am such no more." He tore in halves the commission.

"Are you a madman, Colonel Mendoza?" asked the general.

"Behold!"

Bending his sword over his knee he broke it into pieces and cast them on the floor. "By this act I forswear Spain forever."

The old general began to remonstrate with him, but Mendoza turned on his heel and was gone.

Great preparations were under way for the return to California of the lord of the rancho Mendoza with his lady bride. The whole valley was ready to make the occasion a gala time.

Alone, and by night, he came. Calling his major-domos and head peons together, he gave orders which were to be executed early on the morrow, by his thousand vassals.

They were frightened. "Our master is out of his head!" they exclaimed in awe-struck tones. Hastening they told some of the Spanish neighbors of the return of Señor Mendoza and of his startling commands.

The Spanish confreres were soon at the castlelike hacienda house.

"Señor, the Colonel Mendoza——" began one.

"Señor Mendoza I am. Never again colonel."

"But, señor, the peons tell us of your strange desires."

"My desires shall be executed, strange or not. At daybreak to-morrow not a stone stands on stone in this hacienda house. On these grounds not tree or plant or shrub stands unuprooted before the darkness of another day."

"But, señor, has your visit to Spain affected——"

"My visit to Spain has affected me greatly. Friends and neighbors, at another time I, and all I have, shall be at your disposal. Permit me now to bid you good-night."

Very early next morning the hills echoed to the titanic roar of the powder magazine under the hacienda house, which had been kept there for uses of the hunt, and for defense and offense. Señor Mendoza's own hand had lighted the train. Soon fire skirted toppling tower and parapet, searched ruined reception halls, licked up furniture and bric-à-brac, and charred rare valuables. Daylight saw not Moorish castle, but blocks of blackened building stones and smoking rubbish.

Countless peons, with spades, picks and axes, dug up the green and growing things, broke down terraces, tore away grape arbors, and everywhere did works of devastation.

Señor Mendoza, as if commanding in battle, directed his workmen. Trees and shrubs were piled high. Fire, made hotter by kegs of turpentine, soon brought all to ash-heaps. Great pits were dug into which the stones of the hacienda building were placed, also the ashes from the bonfires.

"Now," commanded Mendoza, "fill in these trenches."

It was done.

"Señors," he said at nightfall, when all was over, "thus I bury the past. Henceforth, remember, I pray you, that I am Señor Mendoza, the Californian, that, and that only."

The rains of the following winter made the site of the once-beautiful castle and grounds again a part of the rolling, grassy lands overlooking the valley.

Señor Mendoza devoted himself faithfully to the interests of his rancho and the welfare of California.

He built another home five miles from where the first had been, and altogether out of sight of it; a house of California style, the buildings forming three sides of a square, with a wall making the fourth side of the courtyard within.

In middle life the wish had come to found a family to succeed him in his possessions. He married the daughter of a neighbor, a maiden of Castilian blood, but of California birth. A child was born to them, a daughter, and in that hour his wife died. Never was parent kinder or gentler than Señor Mendoza to the Doña Carmelita, his pride and joy.

The authorities in Mexico City thought it right to deprive the Franciscan friars of a part of the lands they held in Alta California, this act of the secularization of the missions causing comment of both approval and disapproval.

The leaders in the capital city chose Señor Mendoza to administer the claims of church and state in the valley of Santa Clara. Thus he became administrator of the Mission of San José, where the opening of this story found him, a man of strength and of honesty, a statesman and a courtly gentleman.

CHAPTER IV
A STRANGER VISITS SEÑOR MENDOZA

"Papacito mine, I'm all ready for the party this evening. My maids have just finished with me. What do you think of me?"

The Señorita Carmelita pirouetted into her father's sitting room, stood on one foot, then on the other, finally turning completely around.

"Papacito, what do you think of me?" she asked again.

The father knit his brows in pretended deep consideration.

"Hurry! Hurry, papacito! Really I can't wait any longer, I'm so anxious to know."

"My child, you make me think of a very pretty, very dainty wild flower."

"Just a flower, papacito?" in mock disappointment.

"Well, a flower with laughing eyes, splendid hair, and white plumage," pointing to her dress.

"That's better, little papa, somewhat better. Isn't it magnificent that we're to have a valecito casero? In school in Mexico City we went to bed regularly at eight o'clock. To-night it will be midnight, and later. When I think of my present freedom and the old school days my heart rejoices itself; yet I loved the school and everyone in it. Often in dreams I am in those old rooms overlooking the Plaza Mercedes, and I hear the splashing of the fountains and the singing of the birds."

"My child's heart lives in scenes left behind months ago, yet the spirit rejoices in present liberty. Well, it is the way of the world."

Carmelita was sitting on the arm of her father's chair stroking his face and hands, and occasionally giving gentle pulls to his long mustache. Strangely alike were these two, the slender, dark-eyed girl, and the stalwart, graying man, athletic-appearing even in his years. The waving mane above his forehead was the prototype of the coal-black hair of the señorita which billowed over her shoulders and fell below her waist.

His cheek was bronze, showing dashes of red; hers was creamy, with the blush of youth surmounting; but it was the contour of face and form of both, strongly chiseled, yet superbly fine, that bespoke a model fashioned and perfected generations before in aristocratic Spain.

"What a philosopher my father is!" Then, after a moment: "Yesterday Señor Zelaya said to Señor Higuera, as they passed along the corridor, 'But the Administrator says that we must educate ourselves to a deeper appreciation—' I did not catch the rest. Señor Higuera replied, 'And the Administrator has a philosophy of deep and wide application.' Tell me about it."

"My daughter, I think you would prefer a more interesting story. My philosophy, if you made it rightly, has been long in coming to me. On the other hand, the estate of womanhood now present with you seems to have grown overnight."

Carmelita arose, curtsied to her father, then resumed her seat.

"But my philosophy touches not any abstract principle. It deals only with powers that move the human heart."

"Vast political forces are astir in this old world of ours. The theory that God appoints kings is rapidly dissipating. The sun of democracy, long mantled by the fog of tyranny, shines soon in unobscured ray. In the to-morrow of to-morrow shall the people rule, as their right divine."

The señorita smiled into her father's eyes. "Lolita Hernandez once said to me, a long time ago, when she was petulant, that my father is a rebel. I replied by calling her a minx."

The old don made no reply; but continued: "'Westward the course of empire takes its way.' An English poet sings this truly and well. To the east of California is a republic destined to a colossal future, because it is founded on the principle that all men are created equal, and its national life rises toward a realization of that truth. To that height must rise not alone the Saxon but the Latin as well.

"The geography of nations in our Western world must soon change, under the influence of the democratic idea. As certain as the sun rose this morning and now urges to the setting, will either the American or the English flag float from the staff within our courtyard before our province has seen but a few more years of life."

"But," hesitatingly from the girl, "will you not fight against this aggression?"

"No; nor could I stem the tide if I did. The logic of events grinds, as do the mills of the gods, exceeding fine. In the great world battle between people and potentate, victory, final and complete, will rest one day with the people. The cost of that battle will be measured in centuries of time, the blood of nations, the sacrifice of warriors and statesmen. Runnymede, in the south of England, in the year 1215, saw the beginning of the conflict when the people forced King John to sign the Magna Charta!"

"History speaks of the family de la Mendoza as made up of warriors. Your own name, father mine, is mentioned, and not as the least, yet you will never speak to me of any battle."

He pointed to a small painting. It depicted Waterloo.

"I'd give my experience of all the battles I've seen could I have stood there that evening with Wellington, on Mount Saint Jean, when the sun of day had set and Napoleon's sun of destiny with it. I would have rejoiced to have chased the emperor of the French over the plowed field at night, as does a hound drive the hare. Yet—what matters it all? As well for Napoleon to rule, or misrule, as for any other tyrant, be he anointed king or not. The day of the people comes, and I rejoice."

"Shall we follow new ways and customs then, my father?"

"Quite possibly. And yet, think you not it a pretty custom when the Spaniard comes with his guitar and improvises sweet music outside the embrasure window of the señorita? No?"

The doña blushed rosy red.

"What a papacito!" kissing him to cover her confusion. "How shall the señorita inside the embrasure prevent the music-inclined caballero on the outside from touching the strings of his guitar?"

Mendoza laughed while looking fondly at his daughter.

"You ask me how the doña may discourage the suitor? Ah, little one, how can I tell you? The claws show sharp and repelling, or presto! all is soft and smooth as velvet. What works the wonder, ask you? Ah, Carmelita mia! Lolita Hernandez is not the only minx in the world."

The girl playfully tugged at her father's thick hair.

"What a father is mine! He has seen all things and has accomplished all things," changing the subject. "Has ever there been an ungratified wish in your life, except the one to chase the emperor of the French across plowed fields? If so, now is your chance. I will be your fairy godmother. Come, make your wish, and, behold! It is done."

She had slipped from the chair and standing, held her arms extended over him. "Make your wish now," laughingly.

"My child, I have a wish, but its fulfillment would involve the folding together of events that time has unfolded; indeed, the turning backward of time."

She dropped her hands in concern. "O, papacito, tell me your desire," coming again to the arm of his chair.

He did not reply.

"O, little papa, you are so serious. Please tell me what it is."

"I wish, little girl, that as a stripling I had come here and had built my life into this Western world. That favor of kings I had never known—I care nothing for their disfavor—but of my own self, coupled with the resources with which nature has endowed California, I had evolved the best that fortune would have sent me, were it hacienda house and administratorship, or a humble hut with modest plot of ground, such as has the least of my peons."

A tap at the door.

"Enter," from Mendoza.

A peon stepped within. Thrice he bowed low to the master, then to the doña.

"Señor Mendoza, a stranger awaits you in the outer office."

"Does he give his name?"

"Here it is, señor."

The peon porter handed Mendoza a piece of paper on which was written, in bold, rough characters, "Charles O'Donnell."

"O'Donnell—O'Donnell—Let him enter."

The peon again bowed low to the master and his daughter. Backing through the door, he bowed once more. Almost immediately the stranger, O'Donnell, stood in the doorway. Señor Mendoza was on his feet formally awaiting his visitor.

The man's broad, strong shoulders touched from doorpost to doorpost, his head barely coming within the door without his stooping. His buckskin shirt, opening low at the front, showed the long, red beard which was fastened together by a cord, and disappeared into the expanse of his chest.

His hair, darker than his beard, was long and bushy. This also was caught by a string and was partially hidden under his shirt.

Steely-blue eyes looked out over regular features. A sombrero was in his hand. His buckskin trousers were protected from hip to knee by shaggy leggings of bearskin.

"Señor O'Donnell, will you enter and be seated?"

"I thank you." The stranger moved toward a chair with dignified and soldierly step.

"Señor, the Administrator Mendoza, I am here to inquire if you know of the present whereabouts of one Captain Farquharson, an Englishman who left Mexico City some months ago to hunt big game in our high Sierras here."

"Señor O'Donnell, why do you ask of me the present abiding place of this Englishman? I am Administrator of the Mission of San José. My jurisdiction does not reach to the high Sierras, nor to the city of Mexico."

Mendoza's glance was careless as he thus replied to the questioner.

"Ah, worthy señor, you are a well-known man in Alta California. Not less, perhaps, is your name known in the Mexican capital. What wonder, then, if some leisured traveler touching that capital should bear written words thence to you here? So I rode to you on my errand of inquiry. If you know nothing of the man, I shall ride still farther on my quest."

"Señor O'Donnell, famine is abroad, since the rains fall not. Entertainment for yourself and feed for your horse are welcome to you in my hacienda. Why not rest here for a while? Perhaps some of my major-domos may have news of this captain, or some of the peons recently returned from the headwaters of the river San Joaquin where our cattle are now grazing. The Sierras lie but across from these headwaters, and among our peons are hunters not a few. Rest among us, my friend O'Donnell, and from some direction you may find the information you are seeking."

The man shook his head. "My horse has carried me a hundred miles to-day, and yet he is ready to bear me farther. With such a mount I can find food for myself and fodder for him, easily, when night falls. Hear now his song? Drumlummon skirls a merry note."

With a laugh the bearded man arose. The screaming neigh of a stallion was echoing among the buildings of the hacienda.

"My horse is ready for the road. I thank you for your hospitality just the same. Adios, noble Administrator."

"Wait, good Señor O'Donnell. A glass of wine makes readier the foot for the stirrup."

He touched a bell. A peon came, and disappeared on his errand.

"Tell me, señor, while the wine is coming, do you know this Englishman of whom you speak as Farquharson?"

"Several years ago I saw Captain Farquharson considerably," tersely.

"Ah, Señor O'Donnell, you too are a soldier, as your bearing shows. You speak of your friend as Captain Farquharson. Perhaps you were brother officers in English service. Is it so?"

"No," hoarsely replied O'Donnell in English, "it was not so. I thought I'd done for the fellow that day on the parade ground——"

As he did not continue Señor Mendoza said: "Ah, my friend O'Donnell speaks the English. I have studied your language and I read your books," indicating a shelf on which were a number of works by English historians and political economists. "Ah, here comes the wine."

"Forgive my curiosity, Señor O'Donnell, in my recent questioning. I am greatly interested in English officers. Just before you came I was speaking with my daughter of the battle of Waterloo. You could not have been present. You have not years enough," looking at the face, yet young, of the man before him.

"I was not in the army at that time," replied O'Donnell. "Allow me to say, Señor Administrator, you serve nectar here," sipping his wine.

"This Farquharson," persisted Mendoza, "who you say is older than you, perhaps he took part in that famous battle."

"I did not say Farquharson is older than I. I said I once knew him."

A dark look shaded O'Donnell's face as he spoke.

"Perhaps you were rivals in those times," still persisted Mendoza, noticing the shadows. "Some wine in your glass, my friend? Well, war and love have made many an enemy."

Again the neigh of the stallion was heard.

"Drumlummon's second call. I must be going. Perhaps Captain Farquharson may call on you soon. Indeed, I'm sure he will; for I remember now that he has letters of introduction to you from Don Juan Domingo, first assistant to the secretary of state of Mexico."

Señor Mendoza bowed courteously, as if some ordinary information had been given him.

A sound of approaching voices reached their ears.

"Papacito, our guests are arriving. I shall leave you." Carmelita approached from the rear of the room where she had been occupied with a book.

The squeaking of carretas (wooden wagons) was now plainly heard, also the tramp of horses, the laughter of men, and the gay, bantering tones of women. Anon arose the angry cry of O'Donnell's stallion.

"The guests are truly coming. Carmelita, my child, see that the servants neglect neither duty nor courtesy."

To O'Donnell, who was standing ready to depart: "Señor, I'll attend you myself as you go forth."

Soon the dressing rooms were filled with young girls, laughing and joyous. A dash of powder on the face, the hair smoother, laces adjusted, all under the watchful eye of mother or dueña.

The young dandies in their rooms were scarcely less fastidious than their sweethearts and sisters.

At a quarter before six the company was assembled in the reception hall. Jokes and sallies went around the room.

Carmelita noticed that her father was not present and sent a peon to call him. The servant returned with the word that the señor and the gringo stranger were in the outer office. He did not dare disturb them.

Five minutes passed. Merriment grew louder. Some one saw on a secretary a chart giving the places of the guests at table. The merrymakers crowded around.

The doña slipped away and no one noticed.

Her father and O'Donnell were standing just outside the courtyard gate. Two or three peons were holding O'Donnell's horse which was restive, pawing and biting at them. The two men spoke English and thus freely, as none of the peons understood that tongue.

"Men are playing to-day and an empire makes the stake," O'Donnell said. "Farquharson is sitting in the game, and, by faith! so am I."

Mendoza nodded.

"And, Administrator Mendoza, so are you—and the chief player! Did not your recent visit to Mexico acquaint you with the trump card?"

Mendoza smiled pleasantly.

The stallion came closer to them, dragging the peons with him. He seized the shirt of one of them and tore it from his back.

"Quiet, Drumlummon!" Then to the servants, "Unloose him." The huge animal came fawning to his side.

Without touching hand to the horse O'Donnell vaulted the saddle.

"A moment, O'Donnell."

The man leaned in his saddle.

"You say I'm sitting in the game and the stake is large. Well said, perhaps. But remember, if I play I'll use the card that means the most to the province of California." The señor again nodded, as if retailing some pleasantry of the day.

O'Donnell rode away.

"Papacito!" called Carmelita. "It is late. We are waiting."

In a moment they were with their guests.

Folding doors opened and the well-lighted dining room was before them.

At once dinner was under way. The peons, trained by Mendoza, served well. The generous hospitality of early California found expression in the viands and vintages which Mendoza offered his guests. Peons touched fitting music from stringed instruments; others sang in the melodious voice of the aborigine.

"Señorita Mendoza, heard you not that the great spring merienda comes early this year by reason of the drought?" asked Captain Morando.

"Does a picnic so interest you, Comandante Morando?"

"Never have I seen such a picnic as must be the spring merienda in the valley of Calaveras. Everywhere I hear people speak of it."

"Soon you may judge of its excellence for yourself. Now begins to sing my peona, Modesta. Her voice equals in sweetness the notes of the thrush. Listen, while she gives the ancient airs of Oroysom. They are heart-touching and beautiful."

The señorita's dueña engaged Moranda's attention the moment the singing ceased, suddenly remembering to ask for some acquaintance in San José.

"Señorita Doña Mendoza, say I have your first dance this evening?" called Abelardo Peralto from across the table.

"I, the second," cried Miguel Soto.

"I, the third," from another.

"Señorita Doña," asked Morando as soon as he was at liberty, "have you a dance left for me?"

"First come, first served, is the law in this province," she replied mischievously.

"Then I am to have no dance with you to-night," despairingly.

"Did you ever hear the saying about the early bird and the worm, Captain?" laughed Peralta.

"I object to being compared to a worm," said Carmelita. "For your punishment, Señor Don Abelardo Peralta, I deprive you of the grand march, which belongs to the first dance, and I give it to the Señor Captain."

"Woe! Woe!" cried Peralta. "I will be the worm, Señorita Mendoza. You are the beautiful early bird. O, do not punish me!"

The girl looked at him with mock severity. "I have given my sentence."

The host touched a bell.

"Are we ready for the dancing?" he asked.

The company cheered heartily.

"I hear the musicians tuning their instruments. Let us hence. If we cannot have the patter of rain during this season of drought, we can at least have the patter of feet."

Laughing and happy, the sons and daughters of the province repaired to the dancing room.

CHAPTER V
ANOTHER STRANGER MAKES A VISIT

"I hear the neigh of horses and the shouts of men. Has Dario, the head vaquero, returned from the valley of the San Joaquin? Or, perchance, is it some messenger from him?"

"Reverend padre, you hear the work Indians returning with their farm animals from the irrigated ground near the great spring. It is the noon hour."

The first speaker was the friar, Lusciano Osuna, spiritual head of the Mission San José. He was temporal head also of the Mission grounds and buildings, together with a wide strip of country reaching over rolling land, hills and mountains, away east to the San Joaquin River.

The padre was ill. His parched lips and flushed forehead showed him to be in the grip of fever. Restlessly he tossed from side to side of his bed. It was an unusual-appearing bed. Hewn redwood logs of goodly dimension had been made in a frame held together by mortising at the corners. Strips of rawhide ran across the frame from side to side, another layer from end to end. A pallet of straw was the mattress; the covering was lambskin tanned without removing the wool.

"Open the window and the door, Juan Antonio. My blood boils away in this heat, and my strength ebbs out."

The hot north wind, which for days had been scorching the valley of Santa Clara, rolled into the room.

"It is little avail, dear father, to seek or avoid draughts when the San Joaquin fever possesses one. Its nature is to burn till the body seems a crisp, then to freeze till the flesh is like damp clay."

"Juan Antonio, you are right. Still, it is a satisfaction to feel the living air whether it touches one's ailment or not."

The light from the open window shone on the friar's face. He was nervously pulling his heavy black beard through his fingers. The features thus brought into relief were those of the hidalgo, bold and strong, and were illuminated by keen intelligence within. The skin showed another strain darker than Caucasian.

"Antonio, did all the Indians attend chapel this morning? Have you heard of any further evidences of lapse into paganism anywhere in the valley?"

"Our Indians, men, women and children, are faithful in their attendance, since the day you quenched the evil spirit in them. To-morrow we conclude the Novena—nine days' prayer—for you. All are praying most fervently that our Lady and Saint Francis, yes, and San José, will favor us and you with speedy and complete recovery."

"You are good, very good, my major-domo."

"To-day at morning meal were some Indians from the San Blas just in at Monterey. At once I dispatched thither the peon, Pedro Carrasca, the best rider in the valley. Six hours' journey it is to Monterey, six hours' rest, and six returning, makes eighteen. Pedro Carrasca rests not if among the ship's goods is numbered Jesuit bark, but he presses homeward with the medicine. For each hour less than twelve that he consumes in rounding Monterey from here I have promised him five and twenty pesos."

"You have done well. My illness possesses me, Juan Antonio. Not that I resist suffering. Did not my great master, Saint Francis of Assisi, bear the sacred stigmata on side and hands and feet?"

The Indian reverently made the sign of the cross.

The padre went on:

"Antonio, you speak of the Novena. How many days have we been back?"

"Eight days."

"It has seemed longer, much longer."

"That was a hard ride for you from the river country, Señor Padre."

"Yes, it was."

"Swinging over mountain and scaling precipice, as did we, is doubly difficult for one scarcely able to sit in the saddle."

"And what found I here? Men, and women too, whom our fathers redeemed from savagery, dancing in pagan worship around fires which, doubtless, shortly would have become fires of sacrifice."

"I know, holy padre; and I remember too that they followed us to the church, consumed by that strange fury; yet you drove the blood demon from their hearts, so that they killed not, nor destroyed, but obeyed your commands; yes, even till now."

The Indian again made the sign of the cross.

"It is well to forget—well to forget," mused the friar. "The children, after all, are good children."

The padre was endeavoring to hold himself against some tremendous inward tension. He clenched his hands and shut tight his teeth. Nature could not sustain him and his teeth began to chatter, while his hands wrapped the closer the lambskin coverlet about his form.

The Indian major-domo closed the door. Hastening to the window he drew the sash into place; then began chafing the padre's wrists and palms.

"Courage, good padre, courage! A little time and the blood is warm again, the strength revives. If only Pedro Carrasca were here with the Jesuit bark! but he comes not before nightfall, I fear."

The friar's eyes closed listlessly. His hands grew colder, despite the vigorous treatment given by the Indian. His breath was short and weak.

"Dios y Maria!" exclaimed Juan Antonio. He took the friar's robe hanging from a peg on the wall, and carefully spread it over the fainting man.

"Comes now the chill and the heart weakens," muttered the faithful major-domo. "That hurried ride from the San Joaquin, the worry over the Mission, the drought——"

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. Antonio called, then gave incisive commands in the Indian tongue. The feet scurried away. He continued the energetic rubbing, praying the while.

Excited voices were heard approaching. The door was flung open, and instantly the room was filled with Indians. A woman brought a kettle of hot water; another, a stone vessel. A man brought a decanter of aguardiente. Whispering, praying Indians ran up and down the corridor.

As the women saw the padre's face, white and still, they thought life had gone out. Grief filled their hearts, welled into their eyes and found vent by their tongue. The loud wail of the death-bedside arose, quavered, fell, in the old adobe house.

Juan Antonio endeavored to silence them.

"Quick, with the hot cloths for the feet, Luisa! Make ready the heated brandy, you, Crispinilla! Quick, women, the padre's need is urgent!"

A sigh came from the priest. Then all was still. He seemed to sink lower into his couch.

Even Juan Antonio thought that now life was gone. Instincts of forgotten generations stirred the old man's heart. He began to intone the death praises of the friar, as, for untold years, had his forbears done for the great ones of their tribe.

"The mighty heart is still. The strong hand bends not the bow. The ready feet run not. The king elk walks boldly in the open. The timid deer fears not the arrow, because the chief man of his people hunts no more."

The refrain of the death-wail overflowed the houses of the Mission, ran along olive orchard and vineyard, reached the sentinels watching on the hills. The church bell, in sorrowing tone, sounded its toll of death. One and thirty did it strike, the total of the years the friar had lived.

At the last stroke the padre's eyelids flickered gently. The pallor of his cheeks decreased. Breathing, almost imperceptible, began. Finally, he opened his eyes, and saw the weeping, gesticulating men and women.

"Silence!" he said feebly. "What see I here?"

Again, in stronger accent, "What see I here?"

Yet again, "What see I here!"

In this third utterance the churchman spoke as might a king in presence of his subjects. The wailing ceased.

He raised himself on elbow and pointed to the door.

"This cell is within the precinct of sacred cloister. Go, women, one and all! Get ye gone from this holy place!"

The women fell away from the bed and seemed to melt through the door, the men following them. Soon Juan Antonio stood alone with the padre.

"What have you done?" demanded the friar, sternly. Perspiration again was on his forehead, while the returning fever gave color to the face and strength to the body.

"O, Padre Lusciano, I feared you were dying. All my thoughts were for nothing but to save you, and I called for help, come whence it might."

"Juan Antonio, around this cell, though poor and humble, has Holy Church drawn her solemn circle of isolation. Let no woman enter herein, even to save my life. If I die, then so I must. Did I pronounce the curse on the luckless daughter of Eve and her male abettors in this sacrilege, no one, save the vicar of Christ in Rome, could banish it. See, Juan Antonio, what vast evil thy thoughtless hand might wreak."

"O, padre," wept the Indian, "I thought thy life was struggling to free itself of body, and my heart became water within me, for I love thee."

"Very well. Very well. But, Juan Antonio, in the future think with thy head, not with love or fear."

Señor Mendoza appeared in the open door.

"Reverend Padre Osuna, will you pardon my coming unannounced? Each day since you returned have my servants made inquiry, but found you too ill to receive a visitor."

"Enter, Señor Mendoza. Please seat yourself."

"Thank you, sir Padre. I had a small quantity of Jesuit bark, invaluable in this fever-and-ague affliction. Unfortunately, I mislaid the bark, not finding it till to-day, and I came but now to bring it in person."

"Very kind of you, señor."

"I heard the death-wail of the Indians; heard, also, the toll of the bell marking the passing of an officer of the church. Your Indians first told me you were dead, then that you had risen from the dead. So, I congratulate you, most happy that no need exists for condolences to anyone. Padre Osuna, here is the bark."

Juan Antonio took the bark and laid it on a table by the bed of the friar.

"Many thanks, señor, for your goodness. As head of this Mission of San José I accept the gift from Señor Mendoza."

Mendoza laughed pleasantly. "Then, reverend señor, as administrator of this Mission of San José, I offer a little gift of Jesuit bark to the spiritual leader of the vicinity."

"Señor Mendoza, I can recognize no administrator of these mission lands, save one, and that is I, Padre Lusciano Osuna. My Franciscan brethren rescued this country from wilderness and its people from savagery. This Mexican government of yours then comes, takes away two thirds of the land and its appurtenances, and gives it to you and to others who accept it and hold it. By government sanction you administer, Señor Mendoza; but, I hold, unjustly. Never by word or act shall I acknowledge your authority in this valley of Santa Clara."

Señor Mendoza smiled. His equanimity was not easily upset.

"Good reverend padre, hear me. Your fathers did, indeed, redeem this country and its savage tribes. A mighty work surely has been done. But, because of freeing the natives from paganism, should you hold this vast province in fee simple? Is it right that a score of monks should own the land from San Diego to Yerba Buena? The friars still possess more land than they can either occupy or cultivate—but I ask your pardon for talking thus long when you are ill. I trust the Jesuit bark will not fail of its customary happy effect."

"Your wish is generous, Señor Mendoza."

"Just one short word more. I would like to thank you deeply, in the name of my neighbors and myself, for your work in quieting the Indians the day of your return from San Joaquin valley. I doubt not your coming meant more than many of us realize."

"I simply fulfilled the duties of my position. Nothing more."

"Good-day, Padre Lusciano. I hope your good health will soon return."

The Administrator departed.

"Shut the door, Juan. I feel I may sleep. Go forth to your duties. When I awake I will call you. Go, now, while sleep is heavy on my eyelids."

Juan Antonio went to the door. Hesitating a moment he turned, with: "Reverend father, shall I not prepare a draught of the bark which Señor Mendoza left for you?"

"Go forth to your duties, man. I can accept no gift from Señor Mendoza if the acceptance implies acknowledgment of his administratorship. I will return him his Jesuit bark. The call of principle is higher than the claim of bodily health."

The major-domo closed the door. Sleep came to the friar.

The Mission buildings were constructed in accordance with the architecture in vogue in California at that time. Buildings formed three sides of an inclosure, a courtyard gate and wall the fourth. On one side were housed the unmarried Indian women. Across the deep courtyard lived the single men. The third row of structures gave home to the major-domo, the chief vaquero, or herdsman, and the families of each. Under the same roof with these latter were the shops of the carpenters, the blacksmiths, and the various other artisans of the Mission. This side of the square opened into the freedom of the courtyard.

A man came to the carpenter shop and stepped within. "Is the padre here?" he inquired.

The master carpenter replied, "Our padre is ill."

"I have most important letters which should be delivered to him in person."

"Go then, to the major-domo."

The newcomer walked toward Juan Antonio. In his dress the man was the ordinary traveler of the day. Tanned-skin shirt and trousers, shaggy leggings and wide hat, distinguished him in no manner from a dozen other wayfarers who, between dawn and night, might come on some quest to the Mission.

The deep-set, gleaming eyes of the old Indian surveyed him from foot to crown. He saw a man in the prime of life, his face parched by tropical sun to the color of leather. A military mustache was on his lip.

"You wish to see me?" asked Juan Antonio.

"I wish to see Padre Lusciano. I have letters introducing me to him."

"The padre is firmly held by fever-and-ague. Little strength is left to him. If you will, I'll carry your letters to him. I'm going to see him now. You rest, while I'm gone, in the porter's lodge; or, if you like, go over to Señor Mendoza's property across the way."

"Thanks, many. I'll wait in the lodge. Here are the letters."

The major-domo disappeared into the padre's quarters. Soon he was again at the stranger's side.

"Padre Lusciano says come."

He followed the Indian through alcove and corridor to the friar's bedroom.

"Your name is Captain Farquharson, I learn. Juan Antonio, a chair for this brother. Seat yourself, good sir. Now," to the Indian, "close the door and stay not far away. I'll call you when I want you."

They were a short time in earnest conversation.

The stranger opened the door to leave.

"Antonio," called the padre. The Indian came quickly. "Conduct my visitor outside, then return."

Major-domo and caller passed through the courtyard.

"Amar Dios!" the Indian said at parting.

"Many thanks for your attention," from the other.

Juan Antonio returned to the friar's room.

"Take these letters and lock them in my desk there. Bring me the key. Good. Now, attend carefully to what I say."

"Yes, Señor Padre."

"Tell no one the name of the man whom you have just escorted out."

"It shall be as you say, Reverend Padre."

"It is well. The giant, ambition, stirs in his sleep. Soon he awakes and moves to action." Then, in half aside: "Mexico has wrought the undoing of our missions. If a chance of retrieval comes why should I not—but Misericordia!"

A great cheering was heard in the courtyard.

"Go, see the cause, and come and tell me, Antonio."

"Glorious news!" the Indian hastening back. "Pedro Carrasca returns from Monterey two hours before the time, and has an abundance of Jesuit bark in his saddlebags. More yet, good padre. A messenger from Dario. He is the third messenger sent—Yoscolo and Stanislaus must have captured the others. Dario has driven our herds far into the valley of the San Joaquin River; and, the man says, soon will they fat for the matanza" (the killing).

"'Tis well, Juan. Bring me a portion of the bark, then I'll rest a little. In the chapel to-night pray fervently for rain, and thank God for his mercies; and ask him to avert war and bloodshed from our province here, and from the whole world. Shut the door now. Carry my blessing to the children when they are assembled for evening prayer."

The door closed and the major-domo went about his many tasks.

CHAPTER VI
THE MERIENDA

"Daughter mine, awake! 'Tis the day of the merienda."

"I'm up, little papa."

A rasp of file on flint was heard as she struck a light.

"Ugh-oo-oo! the water's cold."

The old don laughed. "Cold water drives the sands of sleep from the eyelids, child."

He walked along the corridor to his sitting room. The large time-piece showed four o'clock and three minutes. Five minutes later his daughter joined him, clad in tanned-skin blouse and skirt, with a straw sombrero on her head.

"Here I am, papacito. Is breakfast ready?"

"Breakfast waits, but the coming of the morning waits not."

The peons served them by candlelight.

Soon they were ready for the start.

Before the courtyard gate were the doña's carreta, the señor's horse, and a squad of mounted fighting peons. Servants placed soft tule grass in the carreta, lambwool comforters, for greater ease in riding.

In double file marched the mounted peon soldiers, the carreta between, while the lord of the hacienda rode by his daughter's side. Thus they reached the plaza of the village near the Mission San José.

The place was alive with carretas bearing mothers, dueñas, and daughters, with caballeros, with bustling peons and early-risen Indian children.

Lanterns were strung around the square, in the middle of which blazed a big bonfire. The caballeros capered their horses before the carretas. The señoritas applauded by "Brava! Brava!" or shrieked at some unusually daring equestrian feat.

Captain Moranda was early at the plaza. Many a señorita turned her glance from adventurous youth and cavorting horse to the soldier in trig uniform, whose steed was frequently by the side of Doña Carmelita's carreta.

Preparations were now under way for the setting-out. Each carreta now had four horses, tandem, a postilion mounting the wheel animal of each team.

"Sunlight on the peak!" intoned a peon stationed on a rooftop.

Señor Mendoza, in charge of the affair, looked carefully over the carretas arranged longitudinally, the caballeros around them, and the fighting peons armed with carbine and saber. "Adelante!" he shouted and galloped away at the head of the cavalcade.

The carretas surged forward. At the end of an hour, half way up the mountain, Mendoza gave a command to halt.

The eastern sky was rosy. The morning star still shone undimmed though all others had retired. The cañon facing the procession was hidden in purple twilight, while the mountain peak blazed like some glory throne. The joyful men and women became silent before the majesty.

In the valley the light was chasing the shadows up the hills. These shadows were flying to the picnickers as if for protection, when, lo! the sun was on the eastern horizon.

Mendoza signaled Captain Morando, who chanted the opening line of Saint Francis of Assisi's "Canticle to the Sun."

Tongue after tongue caught up the words. The Indians, who had been taught singing and knew well the music of the church, united with the others, and the swell of five hundred voices rolled over valley and hill.

"O, most high, Almighty, good Lord, to thee belong the praise, honor, and all blessings:

"Praised be our Lord, for our brother the wind, and for air and cloud, calms and all weather, by the which thou upholdest in life all creatures.

"Praised be my Lord for our sister water, who is very serviceable unto us, and humble, and precious, and clean.

"Praised be my Lord for our brother fire, through whom thou givest us light in the darkness; and he is bright, and pleasant, and very mighty and strong.

"Praised be my Lord for our mother the earth, the which doth sustain us and keep us, and bringeth forth divers fruits and flowers of many colors, and grass."

"Adelante!" again called Mendoza, and once more they were off. The odor of pine reached them at one height; at another the resinous redwood, in mammoth groves, pointed skyward. The señoritas and caballeros talked, laughed, sang, and perhaps mildly flirted.

At ten o'clock they reached the entrance to the cañon which marked the beginning of Calaveras Valley. Vast tangles of blackberry bushes were everywhere, creeping up the cañon side, festooning projecting rocks, climbing trees, ivylike, and dropping their branches dark with ripening fruit. Tinkling rills ran along, unaffected by the drought. Colonies of birds floated in the air, sang in the trees, or, fluttering around the vines, ate their fill.

From time immemorial these grounds had been carefully guarded from everyone till the merienda day at close of spring, on which occasion the first fruits were gathered by the land barons and their select company, with feasting, dancing, and merrymaking.

After that day all embargo was removed, and the products of the valley were free to all.

According to custom the señorita whose carriage first reached the merienda ground was queen of the day, and an early-California chariot race occurred yearly here.

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!"

Lolita Hernandez, Alfreda Castro and Carmelita Mendoza were ahead. For a minute the three carretas ran neck and neck.

Marcel Hernandez, father of Lolita, rode by her team. In the enthusiasm of the moment he urged the horses with his riding-whip and joined with the postilions in shouting, "Hoop-la! Hoop-la!"

Patricio Martinez, Alfreda's long-time cavalier, hovered near her, shouting: "Now's your chance, Diego! Stir up that pinto! Ease the bit on that sorrel! Go it, my beauties!"

The Doña Carmelita's peon had a cool head, driving so as to draw from the other racers their best speed. Little by little he lessened the swiftness of his own horses, allowing the others to forge ahead.

The Hernandez Mexicans and the Castro Andalusians held their own, side by side, as if in double harness. For more than a hundred paces it seemed neither one gained nor lost a hairbreadth. Suddenly the Castro animals winded. High-stepping and proud, they gradually lost. Magnificent in their defeat they fell back.

"Huzza! Huzza!" yelled Hernandez. "I knew I breed the best stock in the valley. My daughter shall be queen of the fiesta."

Then Carmelita's peon gave rein to his horses. They sprang from the ground and rushed onward. For an instant the two carretas ran together, each splendid horse, straight-backed, ears low, nostrils distended, striking his feet in unison with his fellows. Soon the Hernandez team began to slip backward foot by foot.

"Diablo! Diablo!" thundered Hernandez. "Peon, urge your horses! Use the whip!"

The Hernandez Indian dug his spurs into his mount, and cruelly flayed the leaders.

The other carreta yet more quickly moved ahead. Already the Mendoza wheeler was abreast the Hernandez leader.

Above the roar of the vehicles sounded the plaudits of the caballeros.

"Viva! Viva, Mendoza! Viva the California horses! Viva the Señorita Mendoza!"

A stone the size of a walnut caught in the hind shoe of Mendoza's wheeler. The steady pace of his horses broke.

The Hernandez animals pressed on.

"Swing out, boy, swing out! Sweep in from the side!" exulted Hernandez. "Victory for the Mexican horses!"

The driver turned his team. "Bueno, boy, bueno! Now straight ahead! Loose the rein! Let 'em go!"

The Mendoza postilion bent affectionately over his horse. "Fly, Mercurio! Fly! for the doña's sake!"

He unstrung his whiplash. It burned the leaders with living fire. They leaped forward, the tremendous stride flinging the pebbles from the wheeler's hoof.

Along the roadway the horses sped, lessening the Hernandez advantage at every bound. After them poured the yelling, gesticulating crowd.

A hundred paces only remained.

The shouting ceased, the tenseness of the moment closing every throat.

The Mendoza carreta overtook the other, passed it, and reached the goal two lengths ahead. Carmelita was the queen of the day!

With a flourish the Doña Carmelita's postilion drew up before the pavilion at the merienda ground, Mendoza and Captain Morando assisting the breathless, excited girl to alight.

Caballero and carreta whirled into the open space around her.

"Hail! Hail, to the queen of the merienda!" arose on all sides. She bowed right and left in acknowledgment.

On one side of the building stood a dais whence the queen ruled her loyal subjects.

"Come, little one," her father said. "Your ladies of honor will accompany you to your throne."

Lolita and Alfreda walked with her to the dais, then curtsied in deference.

"Your wishes, queen of the merienda?" they asked.

"For one hour let matron, maid, and man gather blackberries for the feast. Then all shall come to luncheon in the pavilion, not forgetting to bring the fruits of their labor. For the afternoon my command is that all enjoy themselves to the full."

Thus briefly spoke the ruler of the day; after which she took her willow basket and hastened to gather berries, as did her maids of honor and everyone else.

The appointed time saw all assembled near the feast tables which had been made ready by the peons. Heaping dishes of berries were conspicuous among a variety and abundance of viands.

Colonel Barcelo, commander of the presidio at Monterey, with his wife and her younger sister, the Señora Valentino, rode up on horseback.

The Colonel and his wife were well known to the picnickers. His sister-in-law had but lately arrived from Madrid.

The newcomers were accorded a gracious reception.

"Happened to be visiting near San José. Hearing of the merienda, we came along without an invitation," said Barcelo, laughing. "Besides, I wished Señora Valentino to witness one of our festal days. It is unique. Madrid itself holds nothing to equal it."

The brown eyes of the lady from Madrid flashed in accompaniment to her pearly teeth. "Rare things have I seen in California in the fortnight I am here."

"In a moment luncheon is served. My worthy Barcelo, I invite you and your party to our table. My daughter and a few others sit with us. Come, friends," spoke Señor Mendoza, true to the unbounded hospitality of the California grandee.

A peon sounded a gong. The hungry merienda folk lost little time in coming to the meal.

Señor Mendoza was at the head of his table, Doña Carmelita at the foot. At the host's right and left were seated Colonel Barcelo and his wife; Señora Valentino, by his sister. The ladies of honor, with Hernandez, who sat by his daughter, filled the other places, except one. This had been reserved for Morando, who now came up.

"An accident to one of the horsemen detained me for the past half hour," was his explanation to Señor Mendoza.

"A caballero's misfortune always calls for assistance from a brother," replied Mendoza. Continuing: "Captain Morando, I wish to introduce you to Señora Valentino, who favors us to-day by her presence with her relatives, the Barcelos. Señora Valentino, may I present Captain Moranda?"

The señora acknowledged pleasantly the Captain's low bow.

"Captain, to your chair," from Mendoza.

Conversation lulled for a little. Early hours and open air had given zest to the appetite.

"My dear Señora Valentino, I wish you could have seen our carreta race this morning," remarked Señor Mendoza. "But it will not be the last."

"While I say nothing against the race of this morning as such," interposed Hernandez, "for it was good enough as far as it went, I do claim that my horses were better than yours, Mendoza. Your peon rider happened to be more at home in his business than was mine, nothing more. I wish I had been in that postilion's place myself; then there would have been a different story to tell."

"A horse can display but the swiftness his limbs possess," rebutted Mendoza.

"Riding is not what I knew in my youth," commented Hernandez, who was giving ample appreciation to the pleasures of the table.

"Captain Morando, were you not at a ball given in Madrid last year by the officers of General Guerrero's division in their quarters?" said Señora Valentino.

"I was, indeed. And now, señora, I remember you well. Strange I did not recall you at first."

"The fact that I was in ball-dress then and in riding-habit now is, undoubtedly, what prevented you from recognizing me before."

"Why, we have old friends here!" interjected Colonel Barcelo.

"How is Colonel Valentino, your husband?"

"Shortly after that ball of which we speak my husband was ordered to service in Morocco, and there he laid down his life for his country."

"I regret that my question called up sad memories. Nearly a year have I been away from Madrid, and news travels slowly to us here. I offer to you my sympathy in your great loss."

"You are very kind, Lieutenant—I should say, 'Captain' Morando. But—what is past is gone. It is well, then, to forget. A wonderful life these Californians live!"

"I trust Colonel Barcelo and his lady will find opportunity while in this vicinity to bring you, señora, to visit us at our home in Mission San José. What says my daughter?"

The Doña Carmelita cordially seconded her father's invitation. The Barcelos accepted; the Señora Valentino likewise.

"Mission San José—Mission San José—" mused the latter. "Is there not living there a Franciscan friar, one Lusciano Osuna?"

"It is so," assented Mendoza.

"I heard he was in California, and as you mentioned the Mission San José it came to me that was given as his present home."

"A man of some importance, probably, in Spain," volunteered Señor Hernandez.

"I do not know him personally," replied Señora Valentino. "In the cathedral of Barcelona I heard him give the Lenten sermons several years ago. It was quite shortly after his ordination, but his discourses possessed rare charm and power. The city was literally at his feet."

"Strange such a man comes here as a mission padre?" observed Hernandez.

"It was his request. Some unknown powerful influence seconded him, else Spain would not have lost her great preacher."

At that moment the strains of the grand march floated through the pavilion, from the excellent orchestra provided for the dancing.

Captain Morando was quickly at Doña Carmelita's side. "Señorita the Doña Mendoza, may I claim your favor for the grand march and the waltz following?"

It was granted.

Carmelita and Morando were at once circling in the waltz.

"I still have the rose which fell to me from the sky one moonlit night a month ago."

"Does it keep so long?" mischievously.

"It is pressed in a book of poems. Each couplet of book-leaves holds a petal. The odor of the petals speaks to me the same thought which is the subject of these poems. Shall I tell you what it is, Señorita Doña?"

"Hush! the music ceases. Lead me to a resting place."

There was to be no resting for Señorita Mendoza. Importunate youths claimed dance after dance.

The elders, men and women, were scattered around in groups, some looking at the dancing, others conversing, a few playing cards.

Señor Valentino, owing to her recent bereavement, did not dance. She seated herself on a rustic bench beneath a widespread sycamore, where she was soon the center of an interested coterie. The lady so recently from Madrid retailed to Spanish-born gentry the news of the distant imperial city.

After a while Captain Morando came up. Soon the two were in animated conversation.

"Ah! Captain, not on the floor! Foot-weary so soon?" spoke a dueña who now joined them.

"No, señora, not foot-weary. I forego for a time the pleasures of the dance that I may listen to the words of our beautiful visitor here."

He made a low bow to Señora Valentino, who laughingly extended her hand to him. He bent sweepingly over it, barely touching the ends of her fingers with his.

"The Señor Captain Morando!" a man's voice called at his elbow. It was Abelardo Peralta. The music and dancing had stopped. The guests were assembling around the dais on which was seated Doña Carmelita.

"Our queen demands your presence, Señor Captain," Peralta went on.

The Captain was shortly before her majesty the queen of the fiesta.

"The games are about to begin, Captain Morando. Do you not remember that I appointed you and Don Abelardo to define the boundaries of the racing course, and to determine the various goals? Also please to remind the Señora Valentino that she is requested to crown the victors."

As the afternoon waned the interest in the athletic events increased. The footraces for young men showed that the sons of the province were nimble of limb, and won the approbation of Pedro Zelaya himself, whose swiftness was credited with being only less than a fast-galloping horse.

The señoritas ran a shorter course very creditably.

Then came a contest of knife-throwing in which the men of the period were wonderfully proficient. The knife was flung, blade extended, from the palm of the hand with such force that the point of the weapon would sink several inches into a wooden target placed twenty, thirty, or more, paces away.

"Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" came through a cloud of dust. A number of vaqueros had driven a wild steer from the mountains to the race course. The picnickers looked at the animal from their safe position on the platform. Again and again the creature charged at the vaqueros, who deftly swung their horses out of harm's way.

"Send him here!" some young fellow called to one of the herdsmen.

"No, no," another cried, "send him over this way to me."

The animal pawed the earth, bellowed, and rushed around the race course in fury.

Don Pedro Zelaya climbed out on a projecting tree-branch and dropped on the animal's back, in the midst of one of its mad careenings. It stood stock still for a moment in bewilderment. Zelaya's sharp spurs soon stirred it into action. It ran, leaped, even bucked like a broncho, in trying to rid its back of the burden, but in vain.

"Brava! Brava! Señor Zelaya. Soon will you have another gentle pony."

"Let him chase thee around the race course," yelled a youth. "One hundred pesos to fifty he catches thee!"

Zelaya found time to wave his acknowledgment of the persiflage.

The steer suddenly tried rolling over and over to free itself. The man sprang to the ground each time it dashed itself down; then, with the litheness of a cat, leaped to its back as it arose.

The animal finally gave up all efforts to throw the rider, and ran at full speed around the racing track, amidst the loud plaudits of the assembly.

Señor Zelaya drew himself back into the branches of the tree, after a little, and his mount escaped to the forest.

The men exhibited all manner of fancy riding. Some rode at the flank of a horse at gallop, or under the belly, or astride the neck. Others leaned from their saddles in flying sweep and picked up coins from the ground; or drew from the sand chickens buried to the head, yet so gentle the rider's hand that the fowl was not in the least injured.

The shadows come early in the deep cañons. The queen sent her messengers to call the people around her throne while the winners received their prizes. Abelardo Peralta announced, in her name, that after the distribution luncheon would again be served in the pavilion.

"Our queen makes Don Abelardo her chief courtier," remarked Lolita Hernandez in the hearing of a number.

"They have been friends since childhood, Señorita Lolita," returned this young lady's dueña.

Lolita laughed mirthlessly. "I fancy the captain from Madrid has offended. Perhaps her majesty saw him kissing Señora Valentino's hand this afternoon."

"Fie! Fie!" from another dueña. "He touched only the tip of that lady's fingers with his own. I saw it myself."

"Diffident soldier!" from a grave señor. "In my youth I would not have been content with so slight a token."

"Manuel! Manuel!" from his wife.

"Señora Moraga, thy husband thinks on his courtship of thee," spoke yet another dueña, laughing.

"I'm sure it looked as if the Captain kissed the stranger lady's hand," Lolita reiterated. "I'm sure too Carmelita saw it, for we were dancing in the same set when it happened."

"'Twas but a lady's favor and a man's privilege, little one," said Moraga.

"Manuel! Manuel!" again from his wife. "And before such a child as Lolita!"

"I know Carmelita favored Captain Morando above Don Abelardo the day of the dinner at her father's house. I saw it, and so did all the girls. I know she changed toward him to-day after what I—saw. I know she did."

Señora Valentino approached the group.

At almost the same moment Morando came up from the opposite direction, having been at the race course collecting from the judges their decisions as to the victors.

"Ah! Captain mine, bearest thou a word for beauty as well as for prowess in athletics?" questioned Moraga.

"The queen has appointed no judge of beauty. Even the wisest would find bewilderment here where all are so fair," replied the gallant Morando.

"Our Captain is a diplomat," smiled the señora. She bowed to the gentleman in question; he yet lower to her.

A messenger advanced, saying with much ceremony: "Señora Valentino, the queen requests you to crown the winners from the dais. Captain Morando, you are commanded before the throne there to read your reports."

The señora curtsied. "My sovereign's will is mine."

The soldier saluted, but before he could make speech Mendoza's hand was on his shoulder. "Pardon me, friends, I have a word with the Captain."

"Morando," said the old don when they were apart, "you may not know the keen instincts of our wild animals for change in weather. Bear and mountain lion are hurrying through the forest here back to the high mountains. During the drought they have been under foot, tame as dogs. My fighting peons brought me word of this sudden activity of the animals, and just now I observed it for myself. It means the quick coming of a storm."

"Maldito! is it sure? Leagues from home are we and scores of women folk with us."

"To make doubly sure I rode my horse to the summit of a high bluff. The clouds are rolling hitherward in masses black and angry."

"What, think you, we would better do?"

"I'll order the peons to bring out the carretas and saddle the horses. 'Twill be a few minutes only. Then I'll call for silence and ask all to take conveyance or mount, speaking of imminent storm in such way as not to give unnecessary alarm. For myself, I'll lead my fighting peons; let come next the carretas; then marshal you the caballeros."

As said so was it done.

Soon all was in readiness, and the procession was tearing over the road by which it had come early in the day. Doña Carmelita had given her carreta to Señora Valentino, while she rode with her dueña. Provision was also made for Señora Barcelo, Mendoza declaring it unsafe for a woman to ride horseback under the circumstances.

As they sped along darkness overtook them. Intermittent lightning darted forked tongues across the sky, while thunder pealed and reverberated. The pent-up rain of months poured on the returning picnickers. In the dry creek-beds streams arose even while they were crossing.

The dueña's carreta was somewhat slower than the others and thus was last in the line. Morando rode by Carmelita's side.

Suddenly the heavens seemed to split. Torrents of water roared on the hillside, inundated the roadway, and poured over carretas and horsemen.

There had been a cloud-burst.

A heavy boulder whirling in the flood was flung against Morando's horse. As it fell caballeros close by grasped bridle-rein and stirrup-strap and drew the animal to its feet. Panic-stricken it dashed wildly forward.

The lightning ceased. The dense blackness but increased the confusion.

The carretas floundered in the water. Finally, all save one fought their way to higher ground. A projecting tree-limb had struck the dueña's postilion. His horse slipped beneath him and turned with the turbulent current. Man, horses, carreta, and occupants were washed down the declivity.

The caballeros, unknowing, struggled on.

The dueña's horses soon found footing on the hillside, and taking the bits in their teeth ran headlong down grade into the deep cañon.

When Carmelita recovered consciousness she was lying in a cave, on some bear skins, near a glowing fire of logs. She could hear horses stamping and eating. Her dueña, still unconscious, was on another pile of skins.

A man came from the darkness and stood by her. He was dressed in tanned-skin shirt and trousers, and in his hand he held a sombrero. The mustached face was burned brown in the sun.

He noticed that Carmelita had opened her eyes. "Neither of you is seriously injured. I am physician enough to determine that. Rest here quietly till morning, and doubtless your friends will come. I'll have some one prepare you a hot drink now." This he spoke in Spanish. Then in English, as he turned away: "Queerest product of a spring freshet I ever saw!"

He chuckled at his own conceit.

CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT SPENT IN A CAVE

"The drink is ready. Will I bring it to the ladies now, Cap'?"

These words awakened Doña Carmelita from a sound sleep into which she had fallen despite the discomfiture of rain-soaked clothes. The fire was burning brightly, and she found herself nearer the blaze whither some one, without awakening her, had drawn the pile of skins on which she was lying. The warmth had nearly dried her clothing.

The dueña had recovered from her swooning, and was partially sitting up endeavoring to collect her senses.

"The drink is ready, Cap'. Will you ask the ladies if they want it? I don't know a word of their lingo."

The man touched his hat in military style. The one denominated "Cap'" came up, he who had spoken to Carmelita a little previously.

"My man here has prepared some strong black coffee for you. An allowance of the native spirit you call 'aguardiente' has been added. I advise you both to drink freely of the mixture. Blankets will be provided you, and you will sleep here safe and warm till morning. Will you have the beverage now? I trust you feel not greatly any effect of the unusual experience which must have been yours."

"O!" moaned the dueña, now coming somewhat more to herself. "What a terrible happening! I expected each instant to be killed. O! where am I?"

The man laughed. "I cannot discuss what occurred to you before we found you outside this cave. Neither can I tell you where you are, for I know only in a vague way the location of the place. Let it suffice that you are safe here. Now, warm yourself with this drink and seek to sleep. The morning brings, doubtless, searchers for you."

The man who seemed the leader had been speaking in Spanish. A trace of foreign accent was in each word, though he spoke the language fluently and correctly.

The other man broke in with:

"Coffee's cooling fast, Cap'. If they don't take it now, I'll have to heat it up again all over. Kiyi that to 'em in their own lingo. Wish I knew how to."

He had been standing holding in one hand a steaming saucepan, in the other an improvised wooden tray on which were two metal goblets.

The Señorita Carmelita struggled with some difficulty to a sitting position.

"We thank you for your thoughtfulness," she said.

"The young lady says she won't have the mess—is that it, Cap'?" asked the man holding the saucepan and goblets.

Carmelita was about to reply in English, but the leader said, quickly: "Give them your preparation there, Brown. Don't be slow. They should have had it drunk by this time."

Brown complied with the order.

The woman and the girl sipped the steaming liquid.

"Now I remember," said the dueña. "We left the road just after that awful thunder clap. The water washed us down and down. Then my horses ran and ran, downhill, over rocks and gullies—O it was awful!" covering her face with her hands. "Then came the crash; and I really knew no more until this moment. Thank you, sirs, for this," sipping the black coffee. "It shall be no loss, and I will see you have ample reward. Besides, this señorita here——"

"Is the old lady saying she wants another swig?" interrupted the man holding the saucepan. "Because if she's still thirsty, there's more of this coffee and aggydenty right here," shaking the contents of the vessel, "and if this ain't plenty I can manyfactur more."

"Hush, Brown!" spoke the other. "If you have anything more to do I'll tell you."

"Just as you say," agreed the other, unperturbed.

"The crash you tell of brought my man here and myself out to where the accident met you. Your vehicle had struck a huge rock which forms one side of this cave. Needless to say the carriage was in kindling wood. You," to the dueña, "and the young lady had been thrown entirely free from the melee into a thick bed of dried leaves—or leaves that had been dry before the rain," this with a smile. "Your horses were floundering in the mud."

"O, my brave, beautiful horses!" exclaimed the dueña. "Where are they? O, where are they?"

"Safe here with my own horses and quietly eating fodder as if nothing had occurred. Your Indian driver came off with a broken shoulder. He sleeps now farther along in the cave. I fancy the plentiful supply of aguardiente my man Brown gave him aided in producing his slumbers. However, I knew no other way to ease him."

"Ah, that Luis!" said the dueña. "I'll have him whipped when he recovers for thus endangering us both with his careless driving. My regular driver is away in the eastern grass ranges."

"Anything more I can do?" asked Brown. "I hear my name spoke of."

"Nothing more. I was telling the ladies you aided their injured servant to sleep by a free supply of spirits. You may go now."

"Just as you say, Cap'. Said nigger servant of the lady is a regler canal when it comes to aggydenty," commented Brown as he betook himself and saucepan away.

Carmelita and the dueña finished drinking the contents of the goblets. The man Brown soon came back with two pairs of woolen blankets.

"These blankets are finest English wool. Wrap up in 'em and you'll find yourselves warm and dry by morning. Tell 'em, Cap', in their own talk."

"Brown, you may retire now to the inner cave and sleep."

"Just as you say, Cap'."

"I trust you will be as comfortable as the situation permits. Allow me to wish you pleasant dreams and the hope that to-morrow will find you both none the worse for this mishap. Good-night." The Captain bowed.

Soon the Captain was gone and the dueña and the girl were closely wrapped in the warm blankets. The fire still burned high and diffused a grateful heat. A feeling of repose crept over both the women. The storm howled and raged outside, but in their wearied state it was scarce less than a lullaby to them. Numbness came to their senses. They slept in the wild cave, safe from deluge and accident.

How long the Doña Carmelita had been sleeping she knew not. She opened her eyes. The fire had burned low. The light of the embers was struggling with the darkness. Rain and wind still held high revel on the outside. The water swished and the tempest boomed at the entrance of the cave.

Again she was sinking to slumber.

Suddenly she roused. Footsteps were near—unusual footsteps, soft as air. The fire was lower; the embers cooling; darkness lay more completely over all. Nearer the sound came. Every nerve was tense. The fire gave a feeble flicker. By the wall of the cave two figures stood not half a dozen paces from her. They disappeared suddenly. She breathed more freely. Another flicker from the fire and she saw that they were crouched low by the ground and apparently in conversation. A draft hurtled through the cavern and gave life to the dying coals. The two figures cast themselves flat on the ground. The embers died down. Carmelita waited in trepidation.

Another rift of light in answer to a current of air. One of the prostrate figures was slowly moving toward her, as a fish floats through water without apparent movement or propulsion. Never it hastened, yet never it ceased to come, always nearer, without effort, without pausing.

She shut her teeth and clenched her hands. There was a wild desire to scream, to call for help, to fly out into the open. She did none of these things. The courage of her warrior forbears stood her in stead.

All at once the body ceased its forward motion. Then it moved backward, noiselessly, slowly. It seemed an age until it reached the other figure by the wall. The overflow of the hurricane which now came sweeping through the place invigorated the fire so that it showed the two figures standing flush against the wall and again in earnest consultation. She could tell that they were Indians, not by their dress, for that was indistinct, but by their postures and gestures. Suddenly they were prone on the ground and going, again noiselessly, toward the inner cave.

The wind ceased. The fire decreased to half a dozen separate sparks. Darkness hid the Indians from her eyes. She reached out her hand to waken the dueña, but desisted.

"Why frighten her? Doubtless they are ordinary peons seeking shelter from the storm."

After a while, through very exhaustion, she slept.

Her eyes opened wide almost with a snap and she sat bolt upright. A portion of the fire had been replenished and was flaming up. A low cry forced itself from her lips before she recognized the one by the fire to be Brown. "What is it?" asked the girl.

The dueña awakened from heavy sleep.

"The horses—my horses," she cried, her wits still half slumbering. "The señor said they are safe. What a terrible thing—is the man still standing there? I trust his master will have the impertinent fellow whipped."

Brown felt that some unusual explanation was due from him, though he did not understand a word. Bending over, he placed his hands on his hips and spoke in a mincing way, as if to children.

"Lady, people don't need be 'fraid of Injuns. My employer's all right—good man. Injuns say much, then I fight 'em. Cap'n fight 'em—fight 'em like the devil."

He balled his right hand and doubled the arm, then patted the corded muscles approvingly with the fingers of his left. Finally he shook his fist in the direction of the inner cave while his face assumed a mock-ferocious expression.

"I suppose he is threatening his kind master. I'll have my peons beat him soundly in the morning, if the master wishes. Fellow, begone! or I'll call the one who owns you."

"Mamita, you mistake. The man is saying not to fear the Indians; that he and his Captain will protect us."

"Fear the Indians! Well, I should say not! Besides, there are no Indians here to fear, except that wretched Luis who drove my horses, and he has a broken shoulder, the scoundrel! If you understand this creature, child, tell him to be about his business before his master learns of his annoying us."

"Old lady's scared, hey? Scared out of her wits. Well, I reckon——"

"She is not frightened, but I was a while ago when two Indians were here and crept into the darkness, after conducting themselves in the most mysterious way." The doña spoke in excellent English.

Extreme astonishment spread over Brown's features. Then he looked as if his confidence had been painfully abused.

"Well, I swanny! Well, I swanny! If this here don't beat the deuce."

It was too much for him. His hands sought his thighs again, and he looked incredulously at the girl.

"If I do say it, this here beats the deuce!"

The man was of type the doña had never met before. However, the humor of the situation came to her and she laughed.

"The scamp is a fool, but that's nothing so unusual as to amuse you so," snapped the dueña. "I'm going to try and sleep. I'll let his master know of this. I'd have this fellow shut up on bread and water for ten days, with several whippings for good measure. Ah—h! these wet clothes. I'm glad we're safe, and the horses too."

She covered her eyes with the blanket to shut out the firelight.

"Does the old lady ketch my talk? I rather thought she saw the joke."

"She understands no English."

"Mebbe not, but I speak plain United States. It's wonderful to meet one of you folks who knows how to talk straight language."

The strangeness of the place and time did not prevent Señorita Mendoza from again being amused. "We certainly speak language—the Spanish language."

"That's what I call 'lingo,' plain 'lingo.' But that's neither here nor there. You talk American fine. Of course not as good as I do. You couldn't expect that; but I understand every word you say.

"My employer, I take it, is English," Brown went on, "but he talks my talk all right—not as I do of course. I'm glad he's wise as he is that way, for 'ceptin' him, yourself included, I haven't conversed with nobody for months. A man naturally gets just stale, homesick for folks and talking."

He seated himself comfortably by the fire, threw on a dried branch or two, then, nursing one knee with his hands clasped together, he looked at the girl. Weeks of unshaven stubble gave his face a grotesque appearance, but Carmelita had a feeling of protection in the presence and friendliness of this serving man.

"You speak of the other man as 'captain' and sometimes as 'employer.' That means he is your overseer, does it not?"

"Well," in a puzzled way, "he pays me for my time, and I do the work he cuts out for me. That there sums up the relations of me and Cap'n."

The dueña stirred in her sleep. "My horses——" she muttered, then was quiet.

"Guess the old lady ain't restin' well. P'raps she's troubled with nightmare."

"No, I think she's worrying about her horses."

"Do say! Mebbe they're all the poor creetur has."

Carmelita smiled.

"Well, anyway, I hope she's got enough over and above to buy herself another wagon."

"The lady here spoke a while ago of the other man owning you——"

"Own me!—like a nigger—not much!"

The leg he had been holding shot straight before him. Resting his palms beside him on the ground he looked at the doña in mingled amazement and indignation.

"No man owns me, Miss—I dunno your name. I'm my own boss, beholding to no one save and except Jehovah." He swept one arm widely over his head, then used it as a prop again. "If the Cap'n here should try to come it over me as master, why, decent feller that he is, I'd chuck him body and bones out into the storm right here and now. My politics is, one man is good as another if he behaves himself"—a revelation in democracy to the doña.

"I greatly appreciate your coming to tell us not to be frightened of those Indians. Likely they only took refuge from the storm, as did we."

Brown shook his head.

"I reckon they're guides to the big huntin' regions east of here somewhere. That's where we're bound for, and that's why I shipped with the Cap'n in the first place. He's death on big game. You see," confidentially, "I'm a steamboater by profession. Up and down the Mississippi's been my trick for a dozen year. Last fall followed a flock of prairie schooners from Saint Joe to Santa Fé, largely for diversion. Met the Cap'n, and he was full of Californy and huntin' grizzlies. He wanted a man-of-all-work. I wanted a job. Here I be."

"Your life has been of great interest, I'm sure."

"Well, then, I'll continue where I left off. I was asleep when the Injuns came. They were talkin' mad-like with the boss in lingo. He gave it back to 'em in lingo. They p'inted out here where you be, and I took it they were riled up about you folks. The Cap'n smoothed 'em off after a while. I strolled along to tell you some way not to be scared of the creeters, if they'd growled at you when they came in. Here I still be."

"Perhaps you wish to sleep again now."

"Not any. Horses all saddled to start. We was guided here by some Injun or other. Found everything here in plenty. Never saw anything like it. Reckon when Cap'n is through in there we'll start somewhere. He stops for no weather. I'll foller where man can lead."

Brown's flow of speech had left him talked out. He looked at the girl for a moment or two. She sat with the blanket around her and was studying him.

He finally asked:

"If I'm not infringin' on the idees you've been raised by I'd like to ask how you come to know American?"

She laughed.

"My father taught me English. I cannot remember when I did not speak it."

"Well! Your pop's Spanish, I take it."

"Yes. He learned English first when among Englishmen in the Napoleonic wars. He even commanded an English regiment for a time. After the battle of Talavera he led one of the divisions of the English army off the field, every officer above him having been cut down."

"My own pop fit in our war of 1812, about when that Napoleon was raisin' old Scat. My pop read all about it. Old gent's sixty-nine now. Born in New Hampshire was pop; mom in old Virginny. They met up in Missouria and married. Here I be, as I notified you before."

The girl did not make comment.

The fire died low. Brown was busy with his thoughts.

Three men came from within the inner cave. Carmelita lay back. The dim light showed two of them to be the Indians she had seen before, the third was Brown's employer. The Indians were plainly enraged. The other's manner was suave and appeasing. Their conversation was animated, but, for a time, no distinct word reached the girl. The heavy guttural voices of the natives contrasted strongly with the attempted soothing tones of the white man.

"Don't be skeered, miss," whispered Brown. "We won't let 'em tech ye."

"Your palaver is useless, Sir Englishman," one of the speakers said in a higher key than before. "Cash in the palm is your only argument with us." The tone was vibrant with passion. He huddled his blanket closely around his shoulders.

Word and manner of the white man were smooth as he said: "We must not discuss it here. Let us return to the inner chamber. Some further refreshment you need before going out into the storm. Let us further consider my offer privately. These señoras——"

"Huh!" interrupted the Indian. "I care nothing if Administrator Mendoza hears me, let alone a storm-driven señora or two. The refreshment you offer is our own cache. Remember, the offer that carries weight with us is, money down."

His fellow mumbled some word of assent.

The conversation was now plainly heard by the doña.

The dueña half awakened. "Are we nearly home?" sleepily. "That Luis is a poor driver."

She slept again.

"Old lady likely is riled about all this noise when she wants to sleep," Brown remarked.

"Come back, amigos. Let us not decide thus a matter of grave importance. Come, talk further in retirement, and then make another appointment, if necessary." This from the Captain.

The Indian stamped in fury.

"Come back, you say—always come back to the other chamber. You haggle as do market-women over eggs. I know the vastness of the prize you seek. As superintendent of the Mission vessels have I sold wheat to English dogs in the north and Mexican friends in the south, so do I know of what I speak. Its coast line alone marks a thousand miles. Itself is an empire ten times the area of your petty island. I say I am willing to help you make your own this territory, still you haggle, haggle. Huh!"

"But, my friend, we must keep these matters——"

"But, my friend—my friend!" the Indian mocked. "Men unnumbered are at my command. Still, you have only words, words, words."

"At the proper time and place——"

"The proper time and place is now and here. One hundred thousand pesos' value in your English gold notes—you claim you have the money in Monterey—place you in my hand the day the next new moon is born. Then, when you wish, my subjects in the inland—I am their king—declare Great Britain's flag to be their own, and I will hold them your loyal subjects."

Brown threw some wood on the embers. "That Injun is yelpin' back talk at the Cap'n any fool can see. I never could stand much sass from sech people myself," in an aside to Carmelita.

"Come, friend, we may not deliberate here for others to overhear. Come with me. I have your point of view——"

"Yes, or no, señor. You have my point of view, you say. Then, accept or refuse. You are not the only bidder."

"A glass of aguardiente in the inner chamber——"

"Ah! you refuse! In coming here my time was wasted. I go elsewhere."

Casting blanket away he strode toward the darkness and the downpouring rain. As he neared the fire the light showed his face clearly. It was curiously wrinkled, not unlike a savage dog ready to bite. His companion followed him.

The leader was the dreaded Yoscolo, the craftiest Indian in the Californias, and the best educated. The other was Stanislaus, once of the Mission of San José, a man as cruel as Yoscolo, if less clever.

The doña cuddled nearer the bed as they passed,

"Hold!" cried the Captain as the Indians reached the cave entrance. "I'll accept your proposition."

They turned.

"Come back and we will arrange preliminaries within."

"Done!" said the leader. Stanislaus grunted affirmation.

A shout sounded in the open, followed by the words:

"Here is the carreta, Señor Mendoza, and footprints leading on. Have the men bring lights."

Mendoza's voice gave some order.

"Juan Antonio, you did well," he continued.

The Indians, Yoscolo and Stanislaus, vanished like wraiths.

"More Injuns, Cap'?" inquired Brown.

"Possibly. Let us go."

"And leave the ladies to be skeered to death? No, sirree! I stay."

"Please stay," requested Carmelita in English. "My father is here and will thank you."

"The women are safe, Brown. Out the other entrance of the cave. Come, I tell you."

"Just as you say, Cap'—not that I'm skeered of her pop. You lead and I'll foller."

Just as the darkness hid them Juan Antonio came into the cave. He was covered with mud. Mendoza followed on horseback. Mounted peons filled the cave entrance.

"Papacito! Papacito!" Carmelita ran toward her father.

"My child, come thou to me!" springing to the ground and clasping her in his arms.

"I'll not have such a commotion in my house," announced the dueña, returning from sleep. "It is not the hour for the fandango."

Light flared from the replenished fire.

"Why, Señor Mendoza!" now quite awake. "How did you manage to find this place on such a dark night?"

Mendoza pointed to Juan Antonio. "He followed your steps even in the darkness. To horse, at once, señora, and you too, my child. The storm abates, only to resume shortly. We must reach the main road before the rising water bars our way. Let us go. May God be thanked for your safety! How made you this fire?"

"Those who are gone built it, my father."

"When we numbered not thy carreta with the others sorrow darker than the night ruled my soul. Now is the blackness light. Hence, and quickly! To horse, all!"

In a moment the cave was alone with the fire and the shadows.

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.

It was the children rolling and tumbling along the muddy street who drew Brown out of his silence.

"By hicky! this here is a monstrous place for children. Just now I actually counted eighteen on one front stoop. They was in reg'lar graydashun of sizes from a foot up to five feet six inches, I should jedge." This critically.

"The province could easily support one thousand times its present population," replied the other.

Amusement and contempt struggled together on the face of honest Brown.

"One thousand times as many Injuns as is cumberin' the ground right now! By hickey! I don't think the Almighty should allow it."

They entered the large plaza around which were many of the important buildings of the capital. Here ran in full stream the life of early California. Indian women, gay in colored shawl and gown, edged their way among the fiery steeds drawing the carreta of the grandee's family. The Mexican smoking his corn-paper cigarito touched elbows with the hidalgo's son who was clad in velvet and fine linen, with inlaid gold on his hat-band and gold spur on his heels.

Skins brown, skins red, skins white intermingled. Wealth and lack of it walked side by side. There was no poverty in the California of this time.

"Well, I swanny!" from Brown. "Did you ever see such a theayter?"

The Captain alighted near a long line of low buildings. A peon came forth bowing obsequiously.

"Let this man take the horses, Brown. He will show you an eatinghouse. Remain not very far from this place until I return."

"Well, by Gosh! Left with the heathen and his flesh pots! I say, Cap'——"

The Captain was gone. Whereupon Brown followed whither the peon led him, the while speaking naïve criticisms of this worthy and of all things Californian. The Indian understood nothing, but grinned obligingly whenever he saw the stranger had completed some period or other of his discourse.

The disappearance of his "Cap'" did not disturb Brown. He had become too well accustomed to the flittings of the chief. Their place of residence was in a cañon of the high mountains, a score of miles east of the pueblo San José. Here a rude cabin had been found formerly occupied by vaquero peons. From this point the leader and his factotum sallied forth on many an excursion. If Brown wondered at the meaning of it all, he rarely questioned, and never searchingly. It sufficed that finally they would hunt "big game."

The Captain, hastening along a narrow street, came to a plaza smaller than the one he had left, but otherwise similar to it, around which were grouped many of the homes of officialdom. This plaza was the center of the fashionable as well as of the political life of the province.

He stopped before one of the most imposing residences. Within the porte-cochere a man sat on a bench. He was the outside guardian of the dwelling, a position of importance at the time.

"I wish to speak with one of the house," the Captain announced.

The other arose and bowed ceremoniously.

"Whom have I the honor of addressing?"

"Will you carry the Señora Doña Valentino word that a man is here to see her on the king's business?"

The stranger's unpretentious attire and travel-stained appearance had not deterred the guard from showing him the suave courtesy a guest should receive, but the words, "on the king's business" seemed to sting the Spanish-American.

"Señor," in grandiose manner, "I am a citizen of Mexico, an official of this household. No king and no one on the king's business is welcome where rules the republic of Mexico."

"Confound it, man! take my words to the señora. She will understand. I have no time for your heroics. Hurry up, I tell you!"

The other crossed his arms and looked disdainfully at the Captain.

"On the king's business, you say! On the king's business! Have you been asleep these many years and awakened only now? Have you——"

"Have done with your twaddle, man. I'll find somebody inside who will carry my word." He started along the porte-cochere to the front door.

"Stop! Stop! At your peril! Stay your feet, sir!"

"It's all right, Benito. I'll usher the señor to the reception room myself. Come, amigo, with me," broke in a soft voice now addressed to the Captain.

The petty official was all apologies and deep bows. The Captain paid no attention to him.

"Come, Captain, with me."

"I thank you, Señora Valentino."

"I chanced to be passing the main vestibule and saw you. Benito's patriotism was opposing your way. No?"

They were walking along a wide corridor of the mansion. Sunlight poured in through many small-paned windows. Peons, men and women, were constantly going and coming.

"This Benito's patriotism should be flogged out of his skin," was the reply.

The lady laughed. They reached a large door which she opened by pressing a spring at the side.

"His patriotism, then, is but skin deep, you think?"

She motioned the Captain to a chair. The door slammed with a metallic click. They were in a small room well lighted. Book shelves, closely filled, writing material, and desks, bespoke the library.

"I fancy this creature's patriotism would well be termed impertinence. This have I seen often enough disappear under fervent application of a riding-whip."

She looked closely at the speaker.

"Captain Farquharson," after a moment, "you have been in the Californias more months than I have weeks. Neither is this your first visit. No?"

"It is not."

Señora Valentino nodded.

"Greater opportunities for observation, decidedly, have you had than I. Still, I will say, noble señor, that the Mexicans here are vastly different from the natives of Hindustan where you have been; or even from the peasantry of southeastern Europe where, in other times, your fertile talents have found employment."

"True of the few Spaniards here, and their descendants. I cannot agree, my lady, with you as to the Mexicans. They——"

She raised a delicate, well-jeweled hand, perhaps to interrupt him; more likely, to emphasize what she had begun to say.

"My Captain, blows will never win the Mexican to favor your cause—I should say, our cause—any more than will they the Spaniard. Both have tasted here the sweets of personal liberty in no small degree. We must imbue them with a desire for the ampler freedom of Anglo-Saxon civilization, balancing thereby their love for Latin forbears; or, at least, for Latin form."

Farquharson lightly struck the desk near his chair.

"Gain the leaders, señora, gain the leaders; and we drive the others after them like sheep. Once, in Calcutta——"

"Perhaps in some province of India—never in the province of California. Bethink you, Captain! Suppose that bold spirit in the north, Mendoza, should dream your great country has here an agent purposing to do what you say. Not the years of the prophet, which he has lived, would hold him from leading his mounted peons, night and day in search of you."

"Then what, my lady?"

"Then delivering you, at the end of a lariat, to the Colonel Barcelo, my brother-in-law, owner of this house, and head of the military prison here."

The beautiful woman, leaning in her chair, placed her hand on the Captain's arm. "Now to business. Your message found me here two days ago. Of course mine found you." She paused a moment thoughtfully, then continued:

"Colonel Barcelo returns to-night. I have planned for you to visit us this evening. You are my friend, Captain Farquharson, whom I knew in London two years ago. You are in the West for big game. Is it not so?" She laughed.

"Does Colonel Barcelo know of the wishes of my government?"

"He knows nothing. I am seeking to prepare him for such knowledge, however. To-night you may speak much or little, as you think wise."

"Señora, you spent several days at the home of Señor Mendoza after the storm. Did any word of yours sound him as to his political feelings?"

"Señor Mendoza's words on such matters come slowly. I believe his thoughts are correspondingly rapid."

"Why so, señora?"

"During my short stay in his hacienda house many young men came there. You know his daughter Carmelita is a beautiful girl."

The Captain started to speak, but smiled instead.

"These caballeros were duly presented to me. For some reason they spoke, at first casually, but, finally, earnestly, concerning the future political status of this province. I listened."

The Captain laughed. "Señora, how did you manage to get the young hidalgos talking on such a subject?"

"Fie! Fie! Captain. Even a soldier diplomat should not seek to understand a woman's ways. Let it suffice that they talked."

"Yes, yes, señora, they talked. They said——"

"Many things. A number sat or were standing around me in the reception room one evening. The wine warmed them, though they drank not intemperately. Politics rolled from their tongues.

"Spoke the handsome youth, Abelardo Peralta: 'Why wait for Mexico to drop us? Let us declare now our freedom and become a province of mighty England.' A dozen others joined in declaring for England. Señor Mendoza was listening to all this conversation, meanwhile beaming on everybody. Now he spoke for the first time. Said he: 'Since we are giving away provinces, let us go to the ballroom. The señoritas are waiting. It is the province of hearts there, and giving and taking is always in order.' Thus deftly did our wary host stem the current. Mendoza's keenness is an element not to be lightly considered."

"Was there Morando? No?" asked Captain Farquharson, falling into the manner of speech of the Spaniard.

"Yes, Morando was there. Eyes, ears, hands, feet, and heart has he for the Señorita Doña Mendoza."

The serene calm of the woman ruffled ever so little.

"Morando cannot have vented his Spanish citizenship thus soon. Doubtless easily he becomes one of us."

"I fancy it will be as says the Señorita Mendoza, who, in turn, is deeply in love with her father. Capture the gray eagle and the nest is yours."

"I suppose so. I suppose so. Why came Morando to California, do you know? Anything against him in Madrid, anything we could use to influence him here, I mean?"

"Nothing—absolutely nothing." After a pause: "At Mission San José there are two men who could persuade North California for us or against us. Mind, I say 'persuade'; for, unless I mistake greatly, neither one would consent to act as bell-wether after which go willy-nilly the sheep flock."

He waited for her to go on.

"One of these two men is, of course, Señor Mendoza; the other is Padre Osuna."

"A word about the señor, my lady. I recognize the man's worth and ability, and the weight he would add to our cause; yet I do not think it wise to approach him myself."

"May I ask your reason?"

"Colonel Mendoza and I met in the old days when I was a young man."

"A young man, Captain?" archly.

"I have seen a half century of life. My meeting with Mendoza was thus wise. At Talavera the allied forces opposed the French. In a preliminary skirmish our colonel was wounded. My regiment held a position in the extreme forward center. Colonel Mendoza was hastily called from the left wing of the army, where the Spanish troops were, and was placed over us. The French began the battle by heavy cannonading. The captain of my own company, also the first and the second lieutenant, were blown to pieces before an hour. I was third lieutenant. To save the men from annihilation, as I believed, I withdrew a little distance.

"The Spanish colonel was furious. He dashed up on his horse, ordered the company in position, subjecting me all the while to vitriolic criticism."

"What did you, Captain?"

"I replied to him. He struck me with the flat of his sword."

"And what did you then?"

"I could do nothing. We were in the face of the enemy then, as for months. Later, the allied forces were separated. A generation has lived and passed since that blood-stained day of Talavera. Mendoza, doubtless, does not remember me. Still, it would not be wise to risk injury to our cause by bringing to play any ill feeling he might possibly retain against me."

"Our Captain is judicious." Continuing: "Know you the value of these Californias?"

"They are the pivotal center of Orient and Occident. My government well knows the harbors here, their possibilities——"

The señora's raised hand stopped him. Her fingers ran along the wall searchingly. At last she pressed hard, then harder.

The wall separated at a line above her head, the lower part of the wall slowly sinking through the floor.

"I am going to show you the treasure-chamber of a dead-and-gone governor of the Californias, when the province was a part of Spain."

A room half the size of the library was in view. Stone mortars were on the floor, and on the shelves. Resting on the brims of the vessels, and caught on the rough sides of the exteriors, were many yellow particles which dully shone in the newly-admitted light.

"Why, this is gold! gold!" touching his fingers on the edge of a jar. "These stones must once have held the ransom of a king!" pointing to the interior of one mortar after another. Amidst spider-webs and the accumulated dust of years lay thin streaks of gold-dust tracing the way from rim to bottom.

He examined an ancient broom which lay among the receptacles, gold showing among its moldy strands. "Zounds! señora. It is pure gold. I've seen it in its native state the world over."

He crossed the room. As he walked tiny nuggets of the metal which had escaped the sweepings of the old-timer grated under his feet. Fingermarks could be seen on the floor where the treasure had been scooped up by the single and double handfuls.

"Twenty years ago I was told that California's hills and valleys framed a skeleton of virgin gold. Here may be proof of it. Pray, my lady, what do you know of this? Where did the gold come from?"

She indicated some maps hanging on the walls. "These drawings show whence came the gold which once rested here."

"Yes—yes—they show—they show a river flowing from high hills—and the direction from Monterey—north of east it is. Here is the scale of miles. Why, it is not a fortnight's journey to the place. Ah!—here are signs—yes, signs—but, perdition! they are hieroglyphics. I can make out nothing more. Señora, how in the name of mystery did you learn of this trick-room?"

She had been standing quietly, noting with interest and some little amusement the varied activities and remarks of the Captain.

"The secret was made known to me in Spain. The one-time Spanish governor built a palace in Seville, on his home-coming from Monterey, and lived ever after as a prince. These jars supplied the wherewithal. As I heard it, he intended to return some day, on private ship, for yet vaster measure of this golden sifting which lies hidden in the California hills, but alas! too much good living and gout did not permit."

"This is wonderful—most wonderful! Somewhere in the hills there is gold, quantities of gold. Likewise, there is gold in these fertile valleys, for they smile in verdure and give promise of rich harvest a week after the drought is over. My lady, the world never dreams of the possibilities of this province."

"Clive gave India to England. May we not do even more?"

"Just so, señora, just so. Does anyone else know of this room?"

"Quite likely no one. Even Colonel Barcelo does not, his own house as it is."

"But these maps! Do you not think it singular that the owner did not most carefully preserve these talismanic signs, and take them away with him?"

"They were left here with purpose, friend of mine."

"And that purpose?"

"Oceans are stormy, distances long, buccaneers many, brave Captain."

"I do not catch your meaning, señora. Do enlighten me."

"In plain words, then: if that gold should, perchance, take wings, the whilom possessor, aided by his maps, could get another precious cargo. But if the maps, as well, should take unto themselves flight, what then? Perhaps no more of the yellow metal! So, my wise and thrifty governor-general of the province made two sets of drawings, taking the one with him, leaving the other snugly ensconced in our little treasure-chamber here," pointing whimsically about the room.

"But, my lady, how did you learn all these things?"

"This same governor-general was my late husband's grandfather. He left in cipher a description of this room, of the maps and of the mine. For more than fifty years the key to the cipher was mislaid. I chanced to come across it, six months ago, in the archives of my husband's family. The cryptogram stated that the treasure which once filled these mortars was but a hint of greater riches in the mountains."

"What a country! What a land this will be when the union jack tips the flag-pole at Monterey!"

"A country well worth the hire, Captain mine."

"You speak of Friar Lusciano Osuna. I called on him, not long since, with letters. He was ill, but very courteous. I explained a little of our work here. I take it he is a Mexican citizen."

"He is a citizen of Great Britain."

"Perhaps by some sufferance."

"By his eminent right! That government would go much farther in his protection than it would for you or for me, though we are its special agents in a great cause."

"Just the man we need, then, señora."

A knock at the door.

Noiselessly weight and spring raised the movable wall to its place.

Without was an elderly Mexican leaning rather stiffly on a cane.