eforetl]e Gringo Cam 
 
REESE LIBRARY 
 
 OK THK 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 Deceived 
 
BANCROFT 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
BEFORE THE 
 
 GRINGO CAME 
 
 BY 
 
 GERTRUDE ATHERTON 
 
 AUTUO& Of " THE JJOOMSWOMAN." 
 
 NEW YORK 
 J. SELWIN TAIT & SONS 
 
 65 FIFTH AVENUE 
 
****? 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY 
 
 GERTRUDE ATHERTON. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 
 

 TO 
 
 THE BOHEMIAN CLUB 
 
 OF SAN FRANCISCO 
 
 AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF 
 ITS COURTESY IN PLACING 
 
 ITS INVALUABLE 
 
 LIBRARY OF CALIFORNIAN LITERATURE 
 AT MY DISPOSAL. 
 
 GERTRUDE ATHERTO& 
 
Republished from BlackwoocTs Magazine, The 
 London Graphic, Vanity Fair, The Cosmopolitan, 
 Lippincott's Magazine, Harper's Weekly, and Figaro. 
 
BEFORE THE GRINGO CAME 
 
 BEING ELEVEN STORIES OF OLD CALIFORNIA. 
 
 TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOH 
 
 PEARLS OF LORETO 1 
 
 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS 45 
 
 THE WASH-TUB MAIL 127 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA 153 
 
 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA 197 
 
 LUKARI'S STORY 245 
 
 LA PERDIDA 257 
 
 NATALIE IVANHOFF : A MEMORY OF FORT Ross 263 
 
 MISSION TALES. 
 
 THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO 279 
 
 THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL 286 
 
 WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL 297 
 

THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 WITHIN memory of most gnarled and coffee- 
 colored Montereno never had been so exciting a race 
 day. All essential conditions seemed to have con- 
 sulted together and agreed to combine. Not a 
 wreath of fog floated across the bay to dim the 
 sparkling air. Every horse, every vaquero, was 
 alert and physically perfect. The rains were over; 
 the dust was not gathered. Pio Pico, Governor of 
 the Calif or nias, was in Monterey on one of his 
 brief, infrequent visits. Clad in black velvet, 
 covered with jewels and ropes of gold, he sat on his 
 big chestnut horse at the upper end of the field, 
 with General Castro, Dona Modeste Castro, and 
 other prominent Monterenos. His interest was so 
 keen that more than once the official dignity re- 
 laxed, and he shouted " Bravo ! " with the rest, 
 thereby increasing the excitement of the fire-blooded 
 Californians. 
 
 And what a brilliant sight it was ! The flowers 
 
2 THE PEAtiLS OF LORETO. 
 
 had faded on the hills, for June was upon them ; 
 but gayer than the hills had been was the race-field 
 of Monterey. Caballeros, with silver on their wide 
 gray hat and on their saddle of richly embossed 
 leather, gold and silver embroidery on their velvet 
 serape, crimson sash about their slender waist, 
 silver spurs and buckskin botas, stood tensely in 
 their stirrups as the racers flew by, or during the 
 short intervals pressed each other with eager 
 wagers. There was little money at that time. The 
 golden skeleton within the sleeping body of Cali- 
 fornia had not yet been laid bare. But ranches 
 were lost and won ; thousands of cattle would pass 
 to other hands at the next rodeo ; many a superbly 
 caparisoned steed would rear and plunge between 
 the spurs of a new master. 
 
 And caballeros were not the only living pictures 
 of that memorable day of a time forever gone. 
 Beautiful women in silken, fluttering gowns, bright 
 flowers holding the mantilla from their flushed, 
 awakened face, sat their impatient horses as easily 
 as foam rides a wave. The sun beat down, making 
 dark cheeks pink and white cheeks darker; but 
 those great eyes, strong with their own fires, never 
 faltered. The old women in attendance grumbled 
 vague remonstrances at all things, from the heat to 
 intercepted coquetries. But their charges have the 
 good duenas little heed. They shouted until their 
 little throats were hoarse, smashed their fans, beat 
 the sides of their mounts with their tender hands, 
 in imitation of the vaqueros. 
 
fUE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 3 
 
 " It is the gayest, the happiest, the most careless 
 life in the world," thought Pio Pico, shutting his 
 teeth, as he looked about him. " But how long will 
 it last ? Curse the Americans ! They are com- 
 ing." 
 
 But the bright hot spark that convulsed assembled 
 Monterey shot from no ordinary condition. A 
 stranger was there, a guest of General Castro, Don 
 Vicente de la Yega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. Not 
 that a stranger was matter for comment in Monte- 
 rey, capital of California, but this stranger had 
 brought with him horses which threatened to dis- 
 grace the famous winners of the North. Two races 
 already had been won by the black Southern 
 beasts. 
 
 " God of my soul ! " cried the girls, one to the 
 other, u their coats are blacker than our hair ! 
 Their nostrils pulse like a heart on fire ! Their eyes 
 flash like water in the sun ! Ay ! the handsome 
 stranger, will he roll us in the dust ? Ay ! our gold- 
 en horses, with the tails and manes of silver how 
 beautiful is the contrast with the vaqueros in their 
 black and silver, their soft white linen ! The shame ! 
 the shame ! if they are put to shame ! Poor 
 Guido ! Will he lose this day, when he has won so 
 many ? But the stranger is so handsome ! God of 
 my life ! his eyes are like dark blue stars. And he is 
 so cold ! He alone he seems not to care. Mother of 
 God ! Mother of God ! he wins again ! No ! 110 ! no ! 
 Yes ! Ay ! yi ! yi ! B-r-a-v-o ! " 
 
 Guido Caba.nares dug his spurs into his horse and 
 
4 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 dashed to the head of the field, where Don Vicente 
 sat at the left of General Castro. He was followed 
 hotly by several friends, sympathetic and indignant. 
 As he rode, he tore off his serape and flung it to the 
 ground ; even his silk riding-clothes sat heavily upon 
 his fury. Don Vicente smiled, and rode forward to 
 meet him. 
 
 " At your service, senor," he said, lifting his som- 
 brero. 
 
 " Take your mustangs back to Los Angeles ! " 
 cried Don Guido, beside himself with rage, the polite- 
 ness and dignity of his race routed by passion. 
 " Why do you bring your hideous brutes here to 
 shame me in the eyes of Monterey ? Why " 
 
 "Yes! Why? Why?" demanded his friends, 
 surrounding De la Vega. " This is not the humilia- 
 tion of a man, but of the North by the accursed 
 South ! You would even take our capital from us ! 
 Los Angeles, the capital of the Californias ! " 
 
 " What have politics to do with horse-racing ? " 
 asked De la Vega, coldly. " Other strangers have 
 brought their horses to your field, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, but they have not won. They have not 
 been from the South." 
 
 By this time almost every caballero on the field 
 was wheeling about De la Vega. Some felt with 
 Cabanares, others rejoiced in his defeat, but all re- 
 sented the victory of the South over the North. 
 
 " Will you run again ? " demanded Cabaiiares. 
 
 " Certainly. Do you think of putting your knife 
 into my neck ? " 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 5 
 
 Cabanares drew back, somewhat abashed, the 
 indifference of the other sputtering like water on his 
 passion. 
 
 " It is not a matter for blood," he said, sulkily ; 
 "but the head is hot and words are quick when 
 horses run neck to neck. And, by the Mother of 
 God, you shall not have the last race. My best 
 horse has not run. Viva El Rayo ! " 
 
 " Viva El Rayo ! " shouted the caballeros. 
 
 "And let the race be between you two alone," 
 cried one. " The North or the South ! Los Angeles 
 or Monterey ! It will be the race of our life." 
 
 " The North or the South ? " cried the caballeros, 
 wheeling and galloping across the field to the donas. 
 " Twenty leagues to a real for Guido Cabanares." 
 
 "What a pity that Ysabel is not here!" said 
 Dona Modeste Castro to Pio Pico. "How those 
 green eyes of hers would flash to-day ! " 
 
 " She would not come," said the Governor. " She 
 said she was tired of the race." 
 
 "Whom do you speak of?" asked De le Vega, 
 who had rejoined them. 
 
 "Of Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Monterey," 
 answered Pio Pico. " The most beautiful woman in 
 the Californias, since Chonita Iturbi y Moncada, my 
 Vicente. It is at her uncle's that I stay. Thou hast 
 heard me speak of my old friend ; and surely thou 
 hast heard of her." 
 
 " Ay ! " said De la Vega. " I've heard of her." 
 
 " Viva El Rayo ! " 
 
 " Ay, the ugly brute ! " 
 
6 THE PEABLS OF LORETO. 
 
 " What name ? Yitriolo ? Mother of God ! Dia- 
 blo or Demonio would suit him better. He looks as 
 if he had been bred in hell. He will not stand the 
 quirto : and El Rayo is more lightly built. We will 
 beat by a dozen lengths." 
 
 The two vaqueros who were to ride the horses had 
 stripped to their soft linen shirt and black velvet 
 trousers, cast aside their sombreros, and bound their 
 head with tightly knotted handkerchief. Their 
 spurs were fastened to bare brown heels ; the cruel 
 quirto was in their hand ; they rode barebacked, 
 winding their wiry legs in and out of a horse-hair 
 rope encircling the body of the animal. As they 
 slowly passed the crowd on their way to the start- 
 ing point at the lower end of the field, and listened 
 to the rattling fire of wagers and comments, they 
 looked defiant, and alive to the importance of the 
 coming event. 
 
 El Rayo shone like burnished copper, his silver 
 mane and tail glittering as if powdered with diamond- 
 dust. He was long and graceful of body, thin of 
 flank, slender of leg. With, arched neck and flash- 
 ing eyes he walked with the pride of one who was 
 aware of the admiration he excited. 
 
 Vitriol o was black and powerful. His long neck 
 fitted into well-placed shoulders. He had great 
 depth of girth, immense length from shoulder-points 
 to hips, big cannon-bones, and elastic pasterns. 
 There was neither amiability nor pride in his mien ; 
 rather a sullen sense of brute power, such as may 
 have belonged to the knights of the Middle Ages. 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 7 
 
 Now and again he curled his lips away from the bit 
 and laid his ears back as if he intended to eat of the 
 elegant Beau Brummel stepping so daintily beside 
 him. Of the antagonistic crowd he took not the 
 slightest notice. 
 
 " The race begins ! Holy heaven ! " The mur- 
 mur rose to a shout a deep hoarse shout strangely 
 crossed and re-crossed by long silver notes ; a thrill- 
 ing volume of sound rising above a sea of flashing 
 eyes and parted lips and vivid moving mass of color. 
 
 Twice the horses scored, and were sent back. 
 The third time they bounded by the starting-post 
 neck and neck, nose to nose. Jose Abrigo, treasurer 
 of Monterey, dashed his sombrero, heavy with silver 
 eagles, to the ground, and the race was begun. 
 
 Almost at once the black began to gain. Inch by 
 inch he fought his way to the front, and the roar 
 with which the crowd had greeted the start died 
 into the silence of apprehension. 
 
 El Rayo was not easily to be shaken off. A third 
 of the distance had been covered, and his nose was 
 abreast of Vitriolo's flank. The vaqueros sat as if 
 carved from bronze, as lightly as if hollowed, watch- 
 ing each other warily out of the corner of their eyes. 
 
 Relentlessly and severely the black still gained, 
 and half-way from home light was visible between 
 the two horses. The pace became terrific, the excite- 
 ment so intense that not a sound was heard but 
 that of racing hoofs. The horses swept onward like 
 projectiles, the same smoothness, the same sug- 
 gestion of eternal flight. The bodies were ex- 
 
8 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 tended until the tense muscles rose under the satin 
 coat* Vitriolo's eyes flashed viciously ; El Kayo's 
 strained with determination. Vitriolo's nostrils were 
 red as angry craters ; El Rayo's fluttered like paper 
 in the wind. 
 
 Three-quarters of the race was run, and the rider 
 of Vitriolo could tell by the sound of the hoof- 
 beats behind him that he had a good head of at least 
 two lengths over the Northern champion. A smile 
 curled the corners of his heavy lips ; the race was 
 his already. 
 
 Suddenly El Rayo's vaquero raised his hand, and 
 down came the maddening quirto, first on one side, 
 then on the other. His spurs dug; the blood 
 spurted. The crowd burst into a howl of delight as 
 their favorite responded. Startled by the sound, 
 Vitriolo's rider darted a glance over his shoulder, 
 and saw El Rayo bearing down upon him like a 
 thunder-bolt, regaining the ground that he had lost 
 not by inches, but by feet. Two hundred paces 
 from the finish he was at the black's flanks ; one 
 hundred and fifty, he was at his girth ; one hundred, 
 and the horses were neck and neck ; and still the 
 quirto whirred down on El Rayo's heaving flanks, 
 the spurs dug deeper into his quivering flesh. 
 
 The vaquero of Vitriolo sat like a graven image, 
 using neither whip nor spur, his teeth set, his eyes 
 rolling from the goal ahead to the rider at his side. 
 
 The breathless intensity of the spectators had 
 burst. They had begun to click their teeth, to mut- 
 ter hoarsely, then to shout, to gesticulate, to shake 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 9 
 
 their fists in each other's face, to push and scramble 
 for a better view. 
 
 " Holy God ! " cried Pio Pico, carried out of him- 
 self, " the South is lost ! Vitriolo the magnificent ! 
 Ah, who would have thought? The black by the 
 gold ! Ay ! What ! No ! Holy Mary ! Holy 
 God! " 
 
 Six strides more and the race is over. With the 
 howl of a demon the vaquero of the South leans for- 
 ward over Vitriolo's neck. The big black responds 
 like a creature of reason. Down comes the quirto 
 once only once. He fairly lifts his horse ahead 
 and shoots into victory, winner by a neck. The 
 South has vanquished the North. 
 
 The crowd yelled and shouted until it was ex- 
 hausted. But even Cabafiares made no further 
 demonstration toward De la Vega. Not only was 
 he weary and depressed, but the victory had been 
 nobly won. 
 
 It grew late, and they rode to the town, caballeros 
 pushing as close to donas as they dared, duenas in 
 close attendance, one theme on the lips of all. Anger 
 gave place to respect ; moreover, De la Yega was 
 the guest of General Castro, the best-beloved man 
 in California. They were willing to extend the 
 hand of friendship ; but he rode last, between the 
 General and Dona Modeste, and seemed to care as 
 little for their good will as for their ill. 
 
 Pio Pico rode ahead, and as the cavalcade entered 
 the town he broke from it and ascended the hill to 
 carry the news to Ysabel Herrera. 
 
10 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 Monterey, rising to her pine-spiked hills, swept 
 like a crescent moon about the sapphire bay. The 
 surf roared and fought the white sand hills of the 
 distant horn ; on that nearest the town crouched the 
 fort, grim and rude, but pulsating with military 
 life, and alert for American onslaught. In the 
 valley the red-tiled white adobe houses studded a 
 little city which was a series of corners radiating 
 from a central irregular street. A few mansions 
 were on the hillside to the right, brush-crowded 
 sand banks on the left ; the perfect curve of hills, 
 thick with pine woods and dense green undergrowth, 
 rose high above and around all, a rampart of splendid 
 symmetry. 
 
 " Ay ! Ysabel ! Ysabel ! " cried the young people 
 as they swept down the broad street. " Bring her 
 to us, Excellency. Tell her she shall not know 
 until she comes down. We will tell her. Ay ! poor 
 Guido!" 
 
 The Governor turned and waved his hand, then 
 continued the ascent of the hill, toward a long, low 
 house which showed no sign of life. 
 
 He alighted and glanced into a room opening upon 
 the corridor which traversed the front. The room 
 was large, and dimly lighted by deeply-set win- 
 dows. The floor was bare, the furniture of horse- 
 hair ; saints and family portraits adorned the white 
 walls ; on a chair lay a guitar a typical Californian 
 sala of that day. The ships brought few luxuries, 
 beyond raiment and jewels, to even the wealthy of 
 that isolated country. 
 
TIIE PEARLS OF LORETO. 11 
 
 " Ysabel," called the Governor, "where art thou? 
 Come down to the town and hear the fortune of the 
 races. Alvarado Street streams like a comet. It is 
 not accordant that the Star of Monterey withhold her 
 light." 
 
 A girl rose from a sofa and came slowly forward 
 to the corridor. Discontent marred her face as she 
 gave her hand to the Governor to kiss, and looked 
 down upon the brilliant town. For the Senorita 
 Dona Ysabel Herrera was poor. Were it not for her 
 uncle she would not have where to lay her stately 
 head ; and she was La Favorita of Monterey, the 
 proudest beauty in California. Her father had 
 gambled away his last acre, his horse, his saddle, 
 the serape off his back; then sent his motherless 
 girl to his brother, and buried himself in Mexico. 
 Don Antonio took the child to his heart, and sent 
 for a widowed cousin to be her duena. He bought 
 her beautiful garments from the ships that touched 
 the port, but had no inclination to gratify her famous 
 longing to hang ropes of pearls in her soft black hair, 
 to wind them about her white neck, and band them 
 above her green resplendent eyes. 
 
 "Unbend thy brows," said Pio Pico. "Wrinkles 
 were not made for youth." 
 
 Ysabel moved her brows apart, but the clouds still 
 lay in her eyes. 
 
 " Thou dost not ask of the races ! Oh, thou in- 
 different one ! What is the trouble, my Ysabel ? 
 Will no one bring the pearls ? The loveliest girl in 
 all the Californias has said, I will wed no man who 
 
12 THE PEAELS OF LORETO. 
 
 does not bring me a lapful of pearls,' and no one has 
 filled the front of that pretty, flowered gown. But 
 have reason, nina. Remember that our Alta Cali- 
 fornia has no pearls on its shores, and that even the 
 pearl fisheries of the terrible lower country are 
 almost worn out. Will nothing less content thee ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 "God of my soul! Thou hast ambition. No 
 woman has had more offered her than thou. But 
 thou art worthy of the most that man could give. 
 Had I not a wife myself, I believe I would throw my 
 jewels and my ugly old head at thy little feet." 
 
 Ysabel glanced with some envy at the magnificent 
 jewels with which the Governor of the Californias 
 was hung, but did not covet the owner. An uglier 
 man than Pio Pico had rarely entered this world. 
 The upper lip of his enormous mouth dipped at the 
 middle ; the broad, thick underlip hung down with 
 its own weight. The nose was big and coarse, 
 although there was a certain spirited suggestion in 
 the cavernous nostrils. Intelligence and reflective- 
 ness were also in his little eyes, and they were far 
 apart. A small white mustache grew above his 
 mouth ; about his chin, from ear to ear, was a short, 
 stubby beard, whiter by contrast with his copper- 
 colored skin. He looked much like an intellectual 
 bear. 
 
 And Ysabel ? In truth, she had reason for her 
 pride. Her black hair, unblemished by gloss or 
 tinge of blue, fell waving to her feet. California, 
 haughty, passionate, restless, pleasure-loving, 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 13 
 
 looked from her dark green eyes ; the soft black 
 lashes dropped like a curtain when they became too 
 expressive. Her full mouth was deeply red, but 
 only a faint pink lay in her white cheeks ; the nose 
 curved at bridge and nostrils. About her low shoul- 
 ders she held a blue reboso, the finger-tips of each 
 slim hand resting on the opposite elbow. She held 
 her head a little back, and Pio Pico laughed as he 
 looked at her. 
 
 " Dios ! " he said, " but thou mightst be an Este- 
 nega or an Iturbi y Moncada. Sure, that lofty head 
 better suits old Spain than the republic of Mexico. 
 Draw thy reboso about thy head now, and let us go 
 down. They expect thee." 
 
 She lifted the scarf above her hair, and walked 
 down the steep rutted hill with the Governor, her 
 flowered gown floating with a silken rustle about 
 her. In a few moments she was listening to the tale 
 of the races. 
 
 " Ay, Ysabel ! God of my soul ! What a day ! 
 A young senor from Los Angeles won the race 
 almost all the races the Senor Don Vicente de la 
 Vega y Arillaga. He has never been here, before. 
 His horses ! Mother of God ! They ran like hares. 
 Poor Guido ! Valgame Dios ! Even thou wouldst 
 have been moved to pity. But he is so handsome ! 
 Look! Look! He comes now, side by side with 
 General Castro. Dios ! his serape is as stiff with 
 gold as the vestments of the padre." 
 
 Ysabel looked up as a man rode past. His bold 
 profile and thin face were passionate and severe ; 
 
14 THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 his dark blue eyes were full of power. Such a face 
 was rare among the languid, shallow men of her 
 race. 
 
 " He rides with General Castro," whispered 
 Benicia Ortega. " He stays with him. We shall 
 see him at the ball to-night." 
 
 As Don Vicente passed Ysabel their eyes met for 
 a moment. His opened suddenly with a bold, eager 
 flash, his arched nostrils twitching. The color left 
 her face, and her eyes dropped heavily. 
 
 Love needed no kindling in the heart of the Cali- 
 fornian. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE people of Monterey danced every night of 
 their life, and went nowhere so eagerly as to the 
 great sala of Doiia Modeste Castro, their leader of 
 fashion, whose gowns were made for her in the city 
 of Mexico. 
 
 Ysabel envied her bitterly. Not because the Dona 
 Modeste's skin was whiter than her own, for it could 
 not be, nor her eyes greener, for they were not ; but 
 because her jewels were richer than Pio Pico's, and 
 upon all grand occasions a string of wonderful pearls 
 gleamed in her storm-black hair. But one feminine 
 compensation had Ysabel : she was taller ; Doiia 
 Modeste's slight, elegant figure lacked Ysabel's 
 graceful inches, and perhaps she too felt a pang 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 15 
 
 sometimes as the girl undulated above her like a 
 snake about to strike. 
 
 At the fashionable hour of ten Monterey was 
 gathered for the dance. All the men except the 
 officers wore black velvet or broadcloth coats and 
 white trousers. All the women wore white, the 
 waists long and pointed, the skirts full. Ysabel's 
 gown was of embroidered crepe. Her hair was 
 coiled about her head, and held by a tortoise comb 
 framed with a narrow band of gold. Pio Pico, 
 splendid with stars and crescents and rings and 
 pins of sapphires, led her in, and with his unique 
 ugliness enhanced her beauty. 
 
 She glanced eagerly about the room whilst replying 
 absently to the caballeros who surrounded her. Don 
 Vicente de la Yega was not there. The thick circle 
 about her parted, and General Castro bent over her 
 hand, begging the honor of the contradanza. She 
 sighed, and for the moment forgot the Southerner, 
 who had flashed and gone like the beginning of a 
 dream. Here was a man the only man of her 
 knowledge whom she could have loved, and who 
 would have found her those pearls. Californians 
 had so little ambition! Then she gave a light 
 audacious laugh. Governor Pico was shaking hands 
 cordially with General Castro, the man he hated 
 best in California. 
 
 No two men could have contrasted more sharply 
 than Jose Castro and Pio Pico with the exception 
 of Alvarado, the most famous men of their country. 
 The gold trimmings of the general's uniform were 
 
16 THL PEARLS OF LO&ETO. 
 
 his only jewels. His hair and beard the latter 
 worn d la Basca, a narrow strip curving from upper 
 lip to ear were as black as Pio Pico's once had 
 been. The handsomest man in California, he had 
 less consciousness than the least of the caballeros. 
 His deep gray eyes were luminous with enthusiasm ; 
 his nose was as fine and bold as if etched on ivory ; 
 his firm, sensitive mouth was cut above a resolute 
 chin. He looked what he was, the ardent patriot of 
 a doomed cause. 
 
 " Senorita," he said, as he led Ysabel out to the 
 sweet, monotonous music of the contradanza, " did 
 you see the caballero who rode with me to-day ? " 
 
 A red light rose to Ysabel's cheek. " Which one, 
 commandante ? Many rode with you." 
 
 " I mean he who rode at my right, the winner of 
 the races, Vicente, son of my old friend Juan Bau- 
 tista de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles." 
 
 " It may be. I think I saw a strange face.'' 
 
 " He saw yours, Doiia Ysabel, and is looking upon 
 you now from the corridor without, although the fog 
 is heavy about him. Cannot you see him that 
 dark shadow by the pillar ? " 
 
 Ysabel never went through the graceful evolutions 
 of the contradanza as she did that night. Her 
 supple, slender body curved and swayed and glided ; 
 her round arms were like lazy snakes uncoiling; 
 her exquisitely poised head moved in perfect con- 
 cord with her undulating hips. Her eyes grew 
 brighter, her lips redder. The young men who 
 stood near gave loud vent to their admiration, as if 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOBEfO. 17 
 
 she had been dancing El Son alone on the floor. 
 But the man without made no sign. 
 
 After the dance was over, General Castro led her 
 to her duena, and handing her a guitar, begged a song. 
 She began a light love-ballad, singing with the 
 grace and style of her Spanish blood ; a little mock- 
 ing thing, but with a wild break now and again. 
 As she sang, she fixed her eyes coquettishly on the 
 adoring face of Guido Cabanares, who stood beside 
 her, but saw every thrill of the form beyond the win- 
 dow. Don Guido kept his ardent eyes riveted upon 
 her but detected no wandering in her glances. His 
 lips trembled as he listened, and once he brushed 
 the tears from his eyes. She gave him a little cyni- 
 cal smile, then broke her song in two. The man on 
 the corridor had dashed his hat to the ground with 
 a loud exclamation, and sprung through the win- 
 dow. 
 
 Ysabel, clinching her hands the better to control 
 her jumping nerves, turned quickly to Cabanares, 
 who had pressed behind her, and was pouring words 
 into her ear. 
 
 "Ysabel! Ysabel! hast thou no pity? Dost 
 thou not see that I am fit to set the world on fire 
 for love of thee ? The very water boils as I drink 
 it- 
 She interrupted him with a scornful laugh, the 
 sharper that her voice might not tremble. " Bring 
 me my pearls. What is love worth when it will not 
 grant one little desire ? " 
 
 He groaned. "I have found a vein of gold on 
 2 
 
18 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 my rancho. I can pick the little shining pieces out 
 with my fingers. I will have them beaten into a 
 saddle for thee " 
 
 But she had turned her back flat upon him, and 
 was making a deep courtesy to the man whom Gen- 
 eral Castro presented. 
 
 "I appreciate the honor of your acquaintance," 
 she murmured, mechanically. 
 
 " At your feet, senorita, " said Don Vicente. 
 
 The art of making conversation had not been cul- 
 tivated among the Californians, and Ysabel plied her 
 large fan with slow grace, at a loss for further 
 remark, and wondering if her heart would suffocate 
 her. But Don Vicente had the gift of words. 
 
 " Senorita, " he said, " I have stood in the chilling 
 fog and felt the warmth of your lovely voice at my 
 heart. The emotions I felt my poor tongue cannot 
 translate. They swarm in my head like a hive of 
 puzzled bees ; but perhaps they look through my 
 eyes," and he fixed his powerful and penetrating 
 gaze on Ysabel's green depths. 
 
 A waltz began, and he took her in his arms with- 
 out asking her indulgence, and regardless of the 
 indignation of the mob of men about her. Ysabel, 
 whose being was filled with the tumult of awaken- 
 ing passion, lay passive as he held her closer than 
 man had ever dared before. 
 
 " I love you," he said, in his harsh voice. " I wish 
 you for my wife. At once. When I saw you to-day 
 standing with a hundred other beautiful women, I 
 said : * She is the fairest of them all. I shall have 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 19 
 
 her.' And I read the future in" he suddenly 
 dropped the formal " you " " in thine eyes, carina. 
 Thy soul sprang to mine. Thy heart is locked in 
 my heart closer, closer than my arms are holding 
 thee now. " 
 
 The strength of his embrace was violent for a 
 moment; but Ysabel might have been cut from 
 marble. Her body had lost its swaying grace ; it 
 was almost rigid. She did not lift her eyes. But 
 De la Vega was not discouraged. 
 
 The music finished, and Ysabel was at once sur- 
 rounded by a determined retinue. This intruding 
 Southerner was welcome to the honors of the race- 
 field, but the Star of Monterey was not for him. He 
 smiled as he saw the menace of their eyes. 
 
 " I would have her, " he thought, " if they were a 
 regiment of Castros which they are not." But he 
 had not armed himself against diplomacy. 
 
 " Senor Don Vicente de la Yega y Arillaga, " said 
 Don Guido Cabanares, who had been selected as 
 spokesman, " perhaps you have not learned during 
 your brief visit to our capitol that the SeSorita Dona 
 Ysabel Herrera, La Favorita of Alta California, has 
 sworn by the Holy Virgin, by the blessed Junipero 
 Serra, that she will wed no man who does not bring 
 her a lapful of pearls. Can you find those pearls on 
 the sands of the South, Don Vicente ? For, by the 
 holy cross of God, you cannot have her without 
 them ! " 
 
 For a moment De la Vega was disconcerted. 
 
 " Is this true ? " he demanded, turning to Ysabel. 
 
20 THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 "What, senor?" she asked, vaguely. She had 
 not listened to the words of her protesting admirer. 
 
 A sneer bent his mouth. " That you have put a 
 price upon yourself? That the man who ardently 
 wishes to be your husband, who has even won your 
 love, must first hang you with pearls like " He 
 stopped suddenly, the blood burning his dark face, 
 his eyes opening with an expression of horrified 
 hope. "Tell me! Tell me!" he exclaimed. "Is 
 this true?" 
 
 For the first time since she had spoken with him 
 Ysabel was herself. She crossed her arms and 
 tapped her elbows with her pointed fingers. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "it is true." She raised her eyes 
 to his and regarded him steadily. They looked like 
 green pools frozen in a marble wall. 
 
 The harp, the flute, the guitar, combined again, 
 and once more he swung her from a furious circle. 
 But he was safe ; General Castro had joined it. He 
 waltzed her down the long room, through one ad- 
 joining, then into another, and, indifferent to the 
 iron conventions of his race, closed the door behind 
 them. They were in the sleeping-room of Dona 
 Modes te. The bed with its rich satin coverlet, the 
 bare floor, the simple furniture, were in semi-dark- 
 ness ; only on the altar in the corner were candles 
 burning. Above it hung paintings of saints, finely 
 executed by Mexican hands ; an ebony cross spread 
 its black arms against the white wall ; the candles 
 flared to a golden Christ. He caught her hands and 
 dragged her over to the altar. 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 21 
 
 " Listen to me," he said. " I will bring you those 
 pearls. You shall have such pearls as no queen in 
 Europe possesses. Swear to me here, with your 
 hands on this altar, that you will wed me when I 
 return, no matter how or where I find those pearls." 
 
 He was holding her hands between the candelabra. 
 She looked at him with eyes of passionate surrender ; 
 the man had conquered worldly ambitions. But he 
 answered her before she had time to speak. 
 
 " You love me, and would withdraw the condi- 
 tions. But I am in a mood to do a daring and a ter- 
 rible act. Furthermore, I wish to show you that I 
 can succeed where all other men have failed. I only 
 ask two things now. First, make me the vow I wish." 
 
 " I swear it," she said. 
 
 " Now," he said, his voice sinking to a harsh but 
 caressing whisper, "give me one kiss for courage 
 and hope." 
 
 She leaned slowly forward, the blood pulsing in 
 her lips ; but she had been brought up behind grated 
 windows, and she drew back. " No," she said, " not 
 now." 
 
 For a moment he looked rebellious ; then he laid 
 his hands on her shoulders and pressed her to her 
 knees. He knelt behind her, and together they told 
 a rosary for his safe return. 
 
 He left her there acd went to his room. From his 
 saddle-bag he took a long letter from a intimate 
 friend, one of the younger Franciscan priests of the 
 Mission of Santa Barbara, where he had been 
 educated. He sought this paragraph : 
 
22 THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 " Thou knowest, of course, my Vicente, of the 
 pearl fisheries of Baja' California. It is whispered 
 between ourselves, indeed, it is quite true that a 
 short while ago the Indian divers discovered an ex- 
 travagantly rich bed of pearls. Instead of reporting 
 to any of the companies, they have hung them all 
 upon our Most Sacred Lady of Loreto, in the Mission 
 of Loreto ; and there, by the grace of God. they will 
 remain. They are worth the ransom of a king, my 
 Vicente, and the Church has come to her own 
 again." 
 
 III. 
 
 THE fog lay thick on the bay at dawn next morn- 
 ing. The white waves hid the blue, and muffled the 
 roar of the surf. Now and again a whale threw a 
 volume of spray high in the air, a geyser from a 
 phantom sea. Above the white sands straggled the 
 white town, ghostly, prophetic. 
 
 De la Vega, a dark sombrero pulled over his eyes, 
 a dark serape enveloping his tall figure, rode, unat- 
 tended and watchful, out of the town. Not until he 
 reached the narrow road through the brush forest 
 beyond did he give his horse rein. The indolence 
 of the Californian was no longer in his carriage ; it 
 looked alert and muscular; recklessness accentuated 
 the sternness of his face. 
 
THE PERRLS OF LORETO. 23 
 
 As he rode, the fog receded slowly. He left the 
 chaparral and rode by green marshes cut with 
 sloughs and stained with vivid patches of orange. 
 The frogs in the tules chanted their hoarse matins. 
 Through brush-covered plains once more, with 
 sparsely wooded hills in the distance, and again the 
 tules, the marsh, the patches of orange. Tie rode 
 through a field of mustard ; the pale yellow petals 
 burshed his dark face, the delicate green leaves won 
 his eyes from the hot glare of the ascending sun, the 
 slender stalks, rebounding, smote his horse's flanks. 
 lie climbed hills to avoid the wide marshes, and 
 descended into willow groves and fields ot daisies. 
 Before noon he was in the San Juan Mountains, thick 
 with sturdy oaks, bending their heads before the 
 madrono, that belle of the forest, with her robes of 
 scarlet and her crown of bronze. The yellow lilies 
 clung to her skirts, and the buckeye flung his flowers 
 at her feet. The last redwoods were there, piercing 
 the blue air with their thin inflexible arms, gray as 
 a dusty band of friars. Out by the willows, where- 
 under crept the sluggish river, then between the 
 hills curving about the valley of San Juan Bautista. 
 
 At no time is California so beautiful as in the 
 month of June. De la Vega's wild spirit and savage 
 purpose were dormant for the moment as he rode 
 down the valley toward the mission. The hills 
 were like gold, like mammoth fawns veiled with 
 violet mist, like rich tan velvet. Afar, bare blue 
 steeps were pink in their chasms, brown on their 
 spurs, The dark yellow fields were as if thick with. 
 
24 THE PEARLS OF LOBETO. 
 
 gold-dust ; the pale mustard was a waving yellow 
 sea. Not a tree marred the smooth hills. The 
 earth sent forth a perfume of its own. Below the 
 plateau from which rose the white walls of the mis- 
 sion was a wide field of bright green corn rising 
 against the blue sky. 
 
 The padres in their brown hooded robes came out 
 upon the long corridor of the mission and welcomed 
 the traveler. Their lands had gone from them, their 
 mission was crumbling, but the spirit of hospitality 
 lingered there still. They laid meat and fruit and 
 drink on a table beneath the arches, then sat about 
 him and asked him eagerly for news of the day. 
 Was it true that the United States of America were 
 at war with Mexico, or about to be ? True that their 
 beloved flag might fall, and the stars and stripes of 
 an insolent invader rise above the fort of Monterey ? 
 
 De la Yega recounted the meager and conflicting 
 rumors which had reached California, but, not being 
 a prophet, could not tell them that they would be 
 the first to see the red white and blue fluttering on 
 the mountain before them. He refused to rest more 
 than an hour, but mounted the fresh horse the 
 padres gave him arid went his way, riding hard and 
 relentlessly, like all Californians. 
 
 He sped onward, through the long^ hot day, 
 leaving the hills for the marshes and a long stretch 
 of ugly country, traversing the beautiful San 
 Antonio Valley in the night, reaching the Mission 
 of San Miguel at dawn, and resting there for a few 
 hours, That night he slept at a hospitable ranch- 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 v< 
 
 25 
 
 house in the park valley of Paso de Robles, a grim, 
 silent figure amongst gay-hearted people who de- 
 lighted to welcome him. The early morning found 
 him among the chrome hills, and at the Mission of 
 San Luis Obispo the good padres gave him break- 
 fast. The little valley, round as a well, its bare 
 hills red and brown, gray and pink, violet and 
 black, from fire, sloping steeply from a dizzy height, 
 impressed him with a sense of being prisoned 
 in an enchanted vale where no message of the outer 
 world could come, and he hastened on his way. 
 
 Absorbed as he was, he felt the beauty he flew 
 past. A line of golden hills lay against sharp blue 
 peaks. A towering mass of gray rocks had been cut 
 and lashed by wind and water, earthquake and fire, 
 into the semblance of a massive castle, still warlike 
 in its ruin. He slept for a few hours that night in 
 the Mission of Santa Ynes, and was high in the 
 Santa Barbara Mountains at the next noon. For 
 brief whiles he forgot his journey's purpose as his 
 horse climbed slowly up the steep trails, knocking 
 the loose stones down a thousand feet and more 
 upon a roof of tree-tops which looked like stunted 
 brush. Those gigantic masses of huge smooth 
 stones, each wearing a semblance to the face of 
 man or beast ; those awful chasms and stupendous 
 heights, densely wooded, bare, and many-hued, rising 
 above, beyond, peak upon peak, cutting through the 
 visible atmosphere was there no end ? He turned 
 in his saddle and looked over low peaks and canons, 
 rivers and abysms, black peaks smiting the fiery- 
 
26 THE PEAELS OF LORETO. 
 
 blue far, far to the dim azure mountains on the 
 horizon. 
 
 "Mother of God!" he thought. "No wonder 
 California still shakes ! I would I could have stood 
 upon a star and beheld the awful throes of this 
 country's birth." And then his horse reared be- 
 tween the sharp spurs and galloped on. 
 
 He avoided the Mission of Santa Barbara, resting 
 at a rancho outside the town. In the morning, sup- 
 plied as usual with a fresh horse, he fled onward^ 
 with the ocean at his right, its splendid roar in his 
 ears. The cliffs towered high above him; he saw 
 no man's face for hours together ; but his thoughts 
 companioned him, savage and sinister shapes whirl- 
 ing about the figure of a woman. On, on, sleeping 
 at ranches or missions, meeting hospitality every- 
 where, avoiding Los Angeles, keeping close to the 
 ponderous ocean, he left civilization 'behind him at 
 last, and with an Indian guide entered upon that 
 desert of mountain tops, Baja California. 
 
 Rapid traveling was not possible here. There 
 were no valleys worthy the name. The sharp peaks, 
 multiplying mile after mile, were like teeth of 
 gigantic rakes, black and bare. A wilderness of 
 mountain-tops, desolate as eternity, arid, parched, 
 baked by the awful heat, the silence never broken 
 by the cry of a bird, a hut rarely breaking the barren 
 monotony, only an infrequent spring to save from 
 death. It was almost impossible to get food or fresh 
 horses. Many a night De la Vega and his stoical 
 guide slept beneath a cactus, or in the mocking 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOBETO. 27 
 
 of a creek. The mustangs he managed to lasso 
 were almost unridable, and would have bucked to 
 death any but a California!!. Sometimes he lived 
 on cactus fruit and the dried meat he had brought 
 with him ; occasionally he shot a rabbit. Again 
 he had but the flesh of the rattlesnake roasted over 
 coals. But honey-dew was on the leaves. 
 
 He avoided the beaten trail, and cut his way 
 through naked bushes spiked with thorns, and 
 through groves of cacti miles in length. When the 
 thick fog rolled up from the ocean he had to sit 
 inactive on the rocks, or lose his way. A furious 
 storm dashed him against a bowlder, breaking his 
 mustang's leg; then a torrent, rising like a tidal 
 wave, thundered down the gulch, and catching him 
 on its crest, flung him upon a tree of thorns. When 
 dawn came he found his guide dead. He cursed his 
 luck, and went on. 
 
 Lassoing another mustang, he pushed on, having 
 a general idea of the direction he should take. It 
 was a week before he reached Loreto, a week of 
 loneliness, hunger, thirst, and torrid monotony. 
 A week, too, of thought and bitterness of spirit. In 
 spite of his love, which never cooled, and his 
 courage, which never quailed, Nature, in her guise of 
 foul and crooked hag, taught him the barrenness of 
 earthly happiness, the mockery of human hope. 
 When youth's delusions were over, then the naked 
 desert, the wayless fogs, the never-ending climbing 
 and descending amongst thorns that pierced and 
 rocks that barred. 
 
28 THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 If he had not spent his life in the saddle, he would 
 have been worn out when he finally reached Loreto, 
 late one night. As it was, he slept in a hut until 
 the following afternoon. Then he took a long swim 
 in the bay, and, later, sauntered through the town. 
 
 The forlorn little city was hardly more than a 
 collection of Indian's huts about a church in a sandy 
 waste. No longer the capital, even the barracks 
 were toppling. When De la Vega entered the 
 mission not a white man but the padre and his as- 
 sistant was in it ; the building was thronged with 
 Indian worshipers. The mission, although the first 
 built in California, was in a fair state of preser- 
 vation. The Stations in their battered frames were 
 mellow and distinct. The gold still gleamed in the 
 vestments of the padre. 
 
 i For a few moments De la Vega dared not raise 
 eyes to the Lady of Loreto, standing aloft in the 
 dull blaze of adamantine candles. When he did. 
 he rose suddenly from his knees and left the mission, 
 The pearls were there. 
 
 It took him but a short time to gain the confidence 
 of the priest and the little population. He offered 
 no explanation for his coming, beyond the curiosity 
 of the traveler. The padre gave him a room in the 
 mission, and spent every hour he could spare with 
 the brilliant stranger. At night he thanked God 
 for the sudden oasis in his life's desolation. The 
 Indians soon grew accustomed to the lonely figure 
 wandering about the sand plains, or kneeling for 
 hours together before the altar in the church. And 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 29 
 
 whom their padre trusted was to them as sacred 
 and impersonal as the wooden saints of their re- 
 ligion. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE midnight stars watched over the mission. 
 Framed by the cross-shaped window sunk deep in 
 the adobe wall above the entrance, a mass of them 
 assumed the form of the crucifix, throwing a golden 
 trail full upon the Lady of Loreto, proud in her 
 shining pearls. The long, narrow body of the 
 church seemed to have swallowed the shadows of 
 the ages, and to yawn for more. 
 
 De la Vega, booted and spurred, his serape folded 
 about him, his sombrero on his head, opened the 
 sacristy door and entered the church. In one hand 
 he held a sack ; in the other, a candle sputtering in 
 a bottle. He walked deliberately to the foot of the 
 altar. In spite of his self-control, he stood appalled 
 for a moment as he saw the dim radiance envelop- 
 ing the Lady of Loreto. He scowled over his 
 shoulders at the menacing emblem of redemption, 
 and crossed himself. But had it been the finger of 
 God, the face of Ysabel would have shone between. 
 He extinguished his candle, and swinging himself 
 to the top of the altar, plucked the pearls from the 
 Virgin's gown and dropped them into the sack. His 
 
30 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 hand trembled a little, but he held his will between 
 his teeth. 
 
 How quiet it was ! The waves flung themselves 
 upon the shore with the sullen wrath of impotence. 
 A sea-gull screamed now and again, an exclamation- 
 point in the silence above the waters. Suddenly De 
 la Vega shook from head to foot, and snatched the 
 knife from his belt. A faint creaking echoed through 
 the hollow church. He strained his ears, holding his 
 breath until his chest collapsed with the shock of 
 outrushing air. But the sound was not repeated, 
 and he concluded that it had been but a vibration of 
 his nerves. He glanced to the window above the 
 doors. The stars in it were no longer visible ; they 
 had melted into bars of flame. The sweat stood cold 
 on his face, but he went on with his work. 
 
 A rope of pearls, cunningly strung together with 
 strands of sea- weed, was wound about the Virgin's 
 right arm. De la Vega was too nervous to uncoil 
 it ; he held the sack beneath, and severed the strands 
 with his knife. As he finished, and was about to 
 stoop and cut loose the pearls from the hem of the 
 Virgin's gown, he uttered a hoarse cry and stood 
 rigid. A cowled head, with thin lips drawn over 
 yellow teeth, furious eyes burning deep in withered 
 sockets, projected on its long neck from the Virgin's 
 right and confronted him. The body was unseen. 
 
 "Thief!" hissed the priest. "Dog! Thou 
 wouldst rob the Church ? Accursed ! accursed ! " 
 
 There was not one moment for hesitation, one 
 alternative. Before the priest could complete his 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 31 
 
 malediction, De la Vega's knife had flashed through 
 the fire of the cross. The priest leaped from his 
 feet, then rolled over and down, and rebounded from 
 the railing of the sanctuary. 
 
 V. 
 
 YSABEL sat in the low window-seat of her bedroom, 
 pretending to draw the threads of a cambric hand- 
 kerchief. But her fingers twitched, and her eyes 
 looked oftener down the hill than upon the delicate 
 work which required such attention. She wore a 
 black gown flowered with yellow roses, and a slender 
 ivory cross at her throat. Her hair hung in two 
 loose braids, sweeping the floor. She was very pale, 
 and her pallor, was not due to the nightly entertain- 
 ments of Monterey. 
 
 Her dueiia sat beside her. The old woman was 
 the color of strong coffee; but she, too, looked as if 
 she had not slept, and her straight old lips curved 
 tenderly whenever she raised her eyes to the girl's 
 face. 
 
 There was no carpet on the floor of the bedroom 
 of La Favorita of Monterey, the heiress of Don 
 Antonio Herrera, and the little bedstead in the cor- 
 ner was of iron, although a heavy satin coverlet 
 trimmed with lace was on it. A few saints looked 
 down from the walls ; the furniture was of native 
 
32 THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 wood, square and ugly, but it was almost bidden 
 under fine linen elaborately worked with the desha- 
 lados of Spain. 
 
 The supper hour was over, and the light grew dim. 
 Ysabel tossed the handkerchief into Dona Juana's 
 lap, and stared through the grating. Against the 
 faded sky a huge cloud, shaped like a fire-breathing 
 dragon, was heavily outlined. The smoky shadows 
 gathered in the woods. The hoarse boom of the surf 
 came from the beach ; the bay was uneasy, and the 
 tide was high. The earth had quaked in the morn- 
 ing, and a wind-storm fought the ocean. The gay, 
 bright laughter of women floated up from the town. 
 Monterey had taken her siesta, enjoyed her supper, 
 and was ready to dance through the night once more. 
 
 " He is dead," said Ysabel. 
 
 " Sure," said the old woman. 
 
 " He would have come back to me before this." 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 " He was so strong and so different, mamita." 
 
 " I never forget his eyes. Very bold eyes." 
 
 " They could be soft,- macheppa." 
 
 " Sure. It is time thou dressed for the ball at the 
 Custom-house, niiiita." 
 
 Ysabel leaned forward, her lips parting. A man 
 was coming up the hill. He was gaunt ; he was 
 burnt almost black. Something bulged beneath his 
 serape. 
 
 Doila Juana found herself suddenly in the middle 
 of the room. Ysabel darted through the only door, 
 locking it behind her. The indignant duena also 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 33 
 
 recognized the man, and her position. She trotted 
 to the door and thumped angrily on the panel; 
 sympathetic as she was, she could never so far forget 
 herself as to permit a young girl to talk with a man 
 unattended. 
 
 " Thou shalt not go to the ball to-night," she cried, 
 shrilly. " Thou shalt be locked in the dark room. 
 Thou shalt be sent to the rancho. Open ! open ! thou 
 wicked one. Mother of God ! I will beat thee with 
 my own hands." 
 
 But she was a prisoner, and Ysabel paid no atten- 
 tion to her threats. The girl was in the sala, and 
 the doors were open. As De la Vega crossed the 
 corridor and entered the room she sank upon a chair, 
 covering her face with her hands. 
 
 He strode over to her, and flinging his scrape from 
 his shoulder, opened the mouth of a sack and poured 
 its contents into her lap. Pearls of all sizes and 
 shapes pearls black and pearls white, pearls pink 
 and pearls faintly blue, pearls like globes and pearls 
 like pears, pearls as big as the lobe of Pio Pico's ear, 
 pearls as dainty as bubbles of frost a lapful of 
 gleaming, luminous pearls, the like of which caballero 
 had never brought to doila before. 
 
 For a moment Ysabel forgot her love and her lover. 
 The dream of a lifetime was reality. She was the 
 child who had cried for the moon and seen it tossed 
 into her lap. 
 
 She ran her slim, white fingers through the jewels. 
 She took up handfuls and let them run slowly back 
 to her lap. She pressed them to her face ; she kissed 
 3 
 
34 THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 
 
 them with little rapturous cries. She laid them 
 against her breast and watched them chase each 
 other down her black gown. Then at last she raised 
 her head and met the fierce sneering eyes of De la 
 Yega. 
 
 " So it is as I might have known. It was only the 
 pearls you wanted. It might have been an Indian 
 slave who brought them to you." 
 
 She took the sack from his hand and poured back 
 the pearls. Then she laid the sack on the floor and 
 stood up. She was no longer pale, and her eyes 
 were brilliant in the darkening room. 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " I forgot for a moment. But 
 during many terrible weeks, seiior, my tears have 
 not been for the pearls." 
 
 The sudden light that was De la Vega's chiefest 
 charm sprang to his eyes. He took her hands and 
 kissed them passionately. 
 
 " That sack of pearls would be a poor reward for 
 one tear. But thou hast shed them for me ? Say 
 that again. Mi alma ! mi alma ! " 
 
 " I never thought of the pearls at least not often. 
 At last, not at all. I have been very unhappy, 
 seiior. Ay ! " The maiden reserve which had 
 been knit like steel about her plastic years burst 
 in that hour. " Thou art ill ! What has happened 
 to thee ? Ay, Dios ! what it is to be a woman and 
 to suffer ! Thou wilt die ! Oh, Mother of God ! " 
 
 " I shall not die. Kiss me, Ysabel. Surely it is 
 time now." 
 v But she drew back and shook her head. 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 35 
 
 He exclaimed impatiently, but would not resign 
 her hand. " Thou meanest that, Ysabel ? " 
 
 " We shall be married soon wait." 
 
 " I had hoped thou wouldst grant me that. For 
 when I tell thee where I got those pearls thou 
 mayest drive me from thee in spite of thy promise 
 drive me from thee with the curse of the devout 
 woman on thy lips. I might invent some excuse to 
 persuade thee to fly with me from California to- 
 night, and thou wouldst never know. But I am a 
 man a Spaniard and a De la Vega ! I shall not 
 lie to thee." 
 
 She looked at him with wide eyes, not understand- 
 ing, and he went on, his face savage again, his voice 
 harsh. He told her the whole story of that night in 
 the mission. He omitted nothing the menacing 
 cross, the sacrilegious theft, the deliberate murder ; 
 the pictures were painted with blood and fire. She 
 did not interrupt him with cry or gasp, but her ex- 
 pression changed many times. Horror held her 
 eyes for a time, then slowly retreated, and his own 
 fierce pride looked back at him. She lifted her head 
 when he had finished, her throat throbbing, her nos- 
 trils twitching. 
 
 " Thou hast done that for me ? " 
 
 "Ay, Ysabel!" 
 
 " Thou hast murdered thy immortal soul for 
 me?" 
 
 Ysabel ! " 
 
 " Thou lovest me like that ! O God, in what like- 
 ness hast thou made me ? In whatsoever image it 
 
BG THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 may have been, I thank Thee and repudiate 
 Thee ! " 
 
 She took the cross from her throat and broke it 
 in two pieces with her strong white fingers. 
 
 " Thou art lost, eternally damned ; but I will go 
 down to hell with thee." And she threw herself 
 suddenly forward and kissed him on the mouth. 
 
 For a moment he forgot the lesson thrust into his 
 brain by the hideous fingers of the desert. He was 
 almost happy. He put his hands about her warm 
 face after a time. " We must go to-night," he said. 
 " I went to General Castro's to change my clothes, 
 and learned that a ship sails for the United States 
 to-night. We will go on that. I dare not delay 
 twenty-four hours. It may be that they are upon 
 my heels now. How can we meet ? " 
 
 Her thoughts had traveled faster than his words, 
 and she answered at once, " There is a ball at the 
 Custom-house to-night. I will go. Thou wilt have 
 a boat below the rocks. Thou knowest that the 
 Custom-house is on the rocks at the end of the town, 
 near the fort. No ? It will be easier for me to slip 
 from the ball-room than from this house. Only tell 
 me where thou wilt meet me." 
 
 " The ship sails at midnight. I too will go to the 
 ball; for with me thou canst escape more easily. 
 Hast thou a maid thou canst trust ? " 
 
 " My Luisa is faithful." 
 
 " Then tell her to be on the beach between the 
 rocks of the Custom-house and the fort with what 
 thou must take with thee." 
 
PEAELS OF LORETO. 37 
 
 Again he kissed her many times, but softly. 
 " Wear thy pearls to-night. I wish to see thy 
 triumphant hour in Monterey." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I shall wear the pearls." 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE corridor of the Custom-house had been en- 
 closed to protect the musicians and supper table 
 from the wind and fog. The store-room had been 
 cleared, the floor scrubbed, the walls hung with the 
 colors of Mexico. All in honor of Pio Pico, again in 
 brief exile from his beloved Los Angeles. The Gov- 
 ernor, blazing with diamonds, stood at the upper 
 end of the room by Doila Modes te Castro's side. 
 About them were Castro and other prominent men 
 of Monterey, all talking of the rumored war between 
 the United States and Mexico, and prophesying 
 various results. Neither Pico nor Castro looked 
 amiable. The Governor had arrived in the morning 
 to find that the General had allowed pasquinades 
 representing his Excellency in no complimentary 
 light to disfigure the streets of Monterey. Castro, 
 when taken to task, had replied haughtily that it 
 was the Governor's place to look after his own dig- 
 nity; he, the Commandante-General of the army 
 of the Californias, had more important matters to 
 
88 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 attend to. The result had been a furious Avar of 
 words, ending in a larne peace. 
 
 " Tell us, Excellency," said Jose Abrigo, " what 
 will be the outcome ? " 
 
 " The Americans can have us if they wish," said 
 Pio Pico, bitterly. " We cannot prevent." 
 
 " Never ! " cried Castro. " What ? We cannot 
 protect ourselves against the invasion of bandoleros ? 
 Do yoti forget what blood stings the veins of the 
 Calif ornian? A Spaniard stand with folded arms 
 and see his country plucked from him ! Oh, sacri- 
 lege ! They will never have our Calif ornias while a 
 Castro lives to cut them down ! " 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! " cried many voices. 
 
 " I tell you " began Pio Pico, but Dofia Modeste 
 interrupted him. " No more talk of war to-night," 
 she said, peremptorily. " Where is Ysabel ? " 
 
 " She sent me word by Doila^Juana that she could 
 not make herself ready in time to come with me, 
 but would follow with my good friend, Don Antonio, 
 who of course had to wait for her. Tier gown was 
 not finished, I believe. I think she had done some- 
 thing naughty, and that Dona Juana had tried to 
 punish her, but had not succeeded. The old lady 
 looked very sad. Ah, here is Dona Ysabel now ! " 
 
 " How lovely she is ! " said Doiia Modeste. " I 
 think What! what!" 
 
 " God of my soul," exclaimed Pio Pico, " where 
 did she get those pearls ? " 
 
 The crowd near the door had parted, and Ysabel 
 entered on the arm of her uncle. Don Antonio's 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 39 
 
 form was bent, and she looked taller by contrast. 
 His thin, sharp profile was outlined against her 
 white neck, bared for the first time to the eyes of 
 Monterey. Her shawl had just been laid aside, and 
 he was near-sighted and did not notice the pearls. 
 
 She had sewn them all over the front of her white 
 silk gown. She had wound them in the black coils 
 of her hair. They wreathed her neck and roped her 
 arms. Never had she looked so beautiful. Her 
 great green eyes were as radiant as spring. Her 
 lips were redder than blood. A pink flame burned 
 in her oval cheeks. Her head moved like a Cali- 
 fornian lily on its stalk. No Monteriio would ever 
 forget her. 
 
 " El Son ! " cried the young men, with one accord. 
 Her magnificent beauty extinguished every other 
 woman in the room. She must not hide her light 
 in the contradanza. She should madden all eyes at 
 once. 
 
 Ysabel bent her head and glided to the middle of 
 the room. The other women moved back, their 
 white gowns like a snow bank against the lurid 
 walls. The thin, sweet music of the instruments 
 rose above the boom of the tide. Ysabel lifted her 
 dress with curving arms, displaying arched feet clad 
 in flesh-colored stockings and white slippers, and 
 danced El Son. 
 
 Her little feet tapped time to the music; she 
 whirled her body with utmost grace, holding her 
 head so motionless that she could have balanced a 
 glass of water thereon. She was inspired that 
 
40 THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 
 
 night ; and when, in the midst of the dance, De la 
 Vega entered the room, a sort of madness possessed 
 her. She invented new figures. She glided back 
 and forth, bending and swaying and doubling until 
 to the eyes of her bewildered admirers the outlines 
 of her lovely body were gone. Even the women 
 shouted their approval, and the men went wild. 
 They pulled their pockets inside out and flung hand- 
 fuls of gold at her feet. Those who had only silver 
 cursed their fate, but snatched the watches from 
 their pockets, the rings from their fingers, and 
 hurled them at her with shouts and cheers. They 
 tore the lace ruffles from their shirts ; they rushed 
 to the next room and ripped the silver eagles from 
 their hats. Even Pio Pico flung one of his golden 
 ropes at her feet, a hot blaze in his old ugly face, as 
 he cried : 
 
 " Brava ! brava ! thou Star of Monterey ! * 
 Guido Cabaiiares, desperate at having nothing 
 more to sacrifice to his idol, sprang upon a chair, 
 and was about to tear down the Mexican flag, when 
 the music stopped with a crash, as if musicians and 
 instruments had been overturned, and a figure 
 leaped into the room. 
 
 The women uttered a loud cry and crossed them- 
 selves. Even the men fell back. Ysabel's swaying 
 body trembled and became rigid. De la Vega, who 
 had watched her with folded arms, too entranced to 
 oft'er her anything but the love that shook him, 
 turned livid to his throat. A friar, his hood fallen 
 back from his stubbled head, his brown habit stiff 
 
THE PEARLS OF LOEETO. 41 
 
 with dirt, smelling, reeling with fatigue, stood 
 amongst them. Ills eyes were deep in his ashy face. 
 They rolled about the room until they met De la 
 Vega's. 
 
 General Castro came hastily forward. "What 
 does this mean ? " he asked. " What do you 
 wish?" 
 
 The friar raised his arm, and pointed his shaking 
 finger at De la Vega. 
 
 " Kill him ! " he said, in a loud hoarse whisper. 
 " He has desecrated the Mother of God ! " 
 
 Every caballero in the room turned upon De 
 la Vega with furious satisfaction. Ysabel had 
 quickened their blood, and they were willing to cool 
 it in vengeance on the man of whom they were still 
 jealous, and whom they suspected of having brought 
 the wondrous pearls which covered their Favorita 
 to-night. 
 
 " What ? What ? " they cried, eagerly. " Has he 
 done this thing ? " 
 
 " He has robbed the Church. He has stripped 
 the Blessed Virgin of her jewels. He has mur- 
 dered a priest of the Holy Catholic Church." 
 
 Horror stayed them for a moment, and then they 
 rushed at De la Vega. " He does not deny it ! " 
 they cried. " Is it true ? Is it true ? " and they 
 surged about him hot with menace. 
 
 "It is quite true" said De la Vega, coldly. "I 
 plundered the shrine of Loreto and murdered its 
 priest." 
 
 The women panted and gasped; for a moment 
 
42 THE PEARLS OF LOHETO. 
 
 even the men were stunned, and in that moment an 
 ominous sound mingled with the roar of the surf. 
 Before the respite was over Ysabel had reached his 
 side. 
 
 " He did it for me ! " she cried, in her clear trium- 
 phant voice. " For me ! And although you kill us 
 both, I am the proudest woman in all the Californias, 
 and I love him." 
 
 " Good ! " cried Castro, and he placed himself 
 before them. " Stand back, every one of you. 
 What ? are you barbarians, Indians, that you would 
 do violence to a guest in your town ? What if he 
 has committed a crime ? Is he not one of you, then, 
 that you offer him blood instead of protection? 
 Where is your pride of caste? your hospitality? 
 Oh, perfidy ! Fall back, and leave the guest of your 
 capital to those who are compelled to judge him." 
 
 The caballeros shrank back, sullen but abashed. 
 He had touched the quick of their pride. 
 
 " Never mind*! " cried the friar. " You cannot 
 protect him from that. Listen ! " 
 
 Had the bay risen about the Custom-house ? 
 
 " What is that ? " demanded Castro, sharply. 
 
 "The poor of Monterey; those who love their 
 Cross better than the aristocrats love their caste. 
 They know." 
 
 De la Vega caught Ysabel in his arms and dashed 
 across the room and corridor. His knife cut a long 
 rift in the canvas, and in a moment they stood upon 
 the rocks. The shrieking crowd were on the other 
 side of the Custom-house, 
 
THE PEARLS OF LORETO. 43 
 
 "Marcos ! " he called to his boatman, " Marcos ! " 
 
 No answer came but the waves tugging at the 
 rocks not two feet below them. He could see noth- 
 ing. The fog was thick as night. 
 
 " He is not here, Ysabel. We must swim. Any- 
 thing but to be torn to pieces by those wild-cats. 
 Art thou afraid ? " 
 
 No," she said. 
 
 He folded her closely with one arm, and felt with 
 his foot for the edge of the rocks. A wild roar 
 came from behind. A dozen pistol-shots were fired 
 into the air. De l;i Vega reeled suddenly. " I am 
 shot, Ysabel," he said, his knees bending. " Not in 
 this world, my love ! " 
 
 She wound her arms about him, and dragging 
 him to the brow of the rocks, hurled herself out- 
 ward, carrying him with her. The waves tossed 
 them on high, flung them against the rocks and 
 ground them there, playing with them like a lion, 
 with its victim, then buried them. 
 
THE EARS OF 
 TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " GOD of my soul ! Do not speak of hope to me. 
 Hope ? For what are those three frigates, swarming 
 with a horde of foreign bandits, creeping about our 
 bay ? For what have the persons of General Vullejo 
 and Judge Leese been seized and imprisoned ? Why 
 does a strip of cotton, painted with a gaping bear, 
 flaunt itself above Sonoma? O, abomination! O, 
 execrable profanation ! Mother of God, open thy 
 ocean and suck them down ! Smite them with 
 pestilence if they put foot in our capital ! Shrivel 
 their fingers to the bone if they dethrone our Aztec 
 Eagle and flourish their stars and stripes above 
 our fort! O, California! That thy sons and thy 
 daughters should live to see thee plucked like a rose, 
 by the usurper ! And why ? Why ? Not because 
 these piratical Americans have the right to one league 
 of our land ; but because, Holy Evangelists ! they 
 want it ! Our lands are rich, our harbors are fine, 
 
 45 
 
46 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 gold veins our valleys, therefore we must be plucked. 
 The United States of America are mightier than 
 Mexico, therefore they sweep down upon us with 
 mouths wide open. Holy God ! That I could choke 
 but one with my own strong fingers. Oh!"Doila 
 Eustaquia paused abruptly and smote her hands to- 
 gether, " Oh, that I were a man ! That the women 
 of California were men ! " 
 
 On this pregnant morning of July seventh, eight- 
 een hundred and forty-six, all aristocratic Monterey 
 was gathered in the sala of Dofia Modeste Castro. 
 The hostess smiled sadly. " So does my husband," 
 she said, " for the men of our country want the Amer- 
 icans." 
 
 " And why ? " asked one of the young men, flick- 
 ing a particle of dust from his silken riding jacket. 
 " We shall then have freedom from the constant 
 war of opposing factions. If General Castro and 
 Governor Pico are not calling Juntas in which to de- 
 nounce each other, a Carillo is pitting his ambition 
 against an Alvarado. The Gringos will rule us 
 lightly and bring us peace. They will not disturb 
 our grants, and will give us rich prices for our 
 lands " 
 
 " Oh, fool ! " interrupted Doiia Eustaquia. 
 " Thrice fool ! A hundred years from now, Fer- 
 nando Altimira, and our names will be forgotten in 
 California. Fifty years from now and our walls 
 will tumble upon us whilst we cook our beans in 
 the rags that charity American charity has flung 
 us ! I tell you that the hour the American flag 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 47 
 
 waves above the fort of Monterey is the hour of the 
 Calif ornians' doom. We have lived in Arcadia 
 ingrates that you are to complain they will run 
 over us like ants and sting us to death ! " 
 
 " That is the prediction of my husband," said 
 Dofia Modeste. " Liberty, Independence, Decency, 
 Honor, how long will they be his watch- words ? " 
 
 " Not a day longer ! " cried Doiia Eustaquia, " for 
 the men of California are cowards." 
 
 "Cowards! We? No man should say that to 
 us ! " The caballeros were on their feet, their eyes 
 flashing, as if they faced in uniform the navy of 
 the United States, rather than confronted, in lace 
 ruffles and silken short clothes, an angry, scornful 
 woman. 
 
 " Cowards ! " continued Fernando Altimira. " Are 
 not men flocking about General Castro at San Juan 
 Bautista, willing to die in a cause already lost ? If 
 our towns were sacked or our women outraged 
 would not the weakest of us fight until we died in 
 our blood? But what is coming is for the best, 
 Dona Eustaquia, despite your prophecy ; and as we 
 cannot help it we, a few thousand men against a 
 great nation we resign ourselves because we are 
 governed by reason instead of by passion. No one 
 reverences our General more than Fernando Alti- 
 mira. No grander man ever wore a uniform ! But 
 he is fighting in a hopeless cause, and the fewer 
 who uphold him the less blood will flow, and the 
 sooner the struggle will finish." 
 
 Dona Modeste covered her beautiful face and wept. 
 
48 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Many of the women sobbed in sympathy. Bright 
 eyes from beneath gay rebosas or delicate mantillas, 
 glanced approvingly at the speaker. Brown old men 
 and women stared gloomily at the floor. But the 
 greater number followed every motion of their 
 master-spirit, Dona Eustaquia Ortega. 
 
 She walked rapidly up and down the long room, 
 too excited to sit down, flinging the mantilla back 
 as it brushed her hot cheek. She was a woman not 
 yet forty, and very handsome, although the peach- 
 iness of youth had left her face. Her features were 
 small but sharply cut; the square chin and firm 
 mouth had the lines of courage and violent emotions ; 
 her piercing, intelligent eyes interpreted a terrible 
 power of love and hate. But if her face was so 
 strong as to be almost unfeminine, it was frank and 
 kind. 
 
 Doiia Eustaquia might watch with joy her bay 
 open and engulf the hated Americans, but she 
 would nurse back to life the undrowned bodies flung 
 upon the shore. If she had been born a queen she 
 would have slain in anger, but she would not have 
 tortured. General Castro had flung his hat at her 
 feet many times, and told her that she was born to 
 command. Even the nervous irregularity of her 
 step to-day could not affect the extreme elegance of 
 her carriage, and she carried her small head with 
 the imperious pride of a sovereign. She did not 
 speak again for a moment, but as she passed the 
 group of young men at the end of the room her eyes 
 flashed from one languid face to another. She hated 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 49 
 
 their rich breeches and embroidered jackets buttoned 
 with silver and gold, the lace handkerchief knotted 
 about their shapely throat. No man was a man 
 who did not wear a uniform. 
 
 Don -Fernando regarded her with a mischievous 
 smile as she approached him a second time. 
 
 " I predict, also," he said, " I predict that our 
 charming Dona Eustaquia will yet wed an Amer- 
 ican " 
 
 " What ! " she turned upon him with the fury of 
 a lioness. " Hold thy prating tongue ! I marry an 
 American ? God ! I would give every league of my 
 ranches for a necklace made from the ears of twenty 
 Americans. I would throw my jewels to the pigs if 
 I could feel here upon my neck the proof that twenty 
 American heads looked ready to be fired from the 
 cannon on the hill ! " 
 
 Everybody in the room laughed, and the atmos- 
 phere felt lighter. Muslin gowns began to flutter, 
 and the seal of disquiet sat less heavily upon care- 
 worn or beautiful faces. But before the respite was 
 a moment old a young man entered hastily from the 
 street, and throwing his hat on the floor, burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " What is it ? " the words came mechanically from 
 every one in the room. 
 
 The herald put his hand to his throat as if to con- 
 trol the swelling muscles. "Two hours ago," he 
 said, " Commander Sloat sent one Captain William 
 Mervine on shore to demand of our Commandante 
 the surrender of the town. Don Mariano walked 
 
50 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 the floor, wringing his hands, until a quarter of an 
 hour ago, when he sent word to the insolent servant 
 of a pirate-republic that he had no authority to de- 
 liver up the capital, and bade him go to San Juan 
 Bautista and confer with General Castro. "Where- 
 upon the American thief ordered two hundred and 
 fifty of his men to embark in boats do not you 
 hear?" 
 
 A mighty cheer shook the air amidst the thunder 
 of cannon; then another, and another. 
 
 Every lip in the room was white. 
 
 "What is that?" asked Doiia Eustaquia. Her 
 voice was hardly audible. 
 
 " They have raised the American flag upon the 
 Custom-house," said the herald. 
 
 For a moment no one moved ; then as by one im- 
 pulse, and without a word, Doiia Modeste Castro 
 and her guests rose and ran through the streets to 
 the Custom-house on the edge of the town. 
 
 In the bay were three frigates of twenty guns 
 each. On the rocks, in the street by the Custom- 
 house and on- its corridors, was a small army of men 
 in the naval uniform of the United States, respectful 
 but determined. About them and the little man 
 who read aloud from a long roll of paper, surged 
 the aristocrats and the rabble of the town. Men 
 with sunken eyes who had gambled all night, leav- 
 ing even serape and sombrero on the gaming table ; 
 girls with painted face staring above cheap and 
 gaudy satins, who had danced at fandangos in the 
 booths until dawn, then wandered about the beach, 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 51 
 
 too curious over the movements of the American 
 squadron to go to bed ; shopkeepers, black and rusty 
 of face, smoking big pipes with the air of philoso- 
 phers ; Indians clad in a single garment of calico, 
 falling in a straight line from the neck; eagle-beaked 
 old crones with black shawl over their head ; chil- 
 dren wearing only a smock twisted about their little 
 waist and tied in a knot behind ; a few American 
 residents, glancing triumphantly at each other; 
 caballeros, gay in the silken attire of summer, sit- 
 ting in angry disdain upon their plunging, superbly 
 trapped horses ; last of all, elegant women in their 
 lace mantillas and flowered rebosas, weeping and 
 clinging to each other. Few gave ear to the read- 
 ing of Sloat's proclamation. 
 
 Benicia, the daughter of Doiia Eustaquia, raised 
 her clasped hands, the tears streaming from her 
 eyes. " Oh, these Americans ! How I hate them ! " 
 she cried, a reflection of her mother's violent spirit 
 on her sweet face. 
 
 Doiia Eustaquia caught the girl's hands and flung 
 herself upon her neck. "Ay, California! Califor- 
 nia ! " she cried wildly. " My country is flung to its 
 knees in the dirt ! " 
 
 A rose from the upper corridor of the Custom- 
 house, struck her daughter full in the face 
 
52 THE EARS Off TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 THE same afternoon Benicia ran into the sala 
 where her mother was lying on a sofa, and exclaimed 
 excitedly, "My mother! My mother! It is not so 
 bad. The Gringos are not so wicked as we have 
 thought. The proclamation of the Commodore Sloat 
 has been pasted on all the walls of the town, and 
 promises that our grants shall be secured to us 
 under the new government, that we shall elect 
 our own alcaldes, that we shall continue to worship 
 God in our own religion, that our priests shall be 
 protected, that we shall have all the rights and 
 advantages of the American citizen " 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Doiia Eustaquia, springing to her 
 feet. Her face still burned with the bitter experi- 
 ence of the morning. " Tell me of no more lying 
 promises ! They will keep their word ! Ay, I do 
 not doubt but they will take advantage of our igno- 
 rance, with their Yankee sharpness ! I know them ! 
 Do not speak of them to me again. If it must be, 
 it must ; and at least I have thee." She caught the 
 girl in her arms, and covered the flower-like face 
 with passionate kisses. " My little one ! My dar- 
 ling ! Thou lovest thy mother better than all the 
 world? Tell me!" 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 53 
 
 The girl pressed her soft, red lips to the dark face 
 which could express such fierceness of love and hate. 
 
 "My mother! Of course I love thee. It is be- 
 cause I have thee that I do not take the fate of my 
 country to deeper heart. So long as they do not 
 put their ugly bayonets between us, what difference 
 whether the eagle or the stars wave above the fort?" 
 
 " Ah, my child, thou hast not that love of country 
 which is part of my soul ! But perhaps it is as well, 
 for thou lovest thy mother the more. Is it not so, 
 my little one ? " 
 
 " Surely, my mother ; I love no one in the world 
 but you." 
 
 Dona Eustaquia leaned back and tapped the girl's 
 fair cheek with her finger. 
 
 " Not even Don Fernando Altimira ? " 
 
 " No, my mother." 
 
 " Nor Flujencio Hernandez ? Nor Juan Perez ? 
 Nor any of the caballeros who serenade beneath thy 
 window ? " 
 
 " I love their music, but it comes as sweetly from 
 one throat as from another." 
 
 Her mother gave a long sigh of relief. " And yet 
 I would have thee marry some day, my little one. 
 I was happy with thy father thanks to God that 
 he did not live to see this day I was as happy, 
 for two little years, as this poor nature of ours can 
 be, and I would have thee be the same. But do not 
 hasten to leave me alone. Thou art so young! 
 Thy eyes have yet the roguishness of youth; I 
 would not see love flash it aside. Thy mouth is 
 
54 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 like a child's ; I shall shed the saddest tears of my life 
 the day it trembles with passion. Dear little one ! 
 Thou hast been more than a daughter to me ; thou 
 hast been my only companion. I have striven to 
 impart to thee the ambition of thy mother and the 
 intellect of thy father. And I am proud of thee, 
 very, very proud of thee ! " 
 
 Benicia pinched her mother's chin, her mischiev- 
 ous eyes softening. " Ay, my mother, I have clone 
 my little best, but I shall never be you. I am 
 afraid I love to dance through the night and flirt 
 my breath away better than I love the intellectual 
 conversation of the few people you think worthy to 
 sit about you in the evenings. I am like a little 
 butterfly sitting on the mane of a mountain lion " 
 
 " Tush ! Tush ! Thou knowest more than any 
 girl in Monterey, and I am satisfied with thee. 
 Think of the books thou hast read, the languages 
 thou hast learned from the Senor Hartnell. Ay, 
 my little one, nobody but thou wouldst dare to say 
 thou cared for nothing but dancing and flirting, 
 although I will admit that even Ysabel Ilerrera 
 could scarce rival thee at either." 
 
 " Ay, my poor Ysabel ! My heart breaks every 
 night when I say a prayer for her." She tightened 
 the clasp of her arms and pressed her face close to 
 her mother's. " Mamacita, darling," she said coax- 
 ingly, " I have a big favor to beg. Ay, an enor- 
 mous one ! How dare I ask it ? " 
 
 " Aha ! What is it ? I should like to know. I 
 thought thy tenderness was a little anxious." 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 55 
 
 c/ Ay, mamacita ! Do not refuse me or it will 
 break my heart. On Wednesday night, Don 
 Thomas Larkin gives a ball at his house to the 
 officers of the American squadron. Oh, mamacita ! 
 mamacita ! darling ! do, do, let me go ! " 
 
 " Benicia ! Thou wouldst meet those men ? Val- 
 game Dios ! And thou art a child of mine ! " 
 
 She . flung the girl from her, and walked rap- 
 idly up and down the room, Benicia following with 
 her little white hands outstretched. " Dearest one ; 
 I know just how you feel about it ! But think a 
 moment. They have come to stay. They will 
 never go. We shall meet them everywhere every 
 night every day. And my new gown, mamacita ! 
 Tho beautiful silver spangles ! There is not such a 
 gown in Monterey ! Ay, I must go. And they say 
 the Americans hop like puppies when they dance. 
 I low I shall laugh at them! And it is not once in 
 the year that I have a chance to speak English, and 
 none of the other girls can. And all the girls, all 
 the girls, all the girls, will go to this ball. Oh, 
 
 mamacita ! " 
 
 
 
 Her mother was obliged to laugh. "Well, well, 
 I cannot refuse thee anything ; thou knowest that ! 
 Go to the ball ! Ay, yi, do not smother me ! As 
 thou sayest that little head can think we must 
 meet these insolent braggarts sooner or later. So I 
 would not " her cheeks blanched suddenly, she 
 caught her daughter's face between her hands, and 
 bent her piercing eyes above the girl's soft depths. 
 " Mother of God ! That could not be. My child ! 
 
56 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Thou couldst never love an American ! A Gringo ! 
 A Protestant ! Holy Mary ! " 
 
 Benicia threw back her head and gave a long 
 laugh the light, rippling laugh of a girl who has 
 scarcely dreamed of lovers. " I love an American ? 
 Oh, my mother ! A great, big, yellow-haired bear ! 
 When I only want to laugh at their dancing ! No, 
 mamacita, when I love an American thou shalt 
 have his ears for thy necklace." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THOMAS O. LARKIN, United States Consul to Cali- 
 fornia until the occupation left him without duties, 
 had invited Monterey to meet the officers of the 
 Savannah, Cyane, and Levant, and only Dona Mo- 
 deste Castro had declined. At ten o'clock the sala of 
 his large house on the rise of the hill was thronged 
 with white-gowned girls sitting demurely behind 
 the wide shoulders of coffee-colored dowagers, also 
 in white, and blazing with jewels. The young ma- 
 trons were there, too, although they left the sala at 
 intervals to visit the room set apart for the nurses 
 and children ; no Montereila ever left her little ones 
 at home. The old men and the caballeros wore the 
 black coats and white trousers which Monterey 
 fashion dictated for evening wear ; the hair of the 
 younger men was braided with gay ribbons, and 
 diamonds flashed in the lace of their ruffles. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 57 
 
 The sala was on the second floor ; the musicians 
 sat on the corridor beyond the open window and 
 scraped their fiddles and twanged their guitars, 
 awaiting the coming of the American officers. 
 Before long the regular tramp of many feet turning 
 from Alvarado Street up the little Primera del 
 Este, facing Mr. Larkin's house, made dark eyes 
 flash, lace and silken gowns flutter. Benicia and a 
 group of girls were standing by Dona Eustaquia. 
 They opened their large black fans as if to wave 
 back the pink that had sprung to their cheeks. 
 Only Benicia held her head saucily back, and her 
 large brown eyes were full of defiant sparkles. 
 
 " Why art thou so excited, Blandina ? " she asked 
 of a girl who had grasped her arm. " I feel as if 
 the war between the United States and California 
 began to-night." 
 
 " Ay, Benicia, thou hast so gay a spirit that noth- 
 ing ever frightens thee ! But, Mary ! How many 
 they are ! They tramp as if they would go through 
 the stair. Ay, the poor flag ! No wonder 
 
 "Now, do not cry over- the flag any more. 
 Ah! there is not one to compare with General 
 Castro ! " 
 
 The character of the Californian sala had changed 
 forever ; the blue and gold of the United States had 
 invaded it. 
 
 The officers, young and old, looked with much in- 
 terest at the faces, soft, piquant, tropical, which gave 
 the effect of pansies looking inquisitively over a 
 snowdrift. The girls returned their glances with 
 
58 TIIE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 approval, for they were as fine and manly a set of 
 men as had ever faced death or woman. Ten 
 minutes later California and the United States were 
 flirting outrageously. 
 
 Mr. Larkin presented a tall officer to Benicia. That 
 the young man was very well-looking even Benicia 
 admitted. True, his hair was golden, but it was 
 cut short, and bore no resemblance to the coat of a 
 bear ; his mustache and brows were brown ; his 
 gray eyes were as laughing as her own. 
 
 "I suppose you do not speak any English 
 seiiorita," he said helplessly. 
 
 "No? I spik English like the Spanish. The 
 Spanish people no have difficult at all to learn the 
 other langues. But Seiior Hartnell he say it no is 
 easy at all for the English to spik the French and 
 the Spanish, so I suppose you no spik one word our 
 langue, no ? " 
 
 He gallantly repressed a smile. " Thankfully I 
 may say that I do not, else would I not have the 
 pleasure of hearing you speak English. Never have 
 I heard it so charmingly spoken before." 
 
 Benicia took her skirt between the tips of her 
 fingers and swayed her graceful body forward, as a 
 tule bends in the wind. 
 
 " You like dip the flag of the conqueror in honey, 
 seilor. Ay? We need have one compliment for 
 every tear that fall since your eagle stab his beak in 
 the neck de ours." 
 
 "Ah! the loyal women of Monterey! I have no 
 words to express my admiration for them, seiiorita. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 59 
 
 A thousand compliments are not worth one tear." 
 
 Benicia turned swiftly to her mother, her eyes 
 glittering with pleasure. " Mother, you hear ! You 
 hear ! " she cried in Spanish. " These Americans 
 are not so bad, after all." 
 
 Dona Eustaquia gave the young man one of her rare 
 smiles ; it flashed over her strong, dark face, until 
 the light of youth was there once more. 
 
 "Very pretty speech," she said, with slow pre- 
 cision. " I thank you, Senor Russell, in the name 
 of the women of Monterey." 
 
 "By Jove! Madame senora I assure you I 
 never felt so cut up in my life as when I saw all 
 those beautiful women crying down there by the 
 Custom-house. I am a good American, but I would 
 rather have thrown the flag under your feet than 
 have seen you cry like that. And I assure you, dear 
 sefiora, every man among us felt the same. As you 
 have been good enough to thank me in the name of 
 the women of Monterey, I, in behalf of the officers 
 of the United States squadron, beg that you will 
 forgive us." 
 
 Dona Eustaquia's cheek paled again, and she set 
 her lips for a moment; then she held out her hand. 
 
 " Seiior," she said, " we are conquered, but we are 
 Californians ; and although we do not bend the head, 
 neither do we turn the back. We have invite you 
 to our houses, and we cannot treat you like enemies. 
 I will say with how you say it truth ? we did 
 hate the thought that you come and take the coun- 
 try that was ours. But all is over and cannot be 
 
60 THE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 change. So, it is better we are good friends than 
 poor ones ; and and my house is open to you, 
 senor." 
 
 Russell was a young man of acute perceptions ; 
 moreover, he had heard of Dofia Eustaquia ; he di- 
 vined in part the mighty effort by which good breed- 
 ing and philosophy had conquered bitter resentment. 
 He raised the little white hand to his lips. 
 
 " I would that I were twenty men, Senora. Each 
 would be your devoted servant." 
 
 " And then she have her necklace ! " cried Benicia 
 delightedly. 
 
 "What is that ?" asked Russell; but DonaEusta- 
 quia shook her fan threateningly, and turned away. 
 
 " I no tell you everything," said Benicia, " so no 
 be too curiosa. You no dance the contradanza, no ? " 
 
 " I regret to say that I do not. But this is a plain 
 waltz ; will you not dance it with me ? " 
 
 Benicia, disregarding the angry glances of ap- 
 proaching caballeros, laid her hand on the officer's 
 shoulder, and he spun her down the room. 
 
 " Why, you no dance so bad ! " she said with sur- 
 prise. "I think always the Americanos dance so 
 terreeblay." 
 
 " Who could not dance with a fairy in his arms ? " 
 
 " What funny things you say. I never been called 
 fairy before." 
 
 " You have never been appreciated." And then, 
 in the whirl- waltz of that day, both lost their breath. 
 
 When the dance was over and they stood near 
 Dona Eustaquia, he took the fan from Benicia's hand 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 61 
 
 and waved it slowly before her. She laughed out- 
 right. 
 
 "You think I am so tire I no can fan myself ?" 
 she demanded. " How queer are these Americanos ! 
 Why, I have dance for three days and three nights 
 and never estop." 
 
 "Seiiorita!" 
 
 " Si, seiior. Oh, we estop sometimes, but no for 
 long. It was at Sonoma two months ago. At the 
 house de General Vallejo." 
 
 " You certainly are able to fan yourself ; but it is 
 no reflection upon your muscle. It is only a custom 
 we have." 
 
 " Then I think much better you no have the cus- 
 tom. You no look like a man at all when you fan 
 like a girl." 
 
 He handed her back the fan with some choler. 
 
 " Really, senorita, you are. very frank. I suppose 
 you would have a man lie in a hammock all day and 
 roll-cigaritos." 
 
 " Much better do that than take what no is yours." 
 
 " Which no American ever did ! " 
 
 " Excep' when they pull California out the pocket 
 de Mexico." 
 
 " And what did Mexico do first ? I should like to 
 know. Did she not threaten the United States with 
 hostilities for a year, and attack a small detach- 
 ment of our troops with a force of seven thousand 
 men " 
 
 " No make any difference what she do. Si she do 
 wrong, that no is excuse for you do wrong." 
 
62 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Two angry young people faced each other. 
 
 " You steal our country and insult our men. But 
 they can fight, Madre de Dios ! I like see General 
 Castro take your little Commodore Sloat by the 
 neck. He look like a little gray rat." 
 
 " Commodore Sloat is a brave and able man, Miss 
 Ortega, and no officer in the United States navy will 
 hear him insulted." 
 
 " Then much better you lock up the ears." 
 
 "My dear Mr. Russell! Benicia, what is the 
 matter?" 
 
 Mr. Larkin stood before them, an amused smile on 
 his thin, intellectual face. " Come, come, have we 
 not met to-night to dance the waltz of peace ? My 
 dear children, do not begin the war when the war is 
 over. Benicia, your most humble admirer has a 
 favor to crave of you. I would have my country- 
 men learn at once the utmost grace of the Califor- 
 nian. Dance El Jarabe, please, and with Don 
 Fernando Altimira." 
 
 Benicia lifted her dainty white shoulders. She 
 was not unwilling to avenge herself upon the 
 American by dazzling him with her grace and 
 beauty. Her eye's swift invitation brought Don 
 Fernando, scowling, to her side. He led her to the 
 middle of the room and the musicians played the 
 stately jig. 
 
 Benicia swept one glance of defiant coquetry at 
 Russell from beneath her curling lashes, then fixed 
 her eyes upon the floor, nor raised them again. She 
 held her reed-like body very erectly and took either 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 63 
 
 side of her spangled skirt in the tips of her fingers, 
 lifting it just enough to show the arched little feet 
 in their embroidered stockings and satin slippers. 
 Don Fernando crossed his hands behind him, and 
 together they rattled their feet on the floor with 
 dexterity and precision, whilst the girls sang the 
 words of the dance. The officers gave them genuine 
 applause, delighted with this picturesque fragment 
 of life on the edge of the Pacific. Don Fernando 
 listened to their demonstrations with sombre con- 
 tempt on his dark, handsome face ; Benicia indicated 
 her pleasure by sundry archings of her narrow 
 brows, or coquettish curves of her red lips. Sud- 
 denly she made a deep courtesy and ran to her mother 
 with a long, sweeping movement, like the bending 
 and lifting of grain in the wind. As she approached 
 Russell he took a rose from his coat and threw it at 
 her. She caught it, thrust it carelessly in one of her 
 thick braids, and the next moment he was at her 
 side again. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DONA EUSTAQUIA slipped from the crowd and out 
 of the house. Drawing a rebosa about her head she 
 walked swiftly down the street and across the plaza. 
 Sounds of ribaldry came from the lower end of the 
 town, but the aristocratic quarter was very quiet, 
 and she walked unmolested to the house of General 
 
64 THE EAHS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Castro. The door was open and she went down 
 the long hall to the sleeping-room of Dona Modeste. 
 There was no response to her knock, and she pushed 
 open the door and entered. The room was lighted 
 only by the candles on the altar, but Dona Modeste 
 was not in the big mahogany bed, for the heavy 
 satin coverlit was still over it. Dona Eustaquia 
 crossed the room to the altar and lifted in her arms 
 the small figure kneeling there. 
 
 "Pray no more, my friend," she said. "Our 
 prayers have been unheard, and thou art better in 
 bed or with thy friends." 
 
 Doila Modeste threw herself wearily into a chair, 
 but took Doiia Eustaquia's hand in a tight clasp. 
 Her white skin shone like pearl in the dim light, 
 and with her black hair and green, tragic eyes, made 
 her look like a wild witch queen, for suffering nor 
 humiliation could bend that stately head. 
 
 " Religion is my solace," she said, " my only one ; 
 for I have not a brain of iron nor a soul of fire like 
 thine. And, Eustaquia, I have more cause to pray 
 to-night." 
 
 " It is true, then, that Jose is in retreat ? Ay, 
 Mary!" 
 
 "My husband, deserted by all but one hundred 
 men, is flying southward from San Juan Bautista, 
 I have it from the Wash-Tub-Mail. That is never 
 wrong." 
 
 " In grates ! Traitors ! But it is true, Modeste 
 surely, no? that our general will not surrender? 
 That he will stand against the Americans ? " 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 65 
 
 "He will not yield. He would have marched 
 upon Monterey and forced them to give him battle 
 here but for this base desertion. Now he will go to 
 Los Angeles and command the men of the South to 
 rally about him." 
 
 " I knew that he would not kiss the boots of the 
 Americans, like the rest of our men! Oh, the 
 cowards! I could almost say to-night that I like 
 better the Americans than the men of my own race. 
 They are Castros ! I shall hate their flag so long as 
 life is in me ; but I cannot hate the brave men who 
 fight for it. But my pain is light to thine. Thy 
 heart is wrung and I am sorry for thee." 
 
 " My day is over. Misfortune is upon us. Even 
 if my husband's life is spared ay, shall I ever see 
 him again ? his position will be taken from him, for 
 the Americans will conquer in the end. He will be 
 Commandante-General of the army of the Californias 
 no longer, but Holy God ! A ranchero ! A cabal- 
 lero ! He at whose back all California has galloped ! 
 Thou knowest his restless, aspiring soul, Eustaquia, 
 his ambition, his passionate love of California. Can 
 there be happiness for such . a man humbled to the 
 dust no future ! no hope ? Ay ! " she sprang to 
 her feet with arms uplifted, her small, slender form 
 looking twice its height as it palpitated against the 
 shadows, "I feel the bitterness of that spirit! I 
 know how that great heart is torn. And he is 
 alone!" She flung herself across Dona Eustaquia's 
 knees and burst into violent sobbing. 
 
 Dona Eustaquia laid her strong arm about her 
 5 
 
6G TBE EAttS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 friend, but her eyes were more angry than soft. 
 "Weep no more, Modeste," she said. "Rather, 
 arise and curse those who have flung a great man 
 into the dust. But comfort thyself. Who can 
 know? Thy husband, weary with fighting, dis- 
 gusted with men, may cling the closer to thee, and 
 with thee and thy children forget the world in thy 
 redwood forests or between the golden hills of thy 
 ranches." 
 
 Dona Modeste shook her head. " Thou speakest 
 the words of kindness, but thou knowest Jose. 
 Thou knowest that he would not be content to be 
 as other men. And, ay, Eustaquia, to think that 
 it was opposite our own dear home, our favorite 
 home, that the American flag should have first been 
 raised ! Opposite the home of Jose Castro ! " 
 
 "To perdition with Fremont! Why did he, of 
 all places, select San Juan Bautista in which to 
 hang up his American rag ? " 
 
 "We never can live there again. The Gabilan 
 mountains would shut out the very face of the sun 
 from my husband." 
 
 " Do not weep, my Modeste ; remember thy other 
 beautiful ranches. God of my soul ! " she added 
 with a flash of humor, " I revere San Juan Bautista 
 for thy husband's sake, but I weep not that I -will 
 visit thee there no more. Every day I think to hear 
 that the shaking earth of that beautiful valley has 
 opened its jaws and swallowed every hill and adobe. 
 God grant that Fremont's hair stood up more than 
 once. But go to bed, my friend. Look, I will put 
 
TEE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 67 
 
 thee there." As if Doiia Modeste were an infant^ 
 she undressed and laid her between the linen sheets 
 with their elaborate drawn work, then made her 
 drink a glass of angelica, folded and laid away the 
 satin coverlet, and left the house. 
 
 She walked up the plaza slowly, holding her head 
 a little back. Monterey at that time was infested by 
 dogs, some of them very savage. Dona Eustaquia's 
 strong soul had little acquaintance with fear, and on 
 her way to General Castro's house she had paid no 
 attention, to the snarling muzzles thrust against her 
 gown. But suddenly a cadaverous creature sprang 
 upon her with a savage yelp, and would have caught 
 her by the throat had not a heavy stick cracked its 
 skull. A tall officer in the uniform of the United 
 States navy raised his cap from iron-gray hair, and 
 looked at her with blue eyes as piercing as her 
 own. 
 
 " You will pardon me, madam," he said, " if I in- 
 sist upon attending you to your door. It is not safe 
 for a woman to walk alone in the streets of Monterey 
 at night." 
 
 Dona Eustaquia bent her head somewhat haugh- 
 tily. " I thank you much, seiior, for your kind res- 
 cue. I would not like, at all, to be eaten by the 
 dogs. But I not like to trouble you to walk with 
 me. I go only to the house of the Senor Larkin. It 
 is there, at the end of the little street beyond the 
 plaza." 
 
 " My dear madam, you must not deprive the 
 United States of the pleasure of protecting Cali- 
 
68 THE EAES OF TWENTY ANEEICANS. 
 
 fornia. Pray grant my humble request to walk be- 
 hind you and keep off the dogs." 
 
 Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down 
 the bitter retort. 
 
 " Walk by me if you wish," she said graciously. 
 "Why are you not at the house of Don Thomas 
 Larkin ? " 
 
 " I am on my way there now. Circumstances 
 prevented my going earlier." His companion did 
 not seem, disposed to pilot the conversation, and he 
 continued, lamely, " Have you noticed, madam, that 
 the English frigate, Collingwood, is anchored in the 
 bay ? " 
 
 " I saw it in the morning." She turned to him 
 with sudden hope. " Have they the English 
 come to help California ? " 
 
 " I am afraid, dear madam, that they came to 
 capture California at the first whisper of war be- 
 tween Mexico and the United States ; you know 
 that England has always cast a covetous eye upon 
 your fair land. It is said that the English admiral 
 stormed about the deck in a mighty rage to-day 
 when he saw the American flag flying on the fort." 
 
 " All are alike ! " she exclaimed bitterly, then con- 
 trolled herself. " You do you admeer our country, 
 seiior ? Have you in America something more beau- 
 tiful than Monterey ? " , 
 
 The officer looked about him enthusiastically, glad 
 of change of topic, for he suspected to whom he was 
 talking. " Madam, I have never seen anything 
 more perfect than this beautiful town of Monterey. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 69 
 
 What a situation ! What exquisite proportions ! 
 That wide curve of snow white sand about the dark 
 blue bay is as exact a crescent as if cut with a knife. 
 And that semicircle of hills behind the town with 
 its pine and brush forest tapering down to the cres- 
 cent's points ! Nor could anything be more pict- 
 uresque than this scattered little town with its 
 bright red tiles above the white walls of the houses 
 and the gray walls of the yards ; its quaint church 
 surrounded by the ruins of the old presidio, its 
 beautiful, strangely-dressed women and men who 
 make this corner of the earth resemble the pages of 
 some romantic old picture book " 
 
 " Ay ! " she interrupted him. " Much better you 
 feel proud that you conquer us ; for surely, seilor, 
 California shall shine like a diamond in the very 
 center of America's crown." Then she held out her 
 hand impulsively. " Mucho gracias, seilor pardon 
 thank you very much. If you love my country, 
 sefior, you must be my friend and the friend of my 
 daughter. I am the Senora Doiia Eustaquia Carillo 
 de Ortega, and my house is there on the hill you 
 can see the light, no ? Always we shall be glad to 
 see you." 
 
 He doffed his cap again and bent over her hand. 
 
 " And I, John Brotherton, a humble captain in the 
 United States navy, most sincerely thank the most 
 famous woman of Monterey for her gracious hospi- 
 tality. And if I abuse it, lay it to the enthusiasm 
 of the American who is not the conquerer but the 
 conquered." 
 
70 TT1E EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 " That was very pretty speech. When you abuse 
 me I put you out the door. This is the house 
 of Don Thomas Larkin, where is the ball. You 
 come in, no ? You like I take your arm ? Very 
 well." 
 
 And so the articles of peace were signed. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " YES, yes indeed, Blandina," exclaimed Benicia, 
 " they had no chance at all last night, for we danced 
 until dawn, and perhaps they were afraid of Don 
 Thomas Larkin. But we will talk and have 
 music to-night, and those fine new tables that 
 came on the last ship from Boston must not be de- 
 stroyed." 
 
 " Well, if you really think," said Blandina, who 
 always thought exactly as Benicia did. She opened 
 a door and called, 
 
 " Flujencio." 
 
 " Well, my sister." 
 
 A dreamy looking young man in short jacket and 
 trousers of red silk entered the room, sombrero in 
 one hand, a cigarito in the other. 
 
 " Flujencio, thou knowest it is said that these 
 1 Yankees ' always ' whittle ' everything. We are 
 afraid that they will spoil the furniture to-night ; so 
 tell one of the servants to cut a hundred pine slugs, 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 71 
 
 and you go down to the store, and buy a box of pen- 
 knives. Then they will have plenty to amuse them- 
 selves with and will not cut the furniture." 
 
 " True ! True ! What a good idea ! Was it 
 Benicia's ? " He gave her a glance of languid adora- 
 tion. " I will buy those knives at once, before I for- 
 get it ; " and he tossed the sombrero on his curls 
 and strode out of the house. 
 
 " How dost thou like the Senor Lieutenant Russell, 
 Benicia ? " 
 
 Benicia lifted her chin, but her cheeks became 
 very pink. 
 
 " Well enough. But he is like all the Americans, 
 very proud, and thinks too well of his hateful coun- 
 try. But I shall teach him how to flirt. 'He thinks 
 he can, but he cannot." 
 
 " Thou canst do it, Benicia look ! Look ! " 
 
 Lieutenant Russell and a brother officer were 
 sauntering slowly by and looking straight through 
 the grated window at the beautiful girls in their 
 gayly flowered gowns. They raised their cap, and 
 the girls bent their slender neck, but dared not 
 speak, for Dona Francesca Hernandez was in the 
 next room and the door was open. Immediately 
 following the American officers came Don Fernando 
 Altimira on horseback. He scowled as he saw the 
 erect, swinging figures of the conquerors, but Beni- 
 cia kissed the tips of her fingers as he flung his 
 sombrero to the ground, and he galloped, smiling, 
 on his way. 
 
 That night the officers of the United States squad- 
 
72 THE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 ron met the society of Monterey at the house of 
 Don Jorje Hernandez. After the contradanza, to 
 which they could only be admiring spectators, much 
 to the delight of the caballeros, Benicia took the 
 guitar presented by Flujencio, and letting her head 
 droop a little to one side like a lily bent on its stalk 
 by the breeze, sang the most coquettish song she 
 knew. Her mahogany brown hair hung unconfined 
 over her white shoulders and gown of embroidered 
 silk with its pointed waist and full skirt. Her 
 large, brown eyes were alternately mischievous and 
 tender, now and again lighted by a sudden flash. 
 Her cheeks were pink; her round, baby-like arms 
 curved with all the grace of the Spanish woman. 
 As she finished the song she dropped her eyelids 
 for a moment, then raised them slowly and looked 
 straight at Russell. 
 
 " By Jove, Ned, you are a lucky dog ! " said a 
 brother officer. " She's the prettiest girl in the 
 room ! Why don't you fling your hat at her feet, 
 as these ardent Calif ornians do?" 
 
 " My cap is in the next room, but I will go over 
 and fling myself there instead." 
 
 Russell crossed the room and sat down beside 
 Benicia. 
 
 " I should like to hear you sing under those 
 cypresses out on the ocean about six or eight miles 
 from here," he said to her. " I rode down the coast 
 yesterday. Jove ! what a coast it is ! " 
 
 " We will have a merienda there on some evening," 
 said Doiia Eustaquia, who sat beside her daughter. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 73 
 
 "It is very beautiful on the big rocks to watch the 
 ocean, under the moonlight." 
 
 " A merienda ? " 
 
 " A peek-neek." 
 
 Good ! You will not forget that? " 
 
 She smiled at his boyishness. " It will be at the 
 next moon, I promise." 
 
 " What is this solemn promise ? " asked Captain 
 Brotherton, joining the group. 
 
 " A moonlight picnic out on those rocks the ones 
 with the cypresses ! " exclaimed Russell. 
 
 " You look about ten," said Brotherton, and then 
 he turned to Don a Eustaquia. " You will take me ? 
 too ? I am willing to ask it on my knees." 
 
 "I sing for you myself in return for the books 
 you send me to-day, seilor." 
 
 "That is compound interest indeed, madam. 
 When you told me last evening that you were fond 
 of reading, I was very proud, I assure you, to be 
 able to add to your pleasure." He took a chair and 
 regarded her for a moment, then glanced about the 
 room. " You look pardon me as if you had read 
 a great deal more than the majority of these lovely, 
 soft-eyed women." 
 
 Her eyes flashed with enthusiasm. " Seiior, I 
 never can tell you what friends the books have been 
 to me ! No ; the women of California or but a few 
 care not for the books ; but I have a great ambi- 
 tion in my mind, senor. I was not a man, so it was 
 not possible for me to be a general like my husband 
 or Jose Castro, nor a great politician like Alvarado 
 
74 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 or Diego Estenega ; but I could learn, I could know. 
 From every bark and ship I bought the books, and 
 for many sent to Boston. Ay, you are very happy, 
 senor, to have so many books in your country ! It 
 is told that you can go any time, any hour, to the 
 store and buy them. Do they say true ? " 
 
 " Surely, dear madam. It seems strange to meet 
 a woman so ambitious in this pleasure-loving coun- 
 try. I wonder you do not come to our Eastern 
 States to live. You would find a thousand things 
 to interest and amuse " 
 
 "What! I leave California? Not for all the 
 books in the world, senor." 
 
 "Then the books must come to you. I, fortu- 
 nately, am somewhat of a student myself, and have 
 a small library with me. I need hardly say that they 
 are all at your disposal. But what do you mean by 
 your great politicians ? I regret to say that I know 
 nothing whatever of the history of your country. 
 Will you forgive my ignorance and tell me some- 
 thing of these men ? " 
 
 " I well can understand that you know nothing 
 of us, for it is like we live on another planet. We 
 not even have the newspapers like you. Alvarado 
 is the greatest of our men except Jose' Castro 
 the more wise of our governors, and very learned, 
 very ambitious, very proud. He liked to make Cal- 
 ifornia independent of Mexico, was it possible, but 
 we are too few, and he love California too much to 
 go to war for nothing. If he been born in your 
 country, he would been famous, like Washington 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 75 
 
 who he admeer so much. Estenega Diego Este- 
 nega " she paused a moment, " he will not have a 
 place even in the history of California. I call him a 
 great politician, for he have the genius, but if you 
 not have heard of him, then, of course, you not have 
 heard his story the story of Diego Estenega and of 
 Chonita Iturbi y Moncada, The Doomswoman ? " 
 
 " I have not. But tell it to me. I should like to 
 hear it." 
 
 " Not now, seiior. Perhaps never. Only I know 
 all that story. I see much, and they, Diego and 
 Chonita, tell me the rest, and I read her journal. I 
 not know why, but I feel I tell you that story some- 
 time. I never tell any one else. No ask other to 
 tell you, for only I know all." 
 
 " I will not. But you rouse my curiosity." 
 
 " No, no, I tell you nothing now. Talk to me of the 
 books." And then a strictly literary conversa- 
 tion ensued, which lasted until the end of the 
 evening. 
 
 Benicia sang another song, and a half dozen 
 caballeros stood about her, regarding her with 
 glances languid, passionate, sentimental, reproach- 
 ful, determined, hopeless. Russell, leaning back in 
 his chair, listened to the innocent, thrilling voice of 
 the girl, and watched her adorers, amused and stim- 
 ulated. The Californian beauty was like no other 
 woman he had known, and the victory would be as 
 signal as the capture of Monterey. "More blood, 
 perhaps," he thought, " but a victory is a poor affair 
 unless painted in red. It will do these seething 
 
76 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 caballeros good to learn that American blood is quite 
 as swift as Californian." 
 
 As the song finished, the musicians began a waltz ; 
 Russell took the guitar from Benicia's hand and laid 
 it on the floor. 
 
 " This waltz is mine, senorita," he said. 
 
 "I no know " 
 
 " Senorita ! " said Don Fernando Altimira, passion- 
 ately, " the first waltz is always mine. Thou wilt 
 not give it to the American ? " 
 
 " And the next is mine ! " 
 
 " And the next contradanza ! " 
 
 The girl's faithful retinue protested for their 
 rights. Russell could not understand, but he inter- 
 preted their glances, and bent his lips to Benicia's 
 ear. That ear was pink and her eyes were bright 
 with roguish triumph. 
 
 "I want this dance, dear senorita. I may go 
 away any day. Orders may come to-morrow which 
 will send me where I can never see you again. You 
 can dance with these men every night of the 
 year " 
 
 "I give to you," said Benicia, rising hurriedly. 
 " We must be hospitable to the stranger who comes 
 to-day and leaves to-morrow," she said in Spanish 
 to the other men. " I have plenty more dances for 
 you." 
 
 After the dance, salads and cakes, claret and 
 water were brought to the women by Indian girls, 
 who glided about the room with borrowed grace, 
 their head erect, the silver trays held well out. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 77 
 
 They wore bright red skirt and white smock of 
 fine embroidered linen, open at the throat, the 
 sleeves very short. Their coarse hair hung in heavy 
 braids, and their bright little eyes twinkled in square 
 faces scrubbed until they shone like copper. 
 
 " Captain," said Russell to Brotherton, as the men 
 followed the host into the supper-room, " let us buy 
 a ranch, marry two of these stunning girls, and lie 
 around in hammocks whilst these Western houris 
 bring us aguardiente and soda. What an improve- 
 ment on Byron and Tom Moore ! It is all so unhack- 
 neyed and unexpected. In spite of Dana and Rob- 
 inson I expected mud huts and whooping savages. 
 This is Arcadia, and the women are the most elegant 
 in America." 
 
 "Look here, Ned," said his captain, "you had 
 better do less flirting and more thinking while you 
 are in this odd country. Your talents will get rusty, 
 but you can rub them up when you get home. 
 Neither California!! men nor women are to be trifled 
 with. This is the land of passion, not of drawing- 
 room sentiment." 
 
 " Perhaps I am more serious than you think. 
 What is the matter ?" He spoke to a brother officer 
 who had joined them and was laughing immoder- 
 ately. 
 
 "Do you see those Californians grinning over 
 there ? " The speaker beckoned to a group of offi- 
 cers, who joined him at once. " What job do you 
 suppose they have put up on us ? What do you 
 suppose that mysterious table in the sala means, 
 
78 THE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 with its pen-knives and wooden sticks ? I thought 
 it was a charity bazaar. Well, it is nothing more 
 nor less than a trick to keep us from whittling up 
 the furniture. We are all Yankees to them, you 
 know. Preserve my Spanish ! " 
 
 The officers shouted with delight. They marched 
 solemnly back into the sala and seating themselves 
 in a deep circle about the table, whittled the slugs 
 all over the floor, much to the satisfaction of the 
 Californians. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AFTER the entertainment was over, Russell strolled 
 about the town. The new moon was on the sky, and 
 stars thick and bright ; but dark corners were every- 
 where, and he kept his hand on his pistol. He found 
 himself before the long, low house of Dona Eustaquia 
 Ortega. Not a light glimmered ; the shutters were 
 of solid wood. He walked up and down, trying to 
 guess which was Benicia's room. 
 
 " I am growing as romantic as a Californian," he 
 thought; "but this wonderful country pours its 
 color all through one's nature. If I could find her 
 window I believe I should serenade her in true 
 Spanish fashion. By Jove, I remember now, she 
 said something about looking through her window 
 at the pines on the hill. It must be at the back of 
 the house, and how am I going to get over that great 
 
THE EAB8 OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 79 
 
 adobe wall ? That gate is probably fastened with 
 an iron bar ah ! " 
 
 He had walked to the corner of the wall surround- 
 ing the large yard behind and at both sides of Doiia 
 Eustaquia's house, and he saw, ascending a ladder, 
 a tall figure, draped in a serape, its face concealed 
 by the shadow of a sombrero. He drew his pistol, 
 then laughed at himself, although not without annoy- 
 ance. " A rival ; and he has got ahead of me. He 
 is going to serenade her." 
 
 The caballero seated himself uncomfortably on the 
 tiles that roofed the wall, removed his sombrero, 
 and Russell recognized Fernando Altimira. A mo- 
 ment later the sweet, thin chords of the guitar quiv- 
 ered in the quiet air, and a tenor, so fine that even 
 Russell stood entranced, sang to Benicia one of the 
 old songs of Monterey : 
 
 EL SUSPIRO. 
 
 Una mirada un suspiro 
 Una lagrina querida 
 Ese balsamo a la herida 
 Que abriste en mi corazon ; 
 
 For esa lagrima cara 
 Objeto de mi termina 
 Wo te ame bella criatura 
 Desde que te villorar. 
 
 Te a cuerdas de aquella noche 
 En que triste y abatida 
 Una lagrima querida 
 Vi de tus ojos brotar. 
 
80 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Although Russell was at the base of the high wall 
 he saw that a light flashed. The light was followed 
 by the clapping of little hands. " Jove ! " he thought, 
 " am I really jealous ? But damn that Calif ornian ! " 
 
 Altimira sang two more songs and was rewarded 
 by the same demonstrations. As he descended the 
 ladder and reached the open street he met Russell 
 face to face. The two men regarded each other for 
 a moment. The Californian's handsome face was 
 distorted by a passionate scowl ; Russell was calmer, 
 but his brows were lowered. 
 
 Altimira flung the ladder to the ground, but fire- 
 blooded as he was the politeness of his race did not 
 desert him, and his struggle with English flung oil 
 upon his passion. 
 
 " Seiior," he said, " I no know what you do it by 
 the house of the Seiiorita Benicia so late in the night. 
 I suppose you have the right to walk in the town si 
 it please yourself." 
 
 " Have I not the same right as you to serenade 
 the Seiiorita Benicia ? If I had known her room I 
 should have been on the wall before you." 
 
 Altimira's face flushed with triumph. " I think 
 the Seiiorita Benicia no care for the English song, 
 senor. She love the sweet words of her country; 
 she no care for words of ice." 
 
 Russell smiled. "Our language may not be as 
 elastic as yours, Don Fernando, but it is a good deal 
 more sincere. And it can express as much and per- 
 haps " 
 
 " You love Benicia ? " interrupted Altimira fiercely. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 81 
 
 " I admire the Senorita Ortega tremendously. But 
 I have seen her only twice, and although we may 
 love longer, we take more time to get there, perhaps, 
 than you do." 
 
 " Ay I Dios de mi vida ! You have the heart of 
 rock ! You chip it off in little pieces, one to-day, 
 another to-morrow, and give to the woman. I, seiior, 
 I love Benicia, and I marry her. You understand ? 
 Si you take her I cut the heart from your body. 
 You understand ? " 
 
 " I understand. We understand each other." 
 Russell lifted his cap. The Calif ornian took his 
 sombrero from his head and made a long, sweeping 
 bow ; and the two men parted. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ON the twenty-third of July, Commodore Sloat 
 transferred his authority to Commodore Stockton, 
 and the new commander of the Pacific squadron 
 organized the California Battalion of Mounted Rifle- 
 men, appointing Fremont major and Gillespie cap- 
 tain. He ordered them South at once to intercept 
 Castro. On the twenty -eighth, Stockton issued a 
 proclamation in which he asserted that Mexico was 
 the instigator of the present difficulties, and justified 
 the United States in seizing the Californias. He 
 denounced Castro in violent terms as an usurper, a 
 6 
 
82 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 boasting and abusive chief, and accused him of hav- 
 ing violated every principle of national hospitality 
 and good faith toward Captain Fremont and his 
 surveying party. Stockton sailed for the South the 
 same day in the Congress, leaving a number of offi- 
 cers to Monterey and the indignation of the people. 
 
 " By Jove, I don't dare to go near Doiia Eustaquia," 
 said Russell to Brotherton. " And I'm afraid we 
 won't have our picnic. It seems to me the Commo- 
 dore need not have used such strong language about 
 California's idol. The very people in the streets 
 are ready to unlimb us; and as for the peppery 
 Dona " 
 
 "Speak more respectfully of Dona Eustaquia, 
 young man," said the older officer severely. " She 
 is a very remarkable woman and not to be spoken 
 slightingly of by young men who are in love with 
 her daughter." * 
 
 " God forbid that I should slight her, dear Cap- 
 tain. Never have I so respected a woman. She 
 frightens the life out of me every time she flashes 
 those eyes of hers. But let us go and face the 
 enemy at once, like the brave Americans we are." 
 
 "Very well," and together they walked along 
 Alvarado Street from the harbor, then up the hill 
 to the house of Dona Eustaquia. 
 
 That formidable lady and her daughter were sit- 
 ting on the corridor dressed in full white gowns, 
 slowly wielding large black fans, for the night was 
 hot. Benicia cast up her eyes expressively as she 
 rose and courtesied to the officers, but her mother 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 83 
 
 merely bent her head; nor did she extend her hand. 
 Her face was very dark. 
 
 Brotherton went directly to the point. 
 
 " Dear Dona Eustaquia, we deeply regret that our 
 Commodore has used such harsh language in re- 
 gard to General Castro. But remember that he has 
 only been here a few days, and has had no chance to 
 learn the many noble and valiant qualities of your 
 General. He has doubtless been prejudiced against 
 him by some enemy, and he adores Fremont : there 
 is the trouble. He resents Castro's treating Fremont 
 as an enemy before the United States had declared 
 its intentions. But had he been correctly informed 
 he would undoubtedly have conceived the same 
 admiration and respect for your brave General that 
 is felt by every other man among us." 
 
 Doila Eustaquia looked somewhat mollified, but 
 shook her head sternly, " Much better he took the 
 trouble to hear true. He insult all Calif ornians by 
 those shemful words. All the enemies of our dear 
 General be glad. And the poor wife ! Poor my 
 Modeste! She fold the arms and raise the head, 
 but the heart is broken." 
 
 " Jove ! I almost wish they had driven us out ! 
 Dear senora " Russell and Benicia were walking up 
 and down the corridor " we have become friends, 
 true friends, as sometimes happens not often be- 
 tween man and woman. Cease to think of me as 
 an officer of the United States navy, only as a man 
 devoted to your service. I have already spent many 
 pleasant hours with you. Let me hope that while 
 
84 THE EARS OP TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 I remain here neither Commodore Stockton nor party 
 feeling will exclude me from many more." 
 
 She raised her graceful hand to her chin with a 
 gesture peculiar to her, and looked upward with 
 a glance half sad, half bitter. 
 
 "I much appreciate your friendship, Captain 
 Brotherton. You give me much advice that is good 
 for me, and tell me many things. It is like the 
 ocean wind when you have live long in the hot 
 valley. Yes, dear friend, I forget you are in the 
 navy of the conqueror." 
 
 " Mamacita," broke in Benicia's light voice, " tell 
 us now when we can have the peekneek ? " 
 
 " To-morrow night." 
 
 "Sure?" 
 
 " Sure, niiiita." 
 
 " Castro," said Russell, lifting his cap, " peace be 
 with thee." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE great masses of rock on the ocean's coast 
 shone white in the moonlight. Through the gaunt, 
 outlying rocks, lashed apart by furious storms, 
 boiled the ponderous breakers, tossing aloft the 
 sparkling clouds of spray, breaking in the pools like 
 a million silver fishes. High above the waves, grow- 
 ing out of the crevices of the massive rocks of the 
 shore were weird old cypresses, their bodies bent 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 85 
 
 from the ocean as if petrified in flight before the 
 mightier foe. On their gaunt, outstretched arms 
 and gray bodies, seamed with time, knobs like 
 human muscles jutted ; between the broken bark 
 shone the red blood. From their angry hands, 
 clutching at the air or doubled in imprecation, long 
 strands of gray-green moss hung, waving and coil- 
 ing, in the night wind. Only one old man was on 
 his hands and knees as if to crawl from the field ; 
 but a comrade spurned him with his foot and wound 
 his bony hand about the coward's neck. Another 
 had turned his head to the enemy, pointing his 
 index finger in scorn, although he stood alone on 
 high. 
 
 All along the cliffs ran the ghostly army, some- 
 times with straining arras fighting the air, some- 
 times thrust blankly outward, all with life quiver- 
 ing in their arrested bodies, silent and scorn- 
 ful in their defeat. Who shall say what winter 
 winds first beat them, what huge waves first fought 
 their deathless trunks, what young stars first shone 
 over them ? They have outstood centuries of raging 
 storm and rending earthquake. Tradition says that 
 until convulsion wrenched the Golden Gate apart 
 the San Franciscan waters rolled through the long 
 valleys and emptied into the Bay of Monterey. But 
 the old cypresses were on the ocean just beyond ; 
 the incoming and the outgoing of the inland ocean 
 could not trouble them ; and perhaps they will stand 
 there until the edge of time. 
 
 Down the long road by the ocean came a gay caval- 
 
86 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 cade. The caballeros had haughtily refused to join 
 the party, and the men all wore the blue and gold of 
 the United States. But the women wore fluttering 
 mantillas, and their prancing, high-stepping horses, 
 were trapped with embossed leather and silver. In 
 a lumbering "wagon of the country," drawn by 
 oxen, running on solid wheels cut from the trunks 
 of trees, but padded with silk, rode some of the older 
 people of the town, disapproving, but overridden 
 by the impatient enthusiasm of Dona Eustaquia. 
 Through the pine woods with their softly moving 
 shadows and splendid aisles, out from between the 
 cypresses and rocky beach wound the stately caval- 
 cade, their voices rising above the sociable converse 
 of the seals and the screeching of the sea-gulls spik- 
 ing the rocks where the waves fought and foamed. 
 The gold on the shoulders of the men flashed in the 
 moonlight ; the jewels of the women sparkled and 
 winked. Two by two they came like a conquering 
 army to the rescue of the cypresses. Brotherton, 
 who rode ahead with Dona Eustaquia, half expected 
 to see the old trees rise upright with a deep shout 
 of welcome. 
 
 When they reached a point where the sloping 
 rocks rose high above surf and spray, they dis- 
 mounted, leaving the Indian servants to tether the 
 horses. They climbed down the big, smooth rocks 
 and sat about in groups, although never beyond 
 the range of older eyes, the cypresses towering 
 gloomily above them, the ocean tearing through 
 the outer rocks to swirl and grumble in the pools. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS 87 
 
 The moon was so bright, its light so broad and 
 silveren, they could almost imagine they saw the 
 gorgeous mass of color in the pools below. 
 
 " You no have sea- weed like that in Boston," said 
 Benicia, who had a comprehensive way of symbol- 
 izing the world by the city from which she got 
 many of her clothes and all of her books. 
 
 " Indeed, no ! " said Russell. " The other day I sat 
 for hours watching those great bunches and strands 
 that look like richly colored chenille. And there 
 were stones that looked like big opals studded with 
 vivid jewels. God of my soul, as you say, it was 
 magnificent 1 I never saw such brilliant coloring, 
 such delicate tints 1 And those great, rugged, de- 
 fiant rocks out there, lashed by the waves ! Look at 
 that one; misty with spray one minute, bare and 
 black the next ! They look like an old castle which 
 has been battered down with cannon. Captain, do 
 you not feel romantic ? " 
 
 " I feel that I never want to go into an art gallery 
 again. No wonder the women of California are 
 original," he said to Doiia Eustaquia, "with scenes 
 like this cut on their nature. The difference be- 
 tween a woman who has been brought up in nature 
 and one who has been reared in art galleries is like 
 the difference between the hot-house and the mount- 
 ain rose." 
 
 " But the mountain rose have many thorns," said 
 Dona Eustaquia, dryly ; " and the women who grow 
 by the Pacific and look often at the big rocks that 
 frown in the storms that rush and shriek, and who 
 
88 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 ride under the grand bare mountains, they are just 
 a little savage, seiior. They love and they hate 
 very, very hard. They* are soft and how you say 
 it ? charming when all is quiet in the heart." 
 
 " Oh, there is plenty of the savage in all of us," 
 said Brotherton. 
 
 " Benicia," said Russell, " I have tried in vain to 
 learn a Spanish song. But teach me a Spanish 
 phrase of endearment. All our darlings and dearests 
 are too flat for California." 
 
 " Bueno ; I teach you. Say after me : Mi muy 
 querida prima. That is very sweet. Say." 
 
 " Mi muy " 
 
 " Querida prima." 
 
 " Que What is it in English ? " 
 
 " My very darling first. It no sound so pretty 
 in English." 
 
 " It does very well. My very darling first if 
 all these people were not about us I should kiss you. 
 You look exactly like a flower." 
 
 " Si you did, Senor Impertinencio, you get that 
 for thanks." 
 
 Russell jumped to his feet with a shout, and shook 
 from his neck a little crab with a back like green 
 velvet and legs like carven garnet. 
 
 " Did you put that crab on my neck, senorita ? " 
 
 " Si, senor." 
 
 A sulky silence of ten minutes ensued, during 
 which Benicia sent little stones skipping down into 
 the silvered pools, and Russell, again recumbent, 
 stared at the horizon, 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 89 
 
 " Si you no can talk," she said finally, " I wish 
 you go way and let Don Henry Tallant come talk to 
 me. He look like he want." 
 
 " No doubt he does ; but he can stay where he is. 
 Let me kiss your hand, Benicia, and I will forgive 
 you." 
 
 Benicia hit his mouth lightly with the back of her 
 hand, but he captured it and kissed it several 
 times. 
 
 " Your mustache feel like the cat's," said she. 
 
 He flung the hand from him, but laughed in a 
 moment. " How sentimental you are ? Making love 
 to you is like dragging a cannon up hill ! Will you 
 not at least sing me a love-song ? And please do 
 not make faces in the tender parts." 
 
 Benicia tossed her spirited head, but took her 
 guitar from its case and called to the other girls to 
 accompany her. They withdrew from their various 
 flirtations with audible sighs, but it was Benicia's 
 merienda, and in a moment a dozen white hands 
 were sweeping the long notes from the strings. 
 
 Russell moved to a lower rock, and lying at Beni- 
 cia's feet looked upward. The scene was all above 
 him the great mass of white rocks, whiter in the 
 moonlight ; the bending cypresses aloft ; the beau- 
 tiful faces, dreamy, passionate, stolid, restless, look- 
 ing from the lace mantillas ; the graceful arms 
 holding the guitars ; the sweet, rich voices threading 
 through the roar of the ocean like the melody in a 
 grand recitative; the old men and women crouching 
 like buzzards on the stones, their sharp eyes never 
 
90 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 closing ; enfolding all with an almost palpable touch, 
 the warm, voluptuous air. Now and again a bird 
 sang a few notes, a strange sound in the night, or 
 the soft wind murmured like the ocean's echo 
 through the pines. 
 
 The song finished. "Benicia, I love you," whis- 
 pered Russell. 
 
 " We will now eat," said Benicia " Mamma," she 
 raised her voice, " shall I tell Raphael to bring down 
 the supper ? " 
 
 " Yes, nina." 
 
 The girl sprang lightly up the rocks, followed by 
 Russell. The Indian servants were some distance 
 off, and as the young people ran through a pine 
 grove the bold officer of the United States squadron 
 captured the Californian and kissed her on the 
 mouth. His ears were boxed, but his resignation 
 was admirable. 
 
 Benicia gave her orders > Raphael and the other 
 Indians followed her with the baskets, and spread 
 the supper of tomales and salads, dulces and wine, 
 on a large, table like rock, just above the threatening 
 spray ; the girls sang each in turn, whilst the others 
 nibbled the dainties Dona Eustaquia had provided, 
 and the Americans wondered if it were not a vision 
 that would disappear into the fog bearing down 
 upon them. 
 
 A great white bank, writhing and lifting, rolling 
 and bending, came across the ocean slowly, with 
 majestic stealth, hiding the swinging waves on 
 which it rode so lightly, shrouding the rocks, en- 
 
THE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 91 
 
 folding the men and women, wreathing the cypresses, 
 rushing onward to the pines. 
 
 " We must go," said Dona Eustaquia, rising. 
 " There is danger to stay. The lungs, the throat, 
 my children. Look at the poor old cypresses." 
 
 The fog was puffing through the gaunt arms, 
 festooning the rigid hands. It hung over the green 
 heads, it coiled about the gray trunks. The stern, 
 defeated trees looked like the phantoms of them- 
 selves, a long, silent battalion of petrified ghosts. 
 Even Benicia's gay spirit was oppressed, and during 
 the long ride homeward through the pine woods she 
 had little to say to her equally silent companion. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 EUSTAQUIA seldom gave balls, but once a 
 week she opened her salas to the more intellectual 
 people of the town. A few Americans were ever 
 attendant ; General Vallejo often came from Sonoma 
 to hear the latest American and Mexican news in 
 her house ; Castro had rarely been absent ; Alvarado, 
 in the days of his supremacy, could always be found 
 there, and she was the first woman upon whom Pio 
 Pico called when he deigned to visit Monterey. A 
 few young people came to sit in a corner with 
 Benicia, but they had little to say. 
 The night after the picnic some fifteen or twenty 
 
92 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 people were gathered about Dona Eustaquia in the 
 large sala on the right of the hall; a few others 
 were glancing over the Mexican papers in the little 
 sala on the left. The room was ablaze with many 
 candles standing above the heads of the guests, in 
 twisted silver candelabra, the white walls reflecting 
 their light. The floor was bare, the furniture of 
 stiff mahogany and horsehair, but no visitor to that 
 quaint, ugly room ever thought of looking beyond 
 the brilliant face of Dona Eustaquia, the lovely eyes 
 of her daughter, the intelligence and animation of 
 the people she gathered about her. As a rule Dona 
 Modeste Castro's queenly head and strange beauty 
 had been one of the living pictures of that historical 
 sala, but she was not there to-night. 
 
 As Captain Brotherton and Lieutenant Russell 
 entered, Dona Eustaquia was waging war against 
 Mr. Larkin. 
 
 " And what hast thou to say to that proclamation 
 of thy little American hero, thy commodore " she 
 gave the word a satirical roll, impossible to tran- 
 scribe " who is heir to a conquest without blood, 
 who struts into history as the Commander of the 
 United States Squadron of the Pacific, holding a few 
 hundred helpless Calif ornians in subjection? O, 
 warlike name of Sloat! O, heroic name of Stock- 
 ton! O, immortal Fremont, prince of strategists 
 and tacticians, your country must be proud of you ! 
 Your newspapers will glorify you ! Sometime, per- 
 haps, you will have a little history bound in red 
 morocco all to yourselves; whilst Castro " she 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 93 
 
 sprang to her feet and brought her open palm down 
 violently upon the table, " Castro, the real hero of 
 this country, the great man ready to die a thousand 
 deaths for the liberty of the Californians, a man who 
 was made for great deeds and born for fame, he will 
 be left to rust and rot because we have no news- 
 papers to glorify him, and the Gringos send what 
 they wish to their country ! O profanation ! That a 
 great man should be covered from sight by an army 
 of red ants ! " 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Russell, " I wish I could under- 
 stand her ! Doesn't she look magnificent? " 
 
 Captain Brotherton made no reply. He was 
 watching her closely, gathering the sense of her 
 words, full of passionate admiration for the woman. 
 Her tall, majestic figure was quivering under 
 the lash of her fiery temper, quick to spring 
 and strike. The red satin of her gown and the 
 diamonds on her finely molded neck and in the 
 dense coils of her hair grew dim before the angry 
 brilliancy of her eyes. 
 
 The thin, sensitive lips of Mr. Larkin curled with 
 their accustomed humor, but he replied sincerely : 
 "Yes, Castro is a hero, a great man on a small 
 canvas " 
 
 " And they are little men on a big canvas ! " inter- 
 rupted Dona Eustaquia. 
 
 Mr. Larkin laughed, but his reply was non-com- 
 mittal. " Remember, they have done all that they 
 have been called upon to do, and they have done it 
 well. Who can say that they would not be as 
 
94 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 heroic, if opportunity offered, as they have been 
 prudent?" 
 
 Dona Eustaquia shrugged her shoulders disdain- 
 fully, but resumed her seat. " You will not say, but 
 you know what chance they would have with Castro 
 in a fair fight. But what chance has even a great 
 man, when at the head of a few renegades, against 
 the navy of a big nation ? But Fremont ! Is he to 
 cast up his eyes and draw down his mouth to the 
 world, whilst the man who acted for the safety of 
 his country alone, who showed foresight and wisdom, 
 is denounced as a violater of international courtesy ? " 
 
 "No," said one of the American residents who 
 stood near, " history will right all that. Some day 
 the world will know who was the great and who the 
 little man." 
 
 " Some day ! When we are under our stones ! 
 This swaggering Commodore Stockton adores Fre- 
 mont and hates Castro. His lying proclamation 
 will be read in his own country " 
 
 The door opened suddenly and Don Fernando 
 Altimira entered the room. " Have you heard ? " 
 he cried. " All the South is in arms ! The Depart- 
 mental Assembly has called the whole country to 
 war, and men are flocking to the standard ! Castro 
 has sworn that he will never give up the country 
 under his charge. Now, Mother of God, let our men 
 drive the usurper from the country." 
 
 Even Mr. Larkin sprang to his feet in excitement. 
 He rapidly translated the news to Brotherton 
 and Russell. 
 
THE EAftS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 95 
 
 " Ah ! There will be a little blood, then," said the 
 younger officer. "It was too easy a victory to 
 count." 
 
 Every one in the room was talking at once. Dona 
 Eustaquia smote her hands together, then clasped 
 and raised them aloft. 
 
 Thanks to God ! " she cried. " California has 
 come to her senses at last ! " 
 
 Altimira bent his lips to her ear. " I go to fight 
 the Americans," he whispered. 
 
 She caught his hand between both her own and 
 pressed it convulsively to her breast. "Go," she 
 said, " and may God and Mary protect thee. Go, 
 my son, and when thou returnest I will give thee 
 Benicia. Thou art a son after my own heart, a 
 brave man and a good Catholic." 
 
 Benicia, standing near, heard the words. For the 
 first time Russell saw the expression of careless 
 audacity leave her face, and her pink color faded. 
 
 " What is that man saying to your mother ? " he 
 demanded. 
 
 " She promise me to him when he come back ; he 
 go to join General Castro." 
 
 " Benicia ! " He glanced about. Altimira had left 
 the house. Every one was too excited to notice them. 
 He drew her across the hall and into the little sala, 
 deserted since the startling news had come. " Beni- 
 cia," he said hurriedly, " there is no time to be lost. 
 You are such a butterfly I hardly know whether you 
 love me or not." 
 
 "I no am such butterfly as you think," said the 
 
96 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 girl pathetically. " I often am very gay, for that is 
 my spirit, seiior ; but I cry sometimes in the night." 
 
 " Well, you are not to cry any more, my very dar- 
 ling first ! " He took her in his arms and kissed 
 her, and she did not box his ears. " I may be ordered 
 off at any moment, and what may they not do with 
 you while I am gone ? So I have a plan ! Marry 
 me to-morrow ! " 
 
 Ay! Senor!" 
 
 "To-morrow. At your friend, Blandina's house. 
 The Hernandez like the Americans ; in fact, as we 
 all know, Tallant is in love with Blandina and the 
 old people do not frown. They will let us marry 
 there." 
 
 " Ay ! Cielo santo ! What my mother say ? She 
 kill me!" 
 
 " She will forgive you, no matter how -angry she 
 may be at first. She loves you almost as much as 
 I do." 
 
 The girl withdrew from his arms and walked up 
 and down the room. Her face was very pale and 
 she looked older. On one side of the room hung a 
 large black cross, heavily mounted with gold. She 
 leaned her face against it and burst into tears. " Ay, 
 my home ! My mother ! " she cried under her breath. 
 " How I can leave you ? Ay, triste de mi ! " She 
 turned suddenly to Russell, whose face was as white 
 as her own, and put to him the question which 
 Shakespeare himself has not answered. " What is 
 this love ? " she said rapidly. " I no can understand. 
 I never feel before. Always I laugh when men say 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 97 
 
 they love me ; but I never laugh again. In my heart 
 is something that shake me like a lion shake what it 
 go to kill, and make me no care for my mother or 
 
 my God and you are a Protestant ! I have love 
 
 my mother like I have love that cross ; and now a 
 man come a stranger ! a conqueror ! a Protes- 
 tant ! an American ! And he twist my heart out 
 with his hands ! But I no can help. I love you and 
 I go." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE next morning, Dona Eustaquia looked up 
 from her desk as Benicia entered the room. " I am 
 writing to Alvarado," she said. " I hope to be the 
 first to tell him the glorious news. Ay ! my child, 
 go to thy altar and pray that the bandoleros may be 
 driven wriggling from the land like snakes out of 
 a burning field ! " 
 
 " But, mother, I thought you had learned to like 
 the Gringos." 
 
 " I like them well enough, but I hate their flag ! 
 Ay ! I will pull it down with my own hands if Cas- 
 tro and Pico roll Stockton and Fremont in the dust ! " 
 
 " I am sorry for that, my mother, for I am going 
 to marry an American to-day." 
 
 Her mother laughed and glanced over the closely 
 written page. 
 
98 TUE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 11 1 am going to marry the Lieutenant Russell at 
 Blandina's house this morning." 
 
 " Ay, run, run. I must finish my letter." 
 
 Benicia left the sala and crossing her mother's 
 room entered her own. From the stout mahogany 
 chest she took white silk stockings and satin slippers, 
 and sitting down on the floor put them on. Then 
 she opened the doors of her wardrobe and looked 
 for some moments at the many pretty frocks hang- 
 ing there. She selected one of fine white lawn, half 
 covered with deshalados, and arrayed herself. She 
 took from the drawer of the wardrobe a mantilla of 
 white Spanish lace, and draped it about her head 
 and shoulders, fastening it back above one ear with 
 a pink rose. Around her throat she clasped a string 
 of pearls, then stood quietly in the middle of the 
 room and looked about her. Familiar as it was she 
 felt a desire to photograph it on her brain. In one 
 corner was a little brass bedstead covered with a 
 heavy quilt of satin and lace. The pillow cases were 
 almost as fine and elaborate as was her gown. In 
 the opposite corner was an altar with little gold 
 candlesticks and an ivory crucifix. The walls and 
 floor were bare but spotless ; the ugly wardrobe built 
 into the thick wall had never been empty : Dona 
 Eustaquia's generosity to the daughter she wor- 
 shiped was unbounded. 
 
 Benicia drew a long, hysterical breath and went 
 over to the window. It looked upon a large yard 
 enclosed by the high adobe wall upon which her 
 lovers had so often sat and sung to her. No flowers 
 
TIIE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 99 
 
 were in the garden, not even a tree, but it was as 
 smooth and clean as the floor of a ball-room. About 
 the well in the middle were three or four Indian serv- 
 ants quarreling good-naturedly. The house stood 
 on the rise of one of the crescent's horns. Benicia 
 looked up at the dark pine woods on the hill. What 
 days she had spent there with her mother! She 
 whirled about suddenly and taking a large fan from 
 the table returned to the sala. 
 
 Dona Eustaquia laughed. "Thou silly child, to 
 dress thyself like a bride. What nonsense is this ? " 
 
 " I will be a bride in an hour, my mother." 
 
 " Go ! Go, with thy nonsense ! I have spoiled 
 thee ! What other girl in Monterey would dare to 
 dress herself like this at eleven in the morning? 
 Go ! And do not ruin that mantilla, for thou wilt 
 not get another. Thou art going to Blaiidina's, no ? 
 Be sure thou goest no farther ? I would not let thee 
 go there alone were it not so near. And be sure thou 
 speakest to no man in the street." 
 
 "No, mamacita, I will speak to no man in the 
 street, but one awaits me in the house. JTasta lueyo" 
 And she flitted out of the door and up the street. 
 
100 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A FEW hours later Dona Eustaquia sat in the large 
 and cooler sala with Captain Brotherton. He read 
 Shakespeare to her whilst she fanned herself, her 
 face aglow with intelligent pleasure. She had not 
 broached to him the uprising in the South lest it 
 should lead to bitter words. Although an American 
 and a Protestant, few friends had ever stood so close 
 to her. 
 
 He laid down the book as Russell and Benicia en- 
 tered the room. Dona Eustaquia's heavy brows 
 met. 
 
 " Thou knowest that I do not allow thee to walk 
 with men on the street," she said in Spanish. 
 
 "But, mamacita, he is my husband. We were 
 married this morning at Blandina's." Excitement 
 had tuned Benicia's spirit to its accustomed pitch, 
 and her eyes danced with mischief. Moreover, 
 although she expected violent reproaches, she knew 
 the tenacious strength of her mother's affection, and 
 had faith in speedy forgiveness. 
 
 Brotherton opened his eyes, but Dona Eustaquia 
 moved back her head impatiently. " That silly 
 joke ! " Then she smiled at her own impatience. 
 What was Benicia but a spoiled child, and spoiled 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 101 
 
 children would disobey at times. "Welcome, my 
 son," she said to Russell, extending her hand. " We 
 celebrate your marriage at the supper to-night, and 
 the captain helps us no ? my friend." 
 
 " Let us have chicken with red pepper and tomato 
 sauce," cried Russell. " And rice with saffron ; 
 and that delightful dish with which I remonstrate 
 all night olives and cheese and hard-boiled 
 eggs and red peppers all rolled up in corn-meal 
 cakes." 
 
 " Enchiladas ? You have them ! Now, both you 
 go over to the corner and talk not loud, for I wish 
 to hear my friend read." 
 
 Russell, lifting his shoulders, did as he was bid- 
 den. Benicia, with a gay laugh, kissed her mother 
 and flitted like a butterfly about the room, singing 
 gay little snatches of song. 
 
 " Oh, mamacita, mamacita," she chanted. " Thou 
 wilt not believe thou hast lost thy little daughter. 
 Thou wilt not believe thou hast a son. Thou wilt 
 not believe I shall sleep no more in the little brass 
 bed " 
 
 " Benicia, hold thy saucy tongue ! Sit down ! " 
 And this Benicia finally consented to do, although 
 smothered laughter came now and again from the 
 corner. 
 
 Doiia Eustaquia sat easily against the straight 
 back of her chair, looking very handsome and placid 
 as Brotherton read and expounded " As You Like 
 It " to her. Her gown of thin black silk threw out 
 the fine, gray tones of her skin ; about her neck and 
 
102 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICAN J. 
 
 chest was a heavy chain of California!! gold; her 
 dense, lusterless hair was held high with a shell comb 
 banded with gokl ; superb jewels weighted her little 
 white hands ; in her small ears were large hoops of 
 gold studded with black pearls. She was perfectly 
 contented in that hour. Her woman's vanity was 
 at peace and her eager mind expanding. 
 
 The party about the supper table in the evening 
 was very gay. The long room was bare, but heavy 
 silver was beyond the glass doors of the cupboard ; 
 a servant stood behind each chair ; the wines were 
 as fine as any in America, and the favorite dishes of 
 the Americans had been prepared. Even Brother- 
 ton, although more nervous than was usual with 
 him, caught the contagion of the hour and touched 
 his glass more than once to that of the woman 
 whose overwhelming personality had more than half 
 captured a most indifferent heart. 
 
 After supper they sat on the corridor, and Beni- 
 cia sang her mocking love-songs and danced El Son 
 to the tinkling of her own guitar. 
 
 "Is she not a light-hearted child?" asked her 
 mother. "But she has her serious moments, my 
 friend. We have been like the sisters. Every path 
 of the pine woods we walk together, arm in arm. 
 We ride miles on the beach and sit down on the 
 rocks for hours and try to think what the seals say 
 one to the other. Before you come I have friends, 
 but no other companion ; but it is good for me you 
 come, for she think only of flirting since the Ameri- 
 cans take Monterey. Mira ! Look at her flash the 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 103 
 
 eyes at Sefior Russell. It is well he has the light 
 heart like herself. 
 
 Brotherton made no reply. 
 
 " Give to me the guitar," she continued. 
 
 Benicia handed her the instrument, and Dona 
 Eustaquia swept the cords absently for a moment, 
 then sang the song of the troubadour. Her rich 
 voice was like the rush of the wind through the 
 pines after the light trilling of a bird, and even 
 Russell sat enraptured. As she sang the color came 
 into her face, alight with the fire of youth. Her 
 low notes were voluptuous, her high notes rang with 
 piercing sadness. As she finished, a storm of ap- 
 plause came from Alvarado Street, which pulsed 
 with life but a few yards below them. 
 
 " No American woman ever sang like that," said 
 Brotherton. He rose and walked to the end of the 
 corridor. " But it is a part of Monterey." 
 
 " Most enchanting of mothers-in-law," said RusselL 
 " you have made it doubly hard for us to leave you ; 
 but it grows late and my wife and I must go. Good- 
 night," and he raised her hand to his lips. 
 
 " Good-night, my son." 
 
 " Mamacita, good-night," and Benicia, who had 
 fluttered into the house and found a rebosa, kissed 
 her mother, waved her hand to Brotherton, and 
 stepped from the corridor to the street. 
 
 " Come here, seiiorita ! " cried her mother. " No 
 walk to-night, for I have not the wish to walk my- 
 self." 
 
 " But I go with my husban'd, mamma. 2 
 
104 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 " Oh, no more of that joke without sense ! Seiior 
 Russell, go home, that she have reason for one 
 moment." 
 
 " But, dear Dona Eustaquia, won't you understand 
 that we are really married ? " 
 
 Dona Eustaquia's patience was at end. She 
 turned to Brotherton and addressed a remark to 
 him. Russell and Benicia conferred a moment, then 
 the young man walked rapidly down the street. 
 
 " Has he gone ? " asked Dona Eustaquia. " Then 
 let us go in the house, for the fog comes from the 
 bay." 
 
 They went into the little sala and sat about the 
 table. Dona Eustaquia picked up a silver dagger 
 she used as a paper cutter and tapped a book with it. 
 
 " Ay, this will not last long," she said to Brother- 
 ton. " I much am afraid your commodore send you 
 to the South to fight with our men." 
 
 " I shall return," said Brotherton absently. His 
 eyes were fixed on the door. 
 
 " But it will not be long that you will be there, my 
 friend. Many people are not killed in our wars. 
 Once there was a great battle at Point Rincon, near 
 Santa Barbara, between Castro and Carillo. Carillo 
 have been appointed governor by Mejico, and 
 Alvarado refuse to resign. They fight for three 
 days, arid Castro manage so well he only lose one 
 man, and the others run away and not lose any." 
 
 Brotherton laughed. " I hope all our battles may 
 be as bloodless," he said, and then drew a short 
 breath. 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 105 
 
 Russell, accompanied by Don Jorje and Dona 
 Franc esca Hernandez and the priest of Monterey 
 entered the room. 
 
 Dona Eustaquia rose and greeted her guests with 
 grace and hospitality. 
 
 "But I am glad to see you, my father, my friends. 
 And you are always welcome, Seiior Russell; but 
 no more joke. Where is our Blandina ? Sit 
 down Why, what is it? " 
 
 The priest spoke. 
 
 " I have that to tell you, Dona Eustaquia, which I 
 fear will give you great displeasure. I hoped not 
 to be the one to tell it. I was weak to consent, but 
 these young people importuned me until I was 
 weary. Dona Eustaquia, I married Benicia to the 
 Seiior Russell to-day." 
 
 Doiia Eustaquia's head had moved forward me- 
 chanically, her eyes staring incredulously from the 
 priest to the other members of the apprehensive 
 group. Suddenly her apathy left her, her arm 
 curved upward like the neck of a snake ; but as she 
 sprang upon Benicia her ferocity was that of a tiger. 
 
 " What ! " she shrieked, shaking the girl violently 
 by the shoulder. "What! ingrate! traitor! Thou 
 hast married an American ! A Protestant ! " 
 
 Benicia burst into terrified sobs ; Russell swung 
 her from her mother's grasp arid placed his arm 
 around her. 
 
 " She is mine now," he #aid. " You must not 
 touch her again." 
 
 " Yours ! Yours I " screamed Dona Eustaquia 
 
106 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 beside herself. " Oh, Mother of God ! " She snatched 
 the dagger from the table and, springing backward, 
 plunged it into the cross. 
 
 " By that sign I curse thee," she cried. " Ac- 
 cursed be the man who has stolen my child ! Ac- 
 cursed be the woman who has betrayed her mother 
 and her country ! God ! God ! I implore thee, let 
 her die in her happiest hour." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ON August twelfth Commodore Hull arrived on 
 the frigate Warren, from Mazatlan, and brought 
 the first positive intelligence of the declaration of 
 war between Mexico and the United States. Before 
 the middle of the month news came that Castro and 
 Pico, after gallant defense, but overwhelmed by 
 numbers, had fled, the one to Sonora, the other to 
 Baja California. A few days after, Stockton issued 
 a proclamation to the effect that the flag of the 
 United States was flying over every town in the 
 territory of California; and Alcalde Colton an- 
 nounced that the rancheros were more than satisfied 
 with the change of government. 
 
 A month later a mounted courier dashed into 
 Monterey with a note from the Alcalde of Los 
 Angeles, wrapped about a cigarito and hidden in 
 his hair. The note contained the information that 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 107 
 
 all the South was in arms again, and that Los 
 Angeles was in the hands of the Californians. Rus- 
 sell was ordered to go with Captain Mervine, on the 
 Savannah, to join Gillespie at San Pedro; Brother- 
 ton was left at Monterey with Lieutenant Maddox 
 and a number of men to quell a threatened uprising. 
 Later came the news of Mervine's defeat, and the 
 flight of Talbot from Santa Barbara ; and by No- 
 vember California was in a state of general warfare, 
 each army receiving new recruits every day. 
 
 Dona Eustaquia, hard and stern, praying for the 
 triumph of her people, lived alone in the old house. 
 Benicia, praying for the return of her husband and 
 the relenting of her mother, lived alone in her little 
 house on the hill. Friends had interceded, but 
 Doiia Eustaquia had closed her ears. Brotherton 
 went to her one day with the news that Lieutenant 
 Russell was wounded. 
 
 " I must tell Benicia, " he said, " but it is you who 
 should do that." 
 
 " She betray me, my friend." 
 
 " Oh, Eustaquia, make allowance for the lightness 
 of youth. She barely realized what she did. But 
 she loves him now, and suffers bitterly. She should 
 be with you." 
 
 " Ay ! She suffer for another ! She love a 
 strange man an American better than her 
 mother ! And it is I who would die for her ! Ay, 
 you cold Americans! Never you know how a 
 mother can love her child." 
 
 " The Americans know how to love, seuora. And 
 
108 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Benicia was thoroughly spoiled by her devoted 
 mother. She was carried away by her wild spirits, 
 nothing more." 
 
 " Then much better she live on them now. " 
 
 Dona Eustaquia sat with her profile against the 
 light. It looked severe and a little older, but she 
 was very handsome in her rich black gown and the 
 gold chain about her strong throat. Her head, as 
 usual, was held a little back. Brotherton sat down 
 beside her and took her hand. 
 
 "Eustaquia," he said, "no friendship between 
 man and woman was ever deeper and stronger than 
 ours. In spite of the anxiety and excitement of 
 these last months we have found time to know each 
 other very intimately. So you will forgive me if I 
 tell you that the more a friend loves you the more 
 he must be saddened by the terrible iron in your 
 nature. Only the great strength of your passions 
 has saved you from hardening into an ugly and 
 repellent woman. You are a mother ; forgive your 
 child; remember that she too is about to be a 
 mother " 
 
 She caught his hand between both of hers with a 
 passionate gesture. " Oh, my friend," she said, 
 " do not too much reproach me ! You never have a 
 child, you cannot know! And remember we all 
 are not make alike. If you are me, you act like 
 myself. If I am you, I can forgive more easy. But 
 I am Eustaquia Ortega, and as I am make, so I do 
 feel now. No judge too hard, my friend, and 
 infelez de mi ! do not forsake me." 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 109 
 
 " I will never forsake you, Eustaquia." He rose 
 suddenly. " I, too, am a lonely man, if not a hard 
 one, and I recognize that cry of the soul's isolation. 
 We are insensible to it when young ; .but when it 
 becomes voiced in our consciousness, then do we 
 know wherein the human race is most accursed. 
 Ideals hope cannot outlive that awakening. But 
 there is always one thing left, Eustaquia : friend- 
 ship, which mentally appreciates and sympathizes, 
 even if that personality called soul never can break 
 through mortal barrier and touch another, no mat- 
 ter how dear." 
 
 He left her and went up the hill to Benicia's little 
 house, half hidden by the cypress trees that grew 
 before it. 
 
 She was sitting in her sala working an elaborate 
 deshlados on a baby's gown. Her face was pale, and 
 the sparkle had gone out of it ; but she held herself 
 with all her mother's pride, and her soft eyes were 
 deeper. She rose as Captain Brotherton entered, 
 and took his hand in both of hers. " You are so good 
 to come to me, and I love you for your friendship 
 for my mother. Tell me how she is ? " 
 
 " She is well, Benicia." Then he exclaimed, sud- 
 denly : " Poor little girl ! What a child you are 
 not yet seventeen." 
 
 "In a few months, senor. Sit down. No? 
 And I no am so young now. When we suffer we 
 grow more than by the years ; and now I go to have 
 the baby that make me feel very old." 
 
 " But it is very sad to see you alone like this, 
 
110 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 without your husband or your mother. She will 
 relent some day, Benicia, but I wish she would do it 
 now, when you most need her." 
 
 " Yes, I wish I am with her in the old house," 
 said the girl pathetically, although she winked back 
 the tears. "Never I can be happy without her, 
 even si he is here, and you know how I love him. 
 But I have love her so long ; she is how you say 
 it ? like she is part of me, and when she no spik to 
 me, how I can be happy with all myself when part 
 is gone ? You understand, senor ? " 
 
 " Yes, Benicia, I understand." He looked through 
 the bending cypresses, down the hill, upon the 
 fair town. He had no relish for the task which had 
 brought him to her. She looked up and caught the 
 expression of his face. 
 
 " Senor ! " she cried sharply, " what you go to 
 tell me?" 
 
 " There is a report that Ned is slightly wounded ; 
 but it is not serious. It was Altimira who did it, I 
 believe." 
 
 She shook from head to foot, but was calmer than 
 he had expected. She laid the gown on a chair and 
 stood up. " Take me to him. Si he is wound I 
 go to nurse him." 
 
 " My child 1 You would die before you got there. 
 I have sent a special courier to find out the truth. 
 If Ned is wounded I have arranged to have him 
 sent home immediately." 
 
 " I wait for the courier come back, for it no is 
 right I hurt the baby si I can help. But si he is 
 
THE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. Ill 
 
 wound so bad he no can come then I go to him. It 
 no is use for you to talk at all, senor, I go." 
 
 Brotherton looked at her in wonderment. Whence 
 had the butterfly gone ? Its wings had been struck 
 from it and a soul had flown in. 
 
 " Let me send Blandina to you," he said. " You 
 must not be alone." 
 
 " I am alone till he or my mother come. I no 
 want other. I love Blandina before, but now she 
 make me feel tired. She talk so much and no say 
 anything. I like better be alone." 
 
 "Poor child!" said Brotherton bitterly, "truly 
 do love and suffering age and isolate." He Aotioned 
 with his hand to the altar in her bedroom, seen 
 through the open door. " I have not your faith, I 
 am afraid I have not much of any ; but if I cannot 
 pray for you, I can wish with all the strength of a 
 man's heart that happiness will come to you yet, 
 Benicia." 
 
 She shook her head. " I no know ; I no believe 
 much happiness come in this life. Before, I am like 
 a fairy ; but it is only because I no am unhappy. 
 But when the heart have wake up, senor, and the 
 knife have gone in hard, then, after that, always, I 
 think, we are a little sad." 
 
112 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GENERAL KEARNEY and Lieutenant Beale walked 
 rapidly up and down before the tents of the wretched 
 remnant of United States troops with which the 
 former had arrived overland in California. It was 
 bitterly cold in spite of the fine drizzling rain. 
 Lonely buttes studded the desert whose palms 
 and cacti seemed to spring from the rocks of the 
 surface; high on one of them was the American 
 camp. On the other side of a river flowing at the 
 foot of the butte, the white tents of the Californians 
 were scattered among the dark huts of the little 
 pueblo of San Pasqual. 
 
 "Let me implore you, general," said Beale, " not to 
 think of meeting Andres Pico. Why, your men are 
 half starved ; your few horses are broken-winded ; 
 your mules are no match for the fresh, trained 
 mustangs of the enemy. I am afraid you do not 
 appreciate the Californians. They are numerous, 
 brave and desperate. If you avoid them now, as 
 Commodore Stockton wishes, and join him at San 
 Diego, we stand a fair chance of defeating them. 
 But now Pico's cavalry and foot are fresh and en- 
 thusiastic in painful contrast to yours. And, more- 
 over, they know every inch of the ground." 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 113 
 
 Kearney impatiently knocked the ashes out of 
 his pipe. He had little regard for Stockton, and no 
 intention of being dictated to by a truculent young 
 lieutenant who spoke his mind upon all occasions. 
 
 " I shall attack them at daybreak," he said curtly. 
 " I have one hundred and thirty good men ; and has 
 not Captain Gillespie joined me with his battalion ? 
 Never shall it be said that I turned aside to avoid a 
 handful of boasting Californians. Now go and get 
 an hour's sleep before we start." 
 
 The young officer shrugged his shoulders, saluted, 
 and walked down the line of tents. A man emerged 
 from one of them, and he recognized Russell. 
 
 " Hello ! Ned," he said. " How's the arm ? " 
 
 " 'Twas only a scratch. Is Altimira down there 
 with Pico, do you know ? He is a brave fellow ! I 
 respect that man ; but we have an account to settle, 
 and I hope it will be done on the battle-field." 
 
 "He is with Pico and he has done some good 
 fighting. Most of the Californians have : they know 
 how to fight and they are perfectly fearless. 
 Kearney will find it out to-morrow. He is mad to 
 attack them. Why, his men are actually cadaverous. 
 Bueno ! as they say here : Stockton sent me to guide 
 him to San Diego. If he prefers to go through the 
 enemy's lines there is nothing for me to do but take 
 him." 
 
 " Yes, but we may surprise them. I wish to God 
 this imitation war were over ! " 
 
 " It will be real enough before you get through. 
 Don't worry. Well, good-night. Luck to your skin." 
 
114 THE EAfiS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 At daybreak the little army marched down the 
 butte, shivering with cold, wet to the skin. Those 
 on horseback naturally proceeded more rapidly 
 than those mounted upon the clumsy, stubborn 
 mules ; and Captain Johnson, who led the advance 
 guard of twelve dragoons, found himself, when he 
 came in sight of the enemy's camp, some distance 
 ahead of the main body of Kearney's small army. 
 To his surprise he saw that the Californians were 
 not only awake, but horsed and apparently awaiting 
 him. Whether he was fired by valor or despera- 
 tion at the sight is a disputed point ; but with a 
 brilliant lack of judgment he made a sudden dash 
 down the hill and across the river, almost flinging 
 himself upon the lances of the Californians. 
 
 Captain Moore, who was ambling down the hill on 
 an old white horse at the head of fifty dragoons 
 mounted on mules, spurred his beast as he witnessed 
 the foolish charge of the advance, and arrived upon 
 the field in time to see Johnson fall dead and to take 
 his place. Pico, seeing that reinforcements were 
 coming, began to retreat, followed hotly by Moore 
 and the horsed dragoons. Suddenly, however, 
 Fernando Altimira raised himself in his stirrups, 
 looked back, laughed and galloped across the field 
 to General Pico. 
 
 " Look ! " he said. " Only a few men on horses 
 are after us. The mules are stumbling half a mile 
 behind." 
 
 Pico wheeled about, gave the word of command, 
 and bore down upon the Americans. Then followed 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 115 
 
 a hand-to-hand conflict, the Californians lancing and 
 using their pistols with great dexterity, the Ameri- 
 cans doing the best they could with their rusty 
 sabers and clubbed guns. 
 
 They were soon reinforced by Moore's dragoons 
 and Gillespie's battalion, despite the unwilling 
 mules ; but the brutes kicked and bucked at every 
 pistol shot and fresh cloud of smoke. The poor old 
 horses wheezed and panted, but stood their ground 
 when not flung out of position by the frantic mules. 
 The officers and soldiers of the United States army 
 were a sorry sight, and in pointed contrast to the 
 graceful Californians on their groomed steeds, hand- 
 somely trapped, curveting and rearing and pranc- 
 ing as lightly as if on the floor of a circus. Kearney 
 cursed his own stupidity, and Pico laughed in his 
 face. Beale felt satisfaction and compunction in 
 saturating the silk and silver of one fine saddle with 
 the blood of its owner. The point of the dying 
 man's lance pierced his face, but he noted the bleach- 
 ing of Kearney's, as one dragoon after another was 
 flung upon the sharp rocks over which his bewil- 
 dered brute stumbled, or was caught and held aloft 
 in the torturing arms of the cacti. 
 
 On the edge of the battle two men had forgotten 
 the Aztec Eagle and the Stars and Stripes ; they 
 fought for love of a woman. Neither had had time 
 to draw his pistol; they fought with lance and 
 saber, thrusting and parrying. Both were skilful 
 swordsmen, but Altimira's horse was far superior 
 to Russell's, and he had the advantage of weapons. 
 
116 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 " One or the other die on the rocks," said the Cal- 
 ifornian, " and si I kill you I marry Benicia." 
 
 Russell made no reply. He struck aside the man's 
 lance and wounded his wrist. But Altimira was 
 too excited to feel pain. His face was quivering 
 with passion. Russell was calm ; but the cold fury 
 in his eyes boded no quarter for his enemy. 
 
 It is not easy to parry a lance with a saber, and 
 still more difficult to get close enough to wound the 
 man who wields it. Russell rose suddenly in his 
 stirrups, described a rapid half circle with his 
 weapon, brought it down mid-way upon the longer 
 blade, and snapped the latter in two. Altimira gave 
 a cry of rage, and spurring his horse sought to ride 
 his opponent down ; but Russell wheeled, and the 
 two men simultaneously, snatched their pistols from 
 the holsters. Altimira fired first, but his hand was 
 unsteady, and his ball went through a cactus. Rus- 
 sell raised his pistol with firm wrist, and discharged 
 it full in the face of the Californian. 
 
 Then he looked over the field. Moore, fatally 
 lanced, lay under a palm, and many of his men 
 were about him. Gillespie was wounded, Kearney 
 had received an ugly thrust. The Calif ornians, 
 upon the arrival of the main body of the enemy's 
 troops, had retreated unpursued ; the mules attached 
 to one of the American howitzers were scampering 
 over to the opposite ranks, much to the consterna- 
 tion of Kearney. The sun, looking over the mount- 
 ain, dissipated the gray smoke, and cast a theatri- 
 cal light on the faces of the dead. Russell bent over 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 117 
 
 Altiraira. His head was shattered, but his death 
 was avenged. Never had an American troop suf- 
 fered a more humiliating defeat. Only six Califor- 
 nians lay on the field ; and when the American sur- 
 geon, after attending to his own wounded, offered 
 his services to Pico's, that indomitable general 
 haughtily replied that he had none. 
 
 " By Jove ! " said Russell to Beale that night, 
 " you know your Californians ! I am prouder than 
 ever of having married one ! That army is of the 
 stuff of which my mother-in-law is made ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THAT was a gay Christmas at Monterey, despite 
 the barricades in the street. News had come of the 
 defeat of Kearney at San Pasqual, and the Monte- 
 reiios, inflated with hope and pride, gave little 
 thought to the fact that his forces were now joined 
 with Stockton's at San Diego. 
 
 On Christmas eve light streamed from every 
 window, bonfires blazed on the hills ; the streets 
 were illuminated, and every one was abroad. The 
 clear, warm night was ablaze with fireworks ; men 
 and women were in their gala gowns ; rockets shot 
 upwards amidst shrieks of delight which mingled 
 oddly with the rolling of drums at muster; even 
 the children caught the enthusiasm, religious and 
 patriotic. 
 
118 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMEEICANS. 
 
 " 1 suppose you would be glad to see even your 
 friends driven out," said Brotherton to Dona Eusta- 
 quia, as they walked through the brilliant town 
 toward the church : the bells called them to witness 
 the dramatic play of " The Shepherds." 
 
 "I be glad to see the impertinent flag come 
 down," said she frankly; "but you can make 
 resignation from the army, and have a little store 
 on Alvarado Street. You can have beautiful silks 
 and crepes from America. I buy of you." 
 
 "Thanks," he said grimly. "You would put a 
 dunce cap on poor America, and stand her in a 
 corner. If I resign, Dona Eustaquia, it will be to 
 become a ranchero, not a shopkeeper. To tell the 
 truth, I have little desire to leave California again." 
 
 " But you were make for the fight," she said, look- 
 ing up with some pride at the tall military figure, 
 the erect head and strong features. " You not were 
 make to lie in the hammock and horseback all day." 
 
 "But I should do a good deal else, seiiora. I 
 should raise cattle with some method ; and I should 
 have a library and a wife." 
 
 " Ah ! you go to marry ? " 
 
 " Some day, I hope. It would be lonely to be a 
 ranchero without a wife." 
 
 " Sure." 
 
 " What is the matter with those women ? " 
 
 A group of old women stood by the roadside. 
 Their forms were bent, their brown faces gnarled 
 like apples. Some were a shapeless mass of fat, 
 others were parchment and bone ; about the head 
 
TUE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 119 
 
 and shoulders of each was a thick black shawl. 
 Near them stood a number of young girls clad in 
 muslin petticoats, flowered with purple and scarlet. 
 Bright satin shoes were on their feet, cotton 
 rebosas covered their pretty, pert little heads. All 
 were looking in one direction, whispering and cross- 
 ing themselves. 
 
 Doiia Eustaquia glanced over her shoulder, then 
 leaned heavily on Brotherton's arm. 
 
 " It is Benicia," she said. " It is because she was 
 cursed and is with child that they cross themselves." 
 
 Brotherton held her arm closely and laid his hand 
 on hers, but he spoke sternly. 
 
 " The curse is not likely to do her any harm. 
 You prayed that she should die when happiest, and 
 you have done your best to make her wretched." 
 
 She did not reply and they walked slowly on- 
 ward. Benicia followed, leaning on the arm of an 
 Indian servant. Her friends avoided her, for they 
 bitterly resented Altimira's death. But she gave 
 them little regret. Since her husband could not be 
 with her on this Christmas eve she wished only for 
 reconciliation with her mother. In spite of the 
 crowd she folio wed close behind Dona Eustaquia and 
 Brotherton, holding her head proudly, but ready to 
 fall at the feet of the woman she worshiped. 
 
 "My friend," said Doiia Eustaquia, after a mo- 
 ment, " perhaps it is best that I do not forgive her. 
 Was she happy, then might the curse come true." 
 
 " She has enough else to make her unhappy. 
 Besides, who ever heard of a curse coming true? 
 
120 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 It has worked its will already for the matter of that. 
 You kept your child from happiness with her hus- 
 band during the brief time she had him. The 
 bitterness of death is a small matter beside the 
 bitterness of life. You should be satisfied." 
 
 "You are hard, my friend." 
 
 " I see your other faults only to respect and love 
 them." 
 
 "Does she look ill, Captain?" 
 
 "She cannot be expected to look like the old 
 Benicia. Of course she looks ill, and needs care." 
 
 "Look over the shoulder. Does she walk 
 heavily?" 
 
 " Very. But as haughtily as do you." 
 
 " Talk of other things for a little while, my friend." 
 
 "Truly there is much to claim the interest to- 
 night. This may be an old scene to you, but it is 
 novel and fascinating to me. How lovely are those 
 stately girls, half hidden by their rebosas, telling 
 their beads as they hurry along. It is the very 
 coquetry of religion. And those but here we 
 are." 
 
 The church was handsomer without than within, 
 for the clever old padres who built it had more 
 taste than their successors. About the whitewashed 
 walls of the interior were poor copies of celebrated 
 paintings the Passion of Christ, and an extraordi- 
 nary group of nude women and grinning men repre- 
 senting the temptation of St. Anthony. In a glass 
 case a beautiful figure of the Saviour reclined on a 
 stiff couch clumsily covered with costly stuffs. The 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 121 
 
 Virgin was gowned much like the aristocratic ladies 
 of Monterey, and the altar was a rainbow of tawdry 
 colors. 
 
 But the ceremonies were interesting, and Brother- 
 ton forgot Benicia for the hour. After the mass the 
 priest held out a small waxen image of the infant 
 Jesus, and all approached and kissed it. Then from 
 without came the sound of a guitar ; the worship- 
 ers arose and ranged themselves against the wall ; 
 six girls dressed as shepherdesses, a man repre- 
 senting Lucifer, two others, a hermit and the lazy 
 vagabond Bartola, a boy, the archangel Gabriel, 
 entered the church. They bore banners and 
 marched to the center of the building, then acted 
 their drama with religious fervor. 
 
 The play began with the announcement by 
 Gabriel of the birth of the Saviour, and exhorta- 
 tions to repair to the manger. On the road came the 
 temptation of Lucifer; the archangel appeared once 
 more ; a violent altercation ensued in which all took 
 part, and finally the prince of darkness was routed. 
 Songs and fanciful by-play, brief sermons, music, 
 gay and solemn, diversified the strange performance. 
 When all was over the players were followed by an 
 admiring crowd to the entertainment awaiting them. 
 
 " Is it not beautiful our Los Pastores ? " de- 
 manded Dona Eustaquia, looking up at Brotherton, 
 her fine face aglow with enthusiasm. " Do not you 
 feel the desire to be a Catholic, my friend ? " 
 
 " Rather would I see two good Catholics united, 
 dear seiiora," and he turned her suddenly to Benicia, 
 
122 THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 who also had remained in the church, almost at her 
 mother's side. 
 
 " Mamacita ! " cried Benicia. 
 
 Dona Eustaquia opened her arms and caught the 
 girl passionately to her heart ; and Brotherton left 
 the church. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE April flowers were on the hills. Beds of 
 gold-red poppies and silver-blue baby eyes were set 
 like tiles amidst the dense green undergrowth be- 
 neath the pines, and on the natural lawns about the 
 white houses. Although hope of driving forth the 
 intruder had gone forever in January, Monterey had 
 resumed in part her old gayety ; despair had bred 
 philosophy. But Monterey was Monterey no longer. 
 An American alcalde with a power vested in no 
 judge of the United States ruled over her ; to add 
 insult to injury he had started a newspaper. The 
 town was full of Americans; the United States was 
 constructing a fort on the hill; above all, worse 
 than all, the Californians were learning the value 
 of money. Their sun was sloping to the west. 
 
 A thick India shawl hung over the window of Be- 
 nicia's old room in her mother's house, shutting out 
 the perfume of the hills. A carpet had been thrown 
 on the floor, candles burned in the pretty gold candle- 
 sticks that had stood on the altar since Benicia's 
 
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 123 
 
 childhood ; on the little brass bedstead lay Benicia, 
 very pale and very beautiful, her transparent skin 
 faintly reflecting the pink of the satin coverlet. 
 By the bed sat an old woman of the people; her 
 ragged white locks were bound about by a fillet of 
 black silk ; her face, dark as burnt umber, was 
 seamed and lined like a withered prune ; even her 
 long, broad nose was wrinkled ; her dull eyes re- 
 sembled mud-puddles ; her big underlip w*s pursed 
 up as if she had been speaking mincing words, and 
 her chin was covered with a short white stubble ; 
 Over her coarse smock and gown she wore a black 
 cotton rebosa. In her arms she held an infant muf- 
 fled in a white lace mantilla. 
 
 Dona Eustaquia came in and bent over the baby, 
 her strong face alight with joy. 
 
 " Didst thou ever nurse so beautiful a baby ? " she 
 demanded. 
 
 The old woman grunted; she had heard that 
 question before. 
 
 "See how pink and smooth it is not red and 
 wrinkled like other babies ! How becoming is that 
 mantilla ! No, she shall not be wrapped in blankets, 
 cap and shawls." 
 
 " She catch cold, most likely," grunted the 
 nurse. 
 
 " In this weather ? No ; it is soft as midsummer. 
 I cannot get cool. Ay, she looks like a rosebud ly- 
 ing in a fog-bank ! " She touched the baby's cheek 
 with her finger, then sat on the bed, beside her 
 daughter. " And how dost thou feel, my little one ? 
 
124 THE EAltS OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 Thou wert a baby thyself but yesterday, and thou 
 art not much more to-day." 
 
 " I feel perfectly well, my mother, and ay, Dios, 
 so happy ! Where is Edourdo ? " 
 
 " Of course ! Always the husband ! They are 
 all alike! Hast thou not thy mother and thy 
 baby?" 
 
 " I adore you both, rnamacita, but I want Edourdo. 
 Where is he ? " 
 
 Her mother grimaced. " I suppose it is no use to 
 protest. W^ell, my little one, I think he is at this 
 moment on the hill with Lieutenant Ord." 
 
 " Why did not he come to see me before he went 
 out?" 
 
 " He did, my daughter, but thou wert asleep. He 
 kissed thee and stole away." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " Right there on your cheek, one inch below your 
 eyelashes." 
 
 " When will he return ? " 
 
 " Holy Mary ! For dinner, sure, and that will be 
 in an hour." 
 
 " When can I get up ? " 
 
 " In another week. Thou art so well ! I would 
 not have thee draw too heavily on thy little strength. 
 Another month and thou wilt not remember that 
 thou hast been ill. Then we will go to the rancho 
 where thou and thy little one will have sun all day 
 and no fog." 
 
 " Have I not a good husband, rnamacita? " 
 
 " Yes ; I love him like my own son. Had he been 
 
THE EAES OF -TWENTY AMERICANS. ] 125 
 
 unkind to thee I would have killed him with my 
 own hands ; but as he has his lips to thy little slip- 
 per, I forgive him for being an American." 
 
 "And you no longer wish for a necklace of 
 American ears ! Oh, mamma ! " 
 
 Dona Eustaquia frowned, then sighed. " I do not 
 know the American head for which I have not more 
 like than hate, and they are welcome to their ears ; 
 but the spirit of that wish is in my heart yet, my 
 child. Our country has been taken from us ; we 
 are aliens in our own land ; it is the American's. 
 They, holy God! permit us to live here!" 
 
 " But they like us better than their own women." 
 
 " Perhaps ; they are men and like what they have 
 not had too long." 
 
 " Mamacita, I am thirsty." 
 
 " What wilt thou have ? A glass of water ? " 
 
 " Water has no taste." 
 
 "I know!" 
 
 Doiia Eustaquia left the room and returned with 
 an orange. " This will be cool and pleasant on so 
 warm a day. It is just a little sour," she said ; but 
 the nurse raised her bony hand. 
 
 " Do not give her that," she said in her harsh 
 voice. " It is too soon." 
 
 " Nonsense ! The baby is two weeks old. Why, 
 I ate fruit a week after childing. Look how dry her 
 mouth is ! It will do her good." 
 
 She pared the orange and gave it to Benicia, 
 who ate it gratefully. 
 
 "It is very good, mamita. You will spoil me 
 
126 THE EAES OF TWENTY AMERICANS. 
 
 always, but that is because you are so good. And 
 one day I hope you will be as happy as your little 
 daughter ; for there are other good Americans in 
 the world. No ? mamma. I think Mamacita ! " 
 
 She sprang upward with a loud cry, the body curv- 
 ing rigidly ; her soft brown eyes stared horribly ; 
 froth gathered about her mouth ; she gasped once or 
 twice, her body writhing from the agonized arms 
 that strove to hold it, then fell limply down, her 
 features relaxing. 
 
 " She is dead," said the nurse. 
 
 " Benicia ! " whispered Dona Eustaquia. " Be- 
 nicia ! " 
 
 " You have killed her," said the old woman, as 
 she drew the mantilla about the baby's face. 
 
 Dofia Eustaquia dropped the body and moved 
 backward from the bed. She put out her hands 
 and went gropingly from the room to her own, and 
 from thence to the sala. Brotherton came forward to 
 meet her. " Eustaquia ! " he cried. " My friend ! 
 My dear! What has happened ? What " 
 
 She raised her hand and pointed to the cross ; the 
 mark of the dagger was still there. 
 
 " Benicia ! " she uttered. " The curse ! " and then 
 she fell at his feet. 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL 
 
 PART I. 
 
 " MARIQUITA ! Thou good-for-nothing, thou art 
 wringing that smock in pieces ! Thy senora will 
 beat thee ! Holy heaven, but it is hot ! " 
 
 " For that reason I hurry, old Faquita. Were I 
 as slow as thou I should cook in my own tallow." 
 
 " Aha, thou art very clever ! But I have no wish 
 to go back to the rancho and wash for the cooks. 
 Ay, yi ! I wonder will La Tulita ever give me her 
 bridal clothes to wash. I have no faith that little 
 flirt will marry the Senor Don Ramon Garcia. He 
 did not well to leave Monterey until after the wed- 
 ding. And to think Ay ! yi ! 
 
 " Thou hast a big letter for the wash-tub mail, 
 Faquita." 
 
 " Aha, my Francesca, thou hast interest ! I 
 thought thou wast thinking only of the bandits." 
 
 Francesca, who was holding a plunging child be- 
 tween her knees, actively inspecting its head, grunted 
 but did not look up, and the oracle of the wash- tubs, 
 provokingly, with slow movements of her knotted 
 
 127 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 coffee-colored arms, flapped a dainty skirt, half- 
 covered with drawn work, before she condescended 
 to speak further. 
 
 Twenty women or more, young and old, dark as 
 pine cones, stooped or sat, knelt or stood about deep 
 stone tubs sunken in the ground at the foot of a 
 hill on the outskirts of Monterey. The pines were 
 shadowy on the long slope above them, but the sun 
 was overhead. The little white town looked life- 
 less under its baking red tiles, at this hour of siesta. 
 On the blue bay rode a warship flying the American 
 colors. The atmosphere was so clear, the view so 
 uninterrupted, that the younger women fancied they 
 could read the name on the prow : the town was on 
 the right ; between the bay and the tubs lay only 
 the meadow, the road, the lake and the marsh. A 
 few yards farther down the road rose a hill where 
 white slabs and crosses gleamed beneath the trees. 
 The roar of the surf came refreshingly to their hot 
 ears. It leaped angrily, they fancied, to the old fort 
 on the hill where men in the uniform of the United 
 States moved about with unsleeping vigilance. It 
 was the year 1847. The Americans had come and 
 conquered. War was over, but the invaders guarded 
 their new possessions. 
 
 The women about the tubs still bitterly protested 
 against the downfall of California, still took an ab- 
 sorbing interest in all matters, domestic, social and 
 political. For those old women with grizzled locks 
 escaping from a cotton handkerchief wound band- 
 wise about their head, their ample form untram- 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 129 
 
 melled by the flowing garment of calico, those girls 
 in bright skirts and white short-sleeved smock and 
 young hair braided, knew all the news of the coun- 
 try, past and to come, many hours in advance of the 
 dons and doiias whose clothes they washed in the 
 great stone tubs. The Indians, domestic and roving, 
 were their faithful friends. 
 
 " Sainted Mary, but thou art more slow than a 
 gentleman that walks ! " cried Mariquita, an im- 
 patient looking girl. " Read us the letter. La Tulita 
 is the prettiest girl in Monterey now that the seiiorita 
 Ysabel Herrerra lies beneath the rocks, and Benicia 
 Ortega has died of her childing. But she is a flirt 
 that Tulita! Four of the Gringos are under her 
 little slipper this year, and she turn over the face 
 and roll in the dirt. But Don Ramon, so handsome, 
 so rich surely she will marry him." 
 
 Faquita shook her head slowly and wisely. " There 
 come yesterday from the South a young 
 lieutenant of America." She paused a moment, 
 then proceeded leisurely, though less provokingly. 
 "He come over the great American deserts with 
 General Kearney last year and help our men to eat 
 the dust in San Diego. He come only yesterday to 
 Monterey, and La Tulita'is like a little wild-cat ever 
 since. She box my ears this morning when I tell 
 her that the Americans are bandoleros, and say she 
 never marry a Californian. And never Don Ramon 
 Garcia, ay, yi ! " 
 
 By this time the fine linen was floating at will 
 upon the water, or lying in great heaps at the bottom 
 9 
 
130 THE WAS3-TVB MAIL. 
 
 of the clear pools. The suffering child scampered 
 up through the pines with whoops of delight. The 
 washing- women were pressed close about Faquita, 
 who stood with thumbs on her broad hips, the lin- 
 gers contracting and snapping as she spoke, wisps 
 of hair bobbing back and forth about her shrewd 
 black eyes and scolding mouth. 
 
 " Who is he ? Where she meet him ?" cried the 
 audience. "Oh, thou old carreta! Why canst thou 
 not talk faster?" 
 
 " If thou hast not more respect, senorita Mari- 
 quita, thou wilt hear nothing. But it is this. There 
 is a ball last night at Dona Maria Ampudia's house 
 for La Tulita. She look handsome, that witch ! 
 Holy Mary ! When she walk it was like the tule in 
 the river. You know. Why she have that name ? 
 She wear white, of course, but that frock it is like 
 the cobweb, the cloud. She has not the braids like 
 the other girls, but the hair, soft like black feathers, 
 fall down to the feet. And the eyes like blue stars ! 
 You know the eyes of La Tulita. The lashes so 
 long, and black like the hair. And the sparkle! 
 No eyes ever sparkle like those. The eyes of Ysabel 
 Herrerra look like they want the world and never 
 can get it. Benicia's, pobrecita, just dance like the 
 child's. But La Tulita's ! They sparkle like the 
 devil sit behind and strike fire out red-hot iron " 
 
 " Mother of God ! " cried Mariquita, impatiently, 
 " We all know that thou art daft about that witch ! 
 And we know how she looks. Tell us the story." 
 
 " Hush thy voice or thou wilt hear nothing. It is 
 
THE WAS3-TUZ MAIL. 131 
 
 this way. La Tulita have the castinets and just 
 float up and down the sala, while all stand back and 
 no breathe only when they shout. I am in the gar- 
 den in the middle the house and I stand on a box 
 and look through the doors. Ay, the roses and the 
 nasturtiums smell so sweet in that little garden! 
 Well ! She dance so beautiful, I think the roof go 
 to jump off so she can float up and live on one 
 the gold stars all by herself. Her little feet just 
 twinkle ! Well ! The door open and Lieutenant 
 Ord come in. He have with him another young 
 man, not so handsome, but so straight, so sharp eye 
 and tight mouth. He look at La Tulita like he think 
 she belong to America and is for him, sure. Lieu- 
 tenant Ord go up to -Dona Maria and say, so polite : 
 'I take the liberty to bring Lieutenant '-I no can re- 
 member that name, so American ! 'He come to-day 
 from San Diego and will stay with us for awhile.' 
 And Dona Maria she smile and say, very sweet, 
 * Very glad when I have met all of our conquerors.' 
 And he turn red and speak very bad Spanish and 
 look, look at La Tulita. Then Lieutenant Ord speak 
 to him in English and he nod the head, and Lieu- 
 tenant Ord tell Dona Maria that his friend like be 
 introduced to La Tulita, and she say * Very well,' 
 and take him over to her who is now sit down. He 
 ask her to waltz right away, and he waltz very well, 
 and then they dance again, and once more. And 
 then they sit down and talk, talk. God of my soul, 
 but the caballeros are mad ! And Dona Maria ! By 
 and by she can stand it no more and she go up to 
 
132 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 La Tulita and take away from the American and 
 say, * Do you forget and for a bandolero that you 
 are engage to my nephew ? ' And La Tulita toss 
 the head and say, 'How can I remember Ramon 
 Garcia when he is in Yerba Buena ? I forget he is 
 alive.' And Dona Maria is very angry. The eyes 
 snap. But just then the little sister of La Tulita 
 run into the sala, the face red like the American 
 flag. < Ay, Herminia ! ' she just gasp, The donas ! 
 The donas ! It has come ! ' " 
 
 " The donas ! " cried the washing- women, old and 
 young. "Did'st thou see it, Faquita? Oh, sure. 
 Tell us, what did he send ? Is he a generous bride- 
 groom? Were there jewels ? And satins? Of what 
 was the rosary ! " 
 
 " Hush the voice or you will hear nothing. The 
 girls all jump up and clap their hands and they cry 
 4 Come, Herminia. Come quick ! Let us go and see.' 
 Only La Tulita hold the head very high and look 
 like the donas is nothing to her, and the Lieutenant 
 look very surprise, and she talk to him very fast like 
 she did no want him to know what they mean. But 
 the girls just take her hands and pull her out the 
 house. I am after sure. La Tulita look very mad, 
 but she cannot help, and in five minutes we are at 
 the Casa Rivera, and the girls scream and clap the 
 hands in the sala for Dona Carmen she have unpack 
 the donas, and the beautiful things are on the tables 
 and the sofas and the chairs. Mother of God! " 
 
 " Go on ! Go on ! " cried a dozen exasperated 
 voices. 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 133 
 
 " Well ! Such a donas. Ay, he is a generous lover. 
 A yellow crepe shawl embroidered with red roses. 
 A white one with embroidery so thick it can stand 
 up. A string of pearls from Baja California (Ay, 
 poor Ysabel Herrerra !). Hoops of gold for the lit- 
 tle ears of La Tulita. A big chain of California gold. 
 A set of topaz with pearls all round. A rosary of 
 amethyst purple like the violets. A big pin painted 
 with the Ascension, and diamonds all round. Silks 
 and satins for gowns. A white lace mantilla, God 
 of my soul ! A black one for the visits. And the 
 night-gowns like cobwebs. The petticoats!" She 
 stopped abruptly. 
 
 " And the smocks ? " cried her listeners, excitedly. 
 " The smocks ? They are more beautiful than Blan- 
 dina's ? They were pack in rose-leaves " 
 
 " Ay ! yi ! yi ! yi ! " The old woman dropped her 
 head on her breast and waved her arms. She was a 
 study for despair. Even she did not suspect how 
 thoroughly she was enjoying herself. 
 
 "What! What! Tell us! Quick, thou old 
 snail. They were not fine? They had not em- 
 broidery ? " 
 
 " Hush the voices. I tell you when I am ready. 
 The girls are like crazy. They look like they go to 
 eat the things. Only La Tulita sit on the chair in 
 the door with her back to all and look at the win- 
 dows of Dona Maria. They look like a long row of 
 suns, those windows. 
 
 " I am the one. Suddenly I say : * Where are the 
 smocks ? ' And they all cry : * Yes, where are the 
 
134 'THE WAS&-TUB MAIL. 
 
 smocks ? Let us see if he will be a good husband. 
 Dona Carmen, where are the smocks ? ' 
 
 " Dona Carmen turn over everything in a hurry. 
 ' I did not think of the smocks,' she say. i But they 
 must be here. Everything was unpack in this room.' 
 She lift all up, piece by piece. The girls help and 
 so do I. La Tulita sit still but begin to look more 
 interested. We search everywhere everywhere 
 for twenty minutes. There are no smocks ! " 
 
 " God of my life ! The smocks ! He did not for- 
 get!" 
 
 " He forget the smocks ! " 
 
 There was an impressive pause. The women were 
 too dumbfounded to comment. Never in the history 
 of Monterey, at least, had such a thing happened be- 
 fore. 
 
 Faquita continued: "The girls sit down on the 
 floor and cry. Dona Carmen turn very white and go 
 in the other room. Then La Tulita jump up and 
 walk across the room. The lashes fall down over the 
 eyes that look like she is California and have con- 
 quer America, not the other way. The nostrils just 
 jump. She laugh, laugh, laugh. 'So!' she say, 
 * My rich and generous and ardent bridegroom, he 
 forget the smocks of the donas. He proclaim as if 
 by a poster on the streets that he will be a bad hus- 
 band, a thoughtless, careless, indifferent husband. 
 He has vow by the stars that he adore me. He has 
 serenade beneath my window until I have beg for 
 mercy. He persecute my mother. And now he 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 135 
 
 flings the insult of insults in my teeth. And he with 
 six married sisters ! ' 
 
 " The girls just sob. They can say nothing. No 
 woman forgive that. Then she say loud : < Ana,' 
 and the girl run in. < Ana,' she say, ' pack this stuff 
 and tell Jose and Marcos take it up to the house of 
 the Seilor Don Ramon Garcia. I have no use for it.' 
 Then she say to me : * Faquita, walk back to Doiia 
 Maria's with me, no ? I have engagement with the 
 American.' And I go with her, of course ; I think I 
 go jump in the bay if she tell me ; and she dance all 
 night with that American. He no look at another 
 girl all have the eyes so red, anyhow. And Doiia 
 Maria is crazy that her nephew do such a thing, and 
 La Tulita no go to marry him now. Ay, that witch ! 
 She have the excuse and she take it." 
 
 For a few moments the din was so great that the 
 crows in a neighboring grove of willows sped away 
 in fear. The women talked all at once, at the top 
 of their voice and with no falling inflections. So 
 rich an assortment of expletives, secular and relig- 
 ious, such individuality yet sympathy of comment, 
 had not been called upon for duty since the Seventh 
 of July, a year before, when Commodore Sloat had 
 run up the American flag on the Custom-house. 
 Finally they paused to recover breath. Mariquita's 
 young lungs being the first to refill she demanded of 
 Faquita : 
 
 " And Don Ramon when does he return ? " 
 
 " In two weeks, no sooner," 
 
136 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 Two weeks later they were again gathered about 
 the tubs. 
 
 For a time after arrival they forgot La Tulita 
 now the absorbing topic of Monterey in a new 
 sensation. Mariquita had appeared with a basket 
 of unmistakable American underwear. 
 
 " What ! " cried Faquita, shrilly. " Thou wilt 
 defile these tubs with the linen of bandoleros ? Hast 
 thou had thy silly head turned with a kiss ? Not 
 one shirt shall go in this water." 
 
 Mariquita tossed her head defiantly. " Captain 
 Brotherton say the Indian women break his clothes 
 in pieces. They know not how to wash anything 
 but dish-rags. And does he not go to marry our 
 Doiia Eustaquia ? " 
 
 "The Captain is not so bad," admitted Faquita. 
 The indignation of the others also visibly diminished: 
 the captain had been very kind the year before when 
 gloom lay heavy on the town. "But," continued 
 the autocrat, with an ominous pressing of her lips, 
 " sure he must change three times a day. Is all that 
 Captain Brotherton's ? " 
 
 " He wear many shirts," began Mariquita, when 
 
THE WASU-TUB MAIL. 137 
 
 Faquita pounced upon the basket and shook its con- 
 tents to the grass. 
 
 " Aha ! It seems that the captain has sometimes 
 the short legs and sometimes the long. Sometimes 
 he put the tucks in his arms, I suppose. What 
 meaning has this ? Thou monster of hypocrisy ! " 
 
 The old women scowled and snorted. The girls 
 looked sympathetic : more than one midshipman had 
 found favor in the lower quarter. 
 
 " Well," said Mariquita, sullenly, " if thou must 
 know, it is the linen of the lieutenant of La Tulita. 
 Ana ask me to wash it, and I say I will." 
 
 At this announcement Faquita squared her elbows 
 and looked at Mariquita with snapping eyes. 
 
 " Oho, seiiorita, I suppose thou wilt say next that 
 thou knowest what means this flirtation ! Has La 
 Tulita lost her heart, perhaps? And Don Ramon 
 dost thou know why he leaves Monterey one hour 
 after he comes ? " Her tone was sarcastic, but in it 
 was a note of apprehension.' 
 
 Mariquita tossed her head and all pressed close 
 about the rivals. 
 
 " What dost thou know, this time ? " inquired the 
 girl provokingly. " Hast thou any letter to read to- 
 day ? Thou dost forget, old Faquita, that Ana is 
 my friend " 
 
 " Throw the clothes in the tubs," cried Faquita, 
 furiously. " Do we come here to idle and gossip ? 
 Mariquita, thou hussy, go over to that tub by thy- 
 self and wash the impertinent American rags. Quick 
 No more talk. The sun goes high." 
 
138 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 No one dared disobey the queen of the tubs, and 
 in a moment the women were kneeling in irregular 
 rows, tumbling their linen into the water, the brown 
 faces and bright attire making a picture in the color- 
 ous landscape which some native artist would have 
 done well to preserve. For a time no sound was 
 heard but the distant roar of the surf, the sighing of 
 the wind through the pines on the hill, the less 
 romantic grunts of the women and the swish of the 
 linen in the water. Suddenly Mariquita, the pro- 
 scribed, exclaimed from her segregated tub : 
 
 Look ! Look ! " 
 
 Heads flew up or twisted on their neck. A party 
 of young people, attended by a dueiia, was crossing 
 the meadow to the road. At the head of the proces- 
 sion were a girl and a man to whom every gaze which 
 should have been intent upon washing- tubs alone, 
 was directed. The girl wore a pink gown and 
 rebosa. Her extraordinary grace made her look 
 taller than she was ; the slender figure swayed 
 with every step. Her pink lips were parted, her 
 blue, starlike eyes, looked upward into the keen, 
 cold eyes of a young man wearing the uniform of a 
 lieutenant of the United States army. 
 
 The dominant characteristics of the young man's 
 face, even then, were ambition and determination, 
 and perhaps the remarkable future was foreshad- 
 owed in the restless, scheming mind. But to-day 
 his deeply-set eyes were glowing with a light more 
 peculiar to youth, and whenever bulging stones af- 
 forded excuse he grasped the girl's hand and held it 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 139 
 
 as long as he dared. The procession wound past 
 the tubs and crossing the road climbed up the hill 
 to the little wooded cemetery of the early fathers, 
 the cemetery where so many of those bright heads 
 were to lie forgotten beneath the wild oats and 
 thistles. 
 
 " They go to the grave of Benicia Ortega and her 
 little one," said Francesca. " Holy Mary ! La Tulita 
 never look in a man's eyes like that before." 
 9 " But she have in his," said Mariquita, wisely. 
 
 " No more talk ! " cried Faquita, and once more 
 silence came to her own. But fate was stronger 
 than Faquita. An hour later a little girl came run- 
 ning down, calling to the old woman that her grand- 
 child, the consolation of her age, had been taken ill. 
 After she had hurried away the women fairly leaped 
 over one another in their efforts to reach Mariquita's 
 tub. 
 
 " Tell us, tell us, chiquita," they cried, fearful lest 
 Faquita's snubbing should have turned her sulky, 
 "what dost thou know ? " 
 
 But Mariquita, who had been biting her lips to 
 keep back her story, opened them and spoke 
 fluently. 
 
 " Ay, my friends ! Dona Eustaquia and Benicia 
 Ortega are not the only ones to wed Americans. 
 Listen ! La Tulita is mad for this man, who is no 
 more handsome than the palm of my hand when it 
 has all day been in the water. Yesterday morning 
 came Don Ramon. I am in the back garden of the 
 Casa Rivera with Ana, and La Tulita is in the front 
 
140 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 garden sitting under the wall. I can look through 
 the doors of the sala and see and hear all. Such 
 a handsome caballero, my friends! The gold six 
 inches deep on the serape. Silver eagles on the 
 sombrero. And the botas ! Stamp with birds and 
 leaves, ay, yi ! He fling open the gates so bold, and 
 when he see La Tulita he look like the sun is behind 
 his face. (Such curls, my friends, tied with a blue 
 ribbon !) But listen ! 
 
 " ' Mi querida ! ' he cry, ' Mi alma ! ' (Ay, my 
 heart jump in my throat like he speak to me.) Then 
 he fall on one knee and try to kiss her hand. But 
 she throw herself back like she hate him. Her eyes 
 are like the bay in winter. And then she laugh. 
 When she do that he stand up and say with the voice 
 that shake : 
 
 " What is the matter, Herminia ? Do you not love 
 me any longer ? ' 
 
 " ' I never love you,' she say. < They give me no 
 peace until I say I marry you, and as I love no one 
 else I do not care much. But now that you have 
 insult me I have the best excuse to break the engage- 
 ment, and I do it.' " 
 
 " ' I insult you ? ' He hardly can speak, my friends, 
 he is so surprised and unhappy. 
 
 " ' Yes ; did you not forget the smocks ? ' 
 
 " ' The smocks ! ' he stammer, like that. < The 
 smocks ? ' 
 
 " ' No one can be blame but you,' she say. ' And 
 you know that no bride forgive that. You know all 
 that it means,' 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 141 
 
 " ' Ilermiiiia ! ' he say. * Surely you will not put 
 me away for a little thing like that ! ' 
 
 " c I have no more to say,' she reply, and then she 
 get up and go in the house and shut the door so I 
 cannot see how he feel, but I am very sorry for him 
 if he did forget the smocks. Well ! That evening 
 I help Ana water the flowers in the front garden, and 
 every once in the while we look through the windows 
 at La Tulita and the lieutenant. They talk, talk, talk. 
 He look so earnest and she she look so beautiful. 
 Not like a devil, as when she talk to Don Ramon in 
 the morning, but like an angel. Sure, a woman can 
 be both ! It depends upon the man. By and by 
 Ana go away, but I stay there, for I like to look at 
 them. After a while they get up and come out. It 
 is dark in the garden, the walls so high, and the trees 
 throw the shadows, so they cannot see me. They 
 walk up and down, and by and by the lieutenant take 
 out his knife and cut a shoot from, the rose-bush that 
 climb up the house. 
 
 " 4 These Castilian roses,' he say, very soft, but in 
 very bad Spanish, ' they are very beautiful and a part 
 of Monterey a part of you. Look, I am going to 
 plant this here, and long before it grow to be a big 
 bush I come back and you will wear its buds in your 
 hair when we are married in that lovely old church. 
 Now help me,' and then they kneel down and he stick 
 it in the ground, and all their fingers push the earth 
 around it. Then she give a little sob and say, * You 
 must go ? ' 
 
 " He lift her up and put his arms around her tight, 
 
142 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 c I must go,' he say. c I am not my own master, you 
 know, and the orders have come. But my heart is 
 here, in this old garden, and I come back for it.' 
 And then she put her arms around him and he kiss 
 her, and she love him so I forget to be sorry for Don 
 Ramon. After all, it is the woman who should be 
 happy. He hold her a long time, so long I am afraid 
 Dona Carmen come out to look for her. I lift up on 
 my knees (I am sit down before) and look in the 
 window and I see she is asleep, and I am glad. 
 Well! After a while they walk up and down again, 
 and he tell her all about his home far away, and about 
 some money he go to get when the law get ready, 
 and how he cannot marry on his pay. Then he say 
 how he go to be a great general some clay and how 
 she will be the more beautiful woman in how you 
 call it Washington, I think ? And she cry and say 
 she does not care, she only want him. And he tell 
 her water the rose-bush every day and think of him, 
 and he will come back before it is large, and every 
 time a bud come out she can know he is thinking of 
 her very hard." 
 
 "Ay, pobrecita ! " said Francesca, " I wonder will 
 he come back. These men ! " 
 
 " Sure. Are not all men mad for La Tulita ? " 
 
 " Yes yes, but he go far away. To America ! 
 God of my soul ! And men, they forget." Fran- 
 cesca heaved a deep sigh. Her youth was far behind 
 her, but she remembered many things. 
 
 " He return," said Mariquita, the young and ro- 
 mantic, 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 143 
 
 "When does he go?" 
 
 Mariquita pointed to the bay. A schooner rode at 
 anchor. " He go to Yerba Buena on that to-morrow 
 morning. From there to the land of the American. 
 Ay, yi ! Poor La Tulita ! But his linen is dry. I 
 must take it to iron for I have it promised for six in 
 the morning." And she hastily gathered the articles 
 from the low bushes and hurried away. 
 
 That evening as the women returned to town, talk- 
 ing gayly, despite the great baskets on their arms, 
 they passed the hut of Faquita and paused at the 
 window to inquire for the child. The little one lay 
 gasping on the bed. Faquita sat beside her with 
 bowed head. An aged crone brewed herbs over a 
 stove. The dingy little house faced the hills and was 
 dimly lighted by the fading rays of the sun strug- 
 gling through the dark pine woods. 
 
 " Holy Mary, Faquita ! " said Francesca, in a loud 
 whisper. " Does Liseta die ? " 
 
 Faquita sprang to her feet. Her cross old face was 
 drawn with misery. " Go, go ! " she said, waving 
 her arms, " I want none of you." 
 
 The next evening she sat in the same position, her 
 eyes fixed upon the shrinking features of the child. 
 The crone had gone. She heard the door open, and 
 turned with a scowl. But it was La Tulita that 
 entered and came rapidly to the head of the bed. 
 The girl's eyes were swollen, her dress and hair dis* 
 ordered. 
 
 " I have come to you because you are in trouble," 
 she said. " I, too, am in trouble. Ay, my Faquita ! " 
 
144 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 The old woman put up her arms and drew the girl 
 down to her lap. She had never touched her idol 
 before, but sorrow levels even social barriers. 
 
 " Pobrecita ! " she said, and the girl cried softly 
 on her shoulder. 
 
 " Will he come back, Faquita ?" 
 
 " Sure, ninita. No man could forget you." 
 
 " But it is so far." 
 
 " Think of what Don Vicente do for Doiia Ysabel, 
 mijita." 
 
 " But he is an American. Oh, no, it is not that I 
 doubt him. He loves me ! It is so far, like another 
 world. And the ocean is so big and cruel." 
 
 " We ask the priest to say a mass." 
 
 " Ah, my Faquita ! I will go to the church to-mor- 
 row morning. How glad I am that I came to thee." 
 She kissed the old woman warmly, and for the mo- 
 ment Faquita forgot her trouble. 
 
 But the child threw out its arms and moaned. La 
 Tulita pushed the hair out of her eyes and brought 
 the medicine from the stove, where it simmered un- 
 savorily. The child swallowed it mechanically, and 
 Faquita shook her head in despair. At the dawn it 
 died. As La Tulita laid her white fingers on the 
 gaping eyelids, Faquita rose to her feet. Her ugly 
 old face was transfigured. Even the grief had gone 
 out of it. For a moment she was no longer a woman, 
 but one of the most subtle creations of the Catholic 
 religion conjoined with racial superstitions. 
 
 " As the moon dieth and cometh to life again," she 
 repeated with a sort of chanting cadence, " so man, 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 145 
 
 though he die, will live again. Is it not well that 
 she will wander forever through forests where crys- 
 tal streams roll over golden sands, than grow into 
 wickedness, and go out into the dark unrepenting^ 
 perhaps, to be bitten by serpents and scorched by 
 lightning and plunged down cataracts ? " She turned 
 to La Tulita. " Will you stay here, senorita, while 
 I go to bid them make merry ? " 
 
 The girl nodded and the woman went out. La 
 Tulita watched the proud head and erect carriage for 
 a moment, then bound up the fallen jaw of the little 
 corpse, crossed its hands and placed weights on the 
 eyelids. She pushed the few pieces of furniture 
 against the wall, striving to forget the one trouble 
 that had come into her triumphant young life. But 
 there was little to do, and after a time she knelt by 
 the window and looked up at the dark forest upon 
 which long shafts of light were striking, routing the 
 fog that crouched in the hollows. The town was as 
 quiet as a necropolis. The white houses, under the 
 black shadows of the hills, lay like tombs. Suddenly 
 the roar of the surf came to her ears, and she threw 
 out her arms with a cry, dropping her head upon 
 them and sobbing convulsively. She heard the pon- 
 derous waves of the Pacific lashing the keel of a ship. 
 
 She was aroused by shouting and sounds of merri- 
 ment. She raised her head dully, but remembered 
 in a moment what Faquita had left her to await. 
 The dawn lay rosily on the town. The shimmering 
 light in the pine woods was crossed and recrossed by 
 the glare of rockets. Down the street came the sound 
 10 
 
146 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 of singing voices, the words of the song heralding 
 the flight of a child-spirit to a better world. La 
 Tulita slipped out of the back door and went to her 
 home without meeting the procession. But before 
 she shut herself in her room she awakened Ana, and 
 giving her a purse of gold, bade her buy a little coffin 
 draped with white and garlanded with white flowers. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 " TELL us, tell us, Mariquita, does she water the 
 rose-tree every night ? " 
 
 " Every night, ay, yi ! " 
 
 " And is it big yet ? Ay, but that wall is high ! 
 Not a twig can I see! " 
 
 " Yes, it grows ! " 
 
 " And he comes not ? " 
 
 "He write. I see the letters." 
 
 "But what does he say?" 
 
 " How can I know ? " 
 
 " And she goes to the balls and meriendas no more. 
 Sure, they will forget her. It is more than a year 
 now. Some one else will be lia Favorita." 
 
 " She does not care." 
 
 " Hush the voices," cried Faquita, scrubbing dili- 
 gently. " It is well that she stay at home and does 
 not dance away her beauty before he come. She is 
 like a lily." 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 147 
 
 "But lilies turn brown, old Faquita, when the 
 wind blow on them too long. Dost thou think he 
 will return?" 
 
 " Sure," said Faquita, stoutly. " Could any one 
 forget that angel ? " 
 
 " Ay, these men, these men ! " said Francesca with 
 a sigh. 
 
 " Oh, thou old raven ! " cried Mariquita. " But sure 
 sure she has had no letter for three months." 
 
 "Aha, senorita, thou didst not tell us that just 
 now." 
 
 "Nor did I intend to. The word just fell from 
 my teeth." 
 
 " He is sick," cried Faquita angrily. " Ay, my 
 pobrecita ! Sometimes I think Ysabel is more 
 happy under the rocks." 
 
 " How dost thou know he is sick ? Will be die ? " 
 The wash-tub mail had made too few mistakes in its 
 history to admit of doubt being cast upon the proud 
 assertion of one of its officials. 
 
 " I hear Captain Brotherton read from a letter to 
 Dona Eustaquia. Ay, they are happy ! " 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Two hours ago." 
 
 " Then we know before the town like always." 
 
 " Sure. Do we not know all things first ? Hist ! " 
 
 The women dropped their heads and fumbled at 
 the linen in the water. La Tulita was approaching. 
 
 She came across the meadow with all her old 
 swinging grace, the blue gown waving about her 
 like leaves of a California lily when the wind rustled 
 
148 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 the forest. But the rebosa framed a face thin and 
 pale, and the sparkle was gone from her eyes. She 
 passed the tubs and greeted the old women pleas- 
 antly, walked a few steps up the hill, then turned 
 as if in obedience to an afterthought, and sat down 
 on a stone in the shade of a willow. 
 
 " It is cool here," she said. 
 
 "Yes, senorita." They were not deceived, but 
 they dared not stare at her, with Faquita's scowl 
 upon them. 
 
 " What news has the wash-tub mail to-day ? " 
 asked the girl with an attempt at lightness. " Did 
 an enemy invade the South this morning, and have 
 you heard it already, as when General Kearney 
 came ? Is General Castro still in Baja California or 
 has he fled to Mexico ? Has Doiia Prudencia Iturbi y 
 Moncada given a ball this week at Santa Barbara ? 
 Have Don Diego and Dona Chonita ? " 
 
 " The young lieutenant is sick," blurted out one of 
 the old women, then cowered until she almost fell 
 into her tub. Faquita sprang forward and caught 
 the girl in her arms. 
 
 " Thou old fool ! " she cried furiously. " Thou 
 devil ! May thou find a tarantula in thy bed to- 
 night. May thou dream thou art roasting in hell." 
 She carried La Tulita rapidly across the meadow. 
 
 " Ah, I thought I should hear there," said the girl 
 with a laugh. " Thank heaven for the wash-tub 
 mail." 
 
 Faquita nursed her through a long illness. She 
 recovered both health and reason, and one day the 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 149 
 
 old woman brought her word that the young lieu- 
 tenant was well again and that his illness had been 
 brief and slight. 
 
 L'ENVOI. 
 
 " Ay, but the years go quick ! " said Mariquita, as 
 she flapped a piece of linen after taking it from the 
 water. "I wonder do all towns sleep like this. 
 Who can believe that once it is so gay ? The balls ! 
 The grand caballeros ! The serenades ! The meri- 
 endas ! No more ! No more ! Almost I forget the 
 excitement when the Americans coming. I no am 
 young any more. Ay, yi ! " 
 
 "Poor Faquita, she just die of old age," said a 
 woman who had been young with Mariquita, spread- 
 ing an article of underwear on a bush. " Her life 
 just drop out like her teeth. No one of the old 
 women that taught us to wash is here now, Ma- 
 riquita. We are the old ones now, and we teach the 
 young, ay, yi ! " 
 
 " Well, it is a comfort that the great grow old like 
 the low people. High birth can not keep the skin 
 white and the body slim. Ay, look! Who can 
 think she is so beautiful before ? " 
 
 A woman was coming down the road from the 
 town. A woman whom passing years had browned, 
 although leaving the fine, strong features un- 
 coarsened. She was dressed simply in black, and 
 
150 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 wore a small American bonnet. The figure had not 
 lost the slimness of its youth, but the walk was stiff 
 and precise. The carriage evinced a determined 
 will. 
 
 " Ay, who can think that once she sway like the 
 tule ! " said Mariquita, with a sigh. " Well, when 
 she come to-day I have some news. A letter, we 
 used to call it, dost thou remember, Brigida ? Who 
 care for the wash-tub mail now ? These Americans 
 never hear of it, and our people triste de mi have 
 no more the interest in anything." 
 
 " Tell us thy news," cried many voices. The older 
 women had never lost their interest in La Tulita. 
 The younger ones had heard her story many times, 
 and rarely passed the wall before her house without 
 looking at the tall rose-bush which towered like a 
 young tree. 
 
 " No, you can hear when she come. She will come 
 to-day. Six months ago to-day she come. Ay, yi, 
 to think she come once in six months all these years ! 
 And never until to-day has the wash-tub mail a let- 
 ter for her." 
 
 " Very strange she did not forget a Gringo and 
 marry with a caballero," said one of the girls, scorn- 
 fully. " They say the caballeros were so beautiful, 
 so magnificent. The Americans have all the money 
 now, but she been rich for a little while." 
 
 "All women are not alike. Sometimes I think 
 she is more happy with the memory." And Mari- 
 quita, who had a fat, lazy husband and a swarm of 
 brown children, sighed heavily. " She live happy 
 
THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 151 
 
 in the old house and is not so poor. And always 
 she have the rose-bush. She smile now, sometimes, 
 when she water it." 
 
 "Well, it is many years," said the girl, philo- 
 sophically. " Here she come." 
 
 La Tulita, or Doila Herminia, as she was now 
 called, walked briskly across the meadow and sat 
 down on the stone which had come to be called for 
 her. She spoke to each in turn but did not ask for 
 news. She had ceased long since to do that. She 
 still came because the habit held her, and because 
 she liked the women. 
 
 " Ah, Mariquita," she said, " the linen is not as 
 fine as when we were young. And thou art glad to 
 get the shirts of the Americans now. Poor my 
 Faquita!" 
 
 " Coarse things," said Mariquita, disdainfully. 
 Then a silence fell, so sudden and so suggestive that 
 Doiia Herminia felt it and turned instinctively to 
 Mariquita. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked rapidly. " Is there news 
 to-day? Of what?" 
 
 Mariquita's honest face was grave and important. 
 
 " There is news, seiiorita," she said. 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 The washing- women had dropped back from the 
 tubs and were listening intently. 
 
 " Ay ! " The oracle drew a long breath. " There 
 is war over there, you know, seiiorita," she said, 
 making a vague gesture toward the Atlantic States. 
 
 " Yes, I know. Is it decided ? Is the North or 
 
152 THE WASH-TUB MAIL. 
 
 the South victorious ? I am glad that the wash-tub 
 mail has not " 
 
 " It is not that, senorita." 
 
 " Then what ? " 
 
 " The lieutenant he is a great general now." 
 
 "Ay!" 
 
 " He has won a great battle 
 
 " And they speak of his wife, senorita." 
 
 Dona Herminia closed her eyes for a moment. 
 Then opened them and glanced slowly about her. 
 The blue bay, the solemn pines, the golden atmos- 
 phere, the cemetery on the hill, the women washing 
 at the stone tubs all was unchanged. Only the 
 flimsy wooden houses of the Americans scattered 
 among the adobes of the town and the aging faces 
 of the women who had been young in her brief girl- 
 hood, marked the lapse of years. There was a smile 
 on her lips. Her monotonous life could only have 
 given her insanity or infinite peace, and peace had 
 been her portion. In a few minutes she said good- 
 bye to the women and went home. She never went 
 to the tubs again. 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 i. 
 
 A FOREST of willows cut by a forking creek, and 
 held apart here and there by fields of yellow mus- 
 tard blossoms fluttering in their pale-green nests, or 
 meadows carpeted with the tiny white and yellow 
 flowers of early summer. Wide patches of blue 
 where the willows ended, and immense banks of 
 daisies bordering fields of golden grain, bending and 
 shimmering in the wind with the long, even sweep 
 of rising tide. Then the lake, long, irregular, half 
 choked with tules, closed by a marsh. The valley 
 framed by mountains of purplish gray, dull brown 
 with patches of vivid green and yellow ; a solitary 
 gray peak barren and rocky, in sharp contrast to 
 the rich Californian hills ; on one side fawn-colored 
 slopes, and slopes with groves of crouching oaks in 
 their hollows ; opposite and beyond the cold peak, a 
 golden hill rising to a mount of earthy green ; still 
 lower, another peak, red and green, mulberry and 
 mould ; between and afar, closing the valley, a line 
 of pink-brown mountains splashed with blue. 
 
 153 
 
154 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 Such was a fragment of Don Roberto Duncan's 
 vast rancho of Los Quervos, and on a plateau 
 above the willows stood the adobe house, white and 
 red- tiled, shaped like a solid letter H. On the deep 
 veranda, sunken between the short forearms of the 
 II, Doiia Jacoba could stand and issue commands in 
 her harsh, imperious voice to the Indians in the 
 rancheria among the willows, whilst the long sala be- 
 hind overflowed with the gay company her famous 
 hospitality had summoned, the bare floor and ugly 
 velvet furniture swept out of thought by beautiful 
 faces and flowered silken gowns. 
 
 Behind the sala was an open court, the grass grow- 
 ing close to the great stone fountain. On either side 
 was a long line of rooms, and above the sala was a 
 library opening into the sleeping-room of Dona 
 Jacoba on one side, and into that of Elena, her 
 youngest and loveliest daughter, on the other. Be- 
 hind the house were a dozen or more buildings ; the 
 kitchen; a room in which steers and bullocks, sheep 
 and pigs, were hanging ; a store-house containing 
 provisions enough for a hotel ; and the manufactories 
 of the Indians. Somewhat apart was a large build- 
 ing with a billiard-room in its upper story and 
 sleeping-rooms below. From her window Elena 
 could look down upon the high- walled corral with 
 its prancing horses always in readiness for the 
 pleasure-loving guests, and upon the broad road 
 curving through the willows and down the valley. 
 
 The great house almosts hook with life on this 
 brilliant day of the mouth of June, 1852. Don 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 155 
 
 Roberto Duncan, into whose shrewd Scottish hands 
 California had poured her wealth for forty years, 
 had long ago taken to himself a wife of Castilian 
 blood ; to-morrow their eldest remaining daughter 
 was to be married to a young Englishman, whose 
 father had been a merchant in California when San 
 Francisco was Yerba Buena. Not a room was 
 vacant in the house. Young people had come from 
 Monterey and San Francisco, Santa Barbara and Los 
 Angeles. Beds had been put up in the library and 
 billiard-room, in the store-rooms and attics. The 
 corral was full of strange horses, and the huts in the 
 willows had their humbler guests. 
 
 Francisca sat in her room surrounded by a dozen 
 chattering girls. The floor beneath the feet of- the 
 Californian heiress was bare, and the heavy furni- 
 ture was of uncarved mahogany. But a satin quilt 
 covered the bed, lavish Spanish needlework draped 
 chest and tables, and through the open window came 
 the June sunshine and the sound of the splashing of 
 the fountain. 
 
 Francisca was putting the last stitches in her 
 wedding-gown, and the girls were helping, advising, 
 and commenting. 
 
 "Art thou not frightened, Panchita," demanded 
 one of the girls, " to go away and live with a strange 
 man? Just think, thou hast seen him but ten 
 times." 
 
 " What of that ? " asked Francisca serenely, hold- 
 ing the rich corded silk at arm's-length, and half clos- 
 ing her eyes as she readjusted the deep flounce of 
 
156 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 Spanish lace. " Remember, we will ride and dance 
 and play games together for a week with all of you, 
 dear friends, before I go away with him. I shall 
 know him quite well by that time. And did not my 
 father know him when he was a little boy ? Surely 
 he cannot be a cruel man, or my father would not 
 have chosen him for my husband." 
 
 " I like the Americans and the Germans and the 
 Russians," said the girl who had spoken, " particu- 
 larly the Americans. But these English are so stern, 
 so harsh sometimes." 
 
 " What of that ? " asked Francisca again. " Am 
 I not used to my father ? " 
 
 She was a singular-looking girl, this compound 
 of Scottish and Spanish. Her face was cast in 
 her father's hard mould, and her frame was large 
 and sturdy, but she had the black luxuriant hair of 
 Spain, and much grace of gesture and expression. 
 
 " I would not marry an Englishman," said a soft 
 voice. 
 
 Francisca raised her eyebrows and glanced coldly 
 at the speaker, a girl of perfect loveliness, who sat 
 behind a table, her chin resting on her clasped hands. 
 
 " Thou wouldst marry whom our father told thee 
 to marry, Elena," said her sister severely. "What 
 hast thou to say about it ? " 
 
 " I will marry a Spaniard," said Elena rebelliously. 
 " A Spaniard, and no other." 
 
 " Thou wilt do what ? " asked a cold voice from 
 the door. The girls gave a little scream. Elena 
 turned pale, even Francisca's hands twitched. 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 157 
 
 Dona Jacoba was an impressive figure as she 
 stood in the doorway. A tall, unbowed woman with 
 a large face and powerful, penetrating eyes. A thin 
 mouth covering white teeth separated the promi- 
 nent nose and square chin. A braid of thick black 
 hair lay over her fine bust, and a black silk hand- 
 kerchief made a turban for her lofty head. She 
 wore a skirt of heavy black silk and a shawl of 
 Chinese crepe one end thrown gracefully over her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " What didst thou say ? " she demanded again, a 
 sneer on her lips. 
 
 Elena made no answer. She stared through the 
 window at the servants laying the table in the din- 
 ing-room on the other side of the court, her breath 
 shortening as if the room had been exhausted of 
 air. 
 
 " Let me hear no more of that nonsense," continued 
 her mother. " A strange remark truly to come from 
 the lips of a Californian ! Thy father has said that 
 his daughters shall marry men of his race men 
 who belong to that island of the North ; and I have 
 agreed, and thy sisters are well married. No women 
 are more virtuous, more industrious, more religious, 
 than ours ; but our men our young men are a set 
 of drinking, gambling vagabonds. Go to thy room 
 and pray there until supper." 
 
 Elena ran out of an opposite door, and Dona Jacoba 
 sat down on a high-backed chair and held out her 
 hand for the wedding-gown. She examined it atten- 
 tively, and gave a faint smile of approval. 
 
158 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 " The lace is beautiful," she said. " There is no 
 richer in California, and I have seen Dona Trinidad 
 Iturbi y Moncada's, and Dona Modeste Castro's. 
 Let me see thy mantilla once more." 
 
 Francisca opened a chest nearly as large as her 
 bed, and shook out a long square of superb Spanish 
 lace. It had arrived from the city of Mexico but a 
 few days before. The girls clapped their admiring 
 hands, as if they had not looked at it twenty times, 
 and Dona Jacoba smoothed it tenderly with her 
 strong hands. Then she went over to the chest and 
 lifted the beautiful silk and crepe gowns, one by 
 one, her sharp eyes detecting no flaw. She opened 
 another chest and examined the piles of under- 
 clothing and bed linen, all of finest woof, and deeply 
 bordered with the drawn work of Spain. 
 
 " All is well," she said, returning to her chair. 
 " I see nothing more to be done. Thy brother will 
 bring the emeralds, and the English plate will come 
 before the week is over." 
 
 " Is it sure that Santiago will come in time for 
 the wedding?" asked a half-English granddaughter, 
 whose voice broke suddenly at her own temerity. 
 
 But Doiia Jacoba was in a gracious mood. 
 
 " Surely. Has not Don Roberto gone to meet 
 him ? He will be here at four to-day." 
 
 " How glad I shall be to see him ! " said Francisca. 
 "Just think, my friends, I have not seen him for 
 seven years. Not since he was eleven years old. 
 He has been on that cold dreadful island in the 
 North all this time. I wonder has he changed ! " 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 159 
 
 "Why should he change?" asked Doiia Jacoba. 
 " Is he not a Cortez and a Duncan? Is he not a 
 Calif ornian and a Catholic ? Can a few years in an 
 English school make him of another race? He is 
 seven years older, that is all." 
 
 " True," assented Francisca, threading her needle ; 
 " Of course he could not change." 
 
 Dona Jacoba opened a large fan and wielded it 
 with slow curves of her strong wrist. She had 
 never been cold in her life, and even a June day 
 oppressed her. 
 
 " We have another guest," she said in a moment 
 " a young man, Don Dario Castaiiares of Los Robles 
 Rancho. He comes to buy cattle of my husband, 
 and must remain with us until the bargain is over." 
 
 Several of the girls raised their large black eyes 
 with interest. " Don Dario Castanares," said one ; 
 " I have heard of him. He is very rich and very 
 handsome, they say." 
 
 "Yes," said Dona Jacoba, indifferently. "He is 
 not ugly, but much too dark. His mother was an 
 Indian. He is no husband, with all his leagues, for 
 any Californian of pure Castilian blood." 
 
 II. 
 
 ELENA had gone up to her room, and would have 
 locked the door had she possessed a key. As it was, 
 she indulged in a burst of tears at the prospect of 
 marrying an Englishman, then consoled herself with 
 
160 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOKA. 
 
 the thought that her best-beloved brother would be 
 with her in a few hours. 
 
 She bathed her face and wound the long black 
 coils about her shapely head. The flush faded out 
 of her white cheeks, and her eyelids were less heavy. 
 But the sadness did not leave her eyes nor the 
 delicate curves of her mouth. She had the face of 
 the Madonna, stamped with the heritage of suffer- 
 ing; a nature so keenly capable of joy and pain that 
 she drew both like a magnet, and would so long as 
 life stayed in her. 
 
 She curled herself up in the window-seat, looking 
 down the road for the gray cloud of dust that would 
 herald her brother. But only black crowds of crows 
 mounted screaming from the willows, to dive and 
 rise again. Suddenly she became conscious that she 
 was watched, and her gaze swept downward to the 
 corral. A stranger stood by the gates giving orders 
 to a vaquero, but looking hard at her from beneath 
 his low-dropped sombrero. 
 
 He was tall, this stranger, and very slight. His 
 face was nearly as dark as an Indian's, but set with 
 features so perfect that no one but Dona Jacoba had 
 ever found fault with his skin. Below his dreaming, 
 ardent eyes was a straight, delicate nose ; the sensu- 
 ous mouth was half parted over glistening teeth, 
 and but lightly shaded by a silken mustache. 
 About his graceful figure hung a dark-red serape 
 embroidered and fringed with gold, and his red 
 velvet trousers were laced and his yellow riding- 
 boots gartered with silver. 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 161 
 
 Elena rose quickly and pulled the curtain across 
 the window ; the blood had flown to her hair, and a 
 smile chased the sadness from her mouth. Then 
 she raised her hands and pressed the palms against 
 the slope of the ceiling, her dark, upturned eyes 
 full of terror. For many moments she stood so, 
 hardly conscious of what she was doing, seeing only 
 the implacable eyes of her mother. Then down the 
 road came the loud, regular hoof-falls of galloping 
 horses, and with an eager cry she flung aside the 
 curtain, forgetting the stranger. 
 
 Down the road, half hidden by the willows, came 
 two men. When they reached the rancheria Elena 
 saw the faces. A sandy-haired, hard-faced old 
 Scotsman, with cold blue eyes beneath shaggy red 
 brows, and a dark, slim lad, every inch a Califor- 
 nian. Elena waved her handkerchief and the lad his 
 hat. Then the girl rushed down the stairs and over 
 to the willows. Santiago sprang from his horse, 
 and the brother and sister clung together kissing and 
 crying, hugging each other until her hair fell down 
 and his hat was in the dust. 
 
 " Thou hast come ! " cried Elena at last, holding 
 him at arm's-length that she might see him better, 
 then clinging to him again with all her strength. 
 " Thou wilt never leave me again promise me ! 
 Promise me, my Santiago! Ay, I have been so 
 lonely." 
 
 " Never, my little one. Have I not longed to come 
 home that I might be with thee ? O my Elena ! I 
 know so much. I will teach thee everything." 
 11 
 
162 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 
 
 " Ay, I am proud of thee, my Santiago ! Thou 
 knowest more than any boy in California I 
 know." 
 
 " Perhaps that would not be much," with fine 
 scorn. " But come, Elena mia, I must go to my 
 mother ; she is waiting. She looks as stern as ever ; 
 but how I have longed to see her ! " 
 
 They ran to the house, passing the stranger, who 
 had watched them with folded arms and scowling 
 brows. Santiago rushed impetuously at his mother ; 
 but she put out her arm, stiff and straight, and held 
 him back. Then she laid her hand, with its vice- 
 like grip, on his shoulder, and led him down the 
 sala to the chapel at the end. It was arranged for 
 the wedding with all the pomp of velvet altar-cloth 
 and golden candelabra. He looked at it wonder- 
 ingly. Why had she brought him to look upon this 
 before giving him a mother's greeting ? 
 
 " Kneel down," she said, " and repeat the prayers 
 of thy Church prayers of gratitude for thy safe 
 return." 
 
 The boy folded his hands deprecatingly. 
 
 " But, mother, remember it is seven long years 
 since I have said the Catholic prayers. Remember 
 I have been educated in an English college, in a 
 Protestant country." 
 
 Her tall form curved slowly toward him, the 
 blood blazed in her dark cheeks. 
 
 . " What ! " she screamed, incredulously. " Thou 
 hast forgotten the prayers of thy Church the pray- 
 ers thou learnedst at my knee ? " 
 
THE CONQU&ST OF DONA JACOB A. 163 
 
 " Yes, mother, I have," he said desperately. " I 
 cannot " 
 
 " God ! " she cried. " God ! Mother of God ! My 
 son says this to me ! " She caught him by the 
 shoulder again and almost hurled him from the 
 room. Then she locked her hand about his arm 
 and dragged him down the sala to his father's 
 room. She took a greenhide reata from the table 
 and brought it down upon his back with long sweeps 
 of her powerful arm, but not another word came 
 from her rigid lips. The boy quivered with the 
 shame and pain, but made no resistance for he 
 was a Californian, and she was his mother. 
 
 m. 
 
 , the eldest son, who had been hunting 
 bear with a number of his guests, returned shortly 
 after his brother's arrival, and was met at the door 
 by his mother. 
 
 " Where is Santiago ? " he asked. " I hear he has 
 come." 
 
 " Santiago has been sent to bed, where he will 
 remain for the present. We have an unexpected 
 guest, Joaquin. He leans there against the tree 
 Don Dario Castanares. Thou knowest who he is. 
 He comes to buy cattle of thy father and will remain 
 some days. Thou must share thy room with him, 
 
164 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 
 
 for there is no other place even on the billiard- 
 table." 
 
 Joaquin liked the privacy of his room, but he had 
 all the hospitality of his race. He went at once to 
 the stranger, walking a little heavily, for he was no 
 longer young and slender, but with a cordial smile 
 on his shrewd, warmly colored face. 
 
 " The house is at your service, Don Dario," he 
 said, shaking the new-comer's hand. " We are hon- 
 ored that you come in time for my sister's wedding. 
 It distresses me that I cannot offer you the best 
 room in the house, but, Dios ! we have a company 
 here. I have only the half of my poor bed to offer 
 you, but if you will deign to accept that " 
 
 " I am miserable, wretched, to put you to such 
 trouble " 
 
 " Never think of such a thing, my friend. Noth- 
 ing could give me greater happiness than to try to 
 make you comfortable in my poor room. Will you 
 come now and take a siesta before supper ? " 
 
 Dario followed him to the house, protesting at 
 every step, and Joaquin threw open the door of one 
 of the porch rooms. 
 
 " At your service, senor everything at your 
 service." 
 
 He went to one corner of the room and kicked 
 aside a pile of saddles, displaying a small hillock of 
 gold in ten and fifty-dollar slugs. " You will find 
 about thirty thousand dollars there. We sold some 
 cattle a few days ago. I beg that you will help 
 yourself. It is all at your service. I will now go 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 165 
 
 and send you some aguardiente, for you must be 
 thirsty." And he went out and left his guest alone. 
 
 Dario threw himself face downward on the bed. 
 He was in love, and the lady had kissed another 
 man as if she had no love to spare. True, it was 
 but her brother she had kissed, but would she have 
 eyes for any one else during a stranger's brief visit ? 
 And how, in this crowded house, could he speak a 
 word with her alone ? And that terrible dragon of 
 a mother ! He sprang to his feet as an Indian serv- 
 ant entered with a glass of aguardiente. When he 
 had burnt his throat he felt better. " I will stay 
 until I have won her, if I remain a month," he 
 vowed. " It will be some time before Don Roberto 
 will care to talk business." 
 
 But Don Roberto was never too preoccupied to talk 
 business. After he had taken his bath and siesta, 
 he sent a servant to request Don Dario Castanares 
 to come up to the library where he spent most of 
 his time, received all his visitors, reprimanded his 
 children, and took his after-dinner naps. It was a 
 luxurious room for the Californian of that day. A 
 thick red English carpet covered the floor ; one side 
 of the room was concealed by a crowded bookcase, 
 and the heavy mahogany furniture was handsomely 
 carved, although upholstered with horse-hair. 
 
 In an hour every detail of the transaction had 
 been disposed of, and Dario had traded a small 
 rancho for a herd of cattle. The young man's face 
 was very long when the last detail had been ar- 
 ranged, but he had forgotten that his host was as 
 
166 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 Californian as himself. Don Roberto poured him a 
 brimming glass of angelica, and gave him a hearty 
 slap on the back. 
 
 " The cattle will keep for a few days, Don Dario," 
 he said, " and you shall not leave this house until 
 the festivities are over. Not until a week from to- 
 morrow do you hear ? I knew your father. We 
 had many a transaction together, and I take pleas- 
 ure in welcoming his son under my roof. Now get 
 off to the young people, and do not make any 
 excuses." 
 
 Dario made none. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " THE next morning at eight, Francisca stood before 
 the altar in the chapel, looking very handsome in 
 her rich gown and soft mantilla. The bridegroom, 
 a sensible-looking young Englishman, was somewhat 
 nervous, but Francisca might have been married 
 every morning at eight o'clock. Behind them stood 
 Don Roberto in a new suit of English broadcloth, and 
 Doiia Jacoba in heavy lilac silk, half covered with 
 priceless lace. The six bridesmaids looked like a 
 huge bouquet in their wide, delicately colored skirts. 
 Their dark eyes, mischievous, curious, thoughtful, 
 flashed more brilliantly than the jewels they wore. 
 
 The sala and Don Roberto's room beyond were so 
 crowded that some of the guests stood in the "win- 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 167 
 
 (lows, and many could not enter the doors ; every 
 family within a hundred leagues had come to the 
 wedding. The veranda was crowded with girls, 
 the sparkling faces draped in~ black mantillas or 
 bright rebosas, the full gay gowns fluttering in the 
 breeze. Men in jingling spurs and all the bravery 
 of gold-laced trousers and short embroidered jackets, 
 respectfully elbowed their way past brown and stout 
 old women that they might whisper a word in some 
 pretty, alert little ear. They had all ridden many 
 leagues that morning, but there was not a trace of 
 fatigue on any face. The court behind the sala was 
 full of Indian servants striving to catch a glimpse of 
 the ceremony. 
 
 Dario stood just within the front door, his eyes 
 eagerly fixed upon Elena. She looked like a Cali- 
 fornia lily in her white gown ; even her head drooped 
 a little as if a storm had passed. Her eyes were 
 absent and heavy; they mirrored nothing of the 
 solemn gayety of the morning ; they saw only the 
 welts on her brother's back. 
 
 Dario had not seen her since Santiago's arrival. 
 She had not appeared at supper, and he had slept 
 little in consequence ; in fact, he had spent most of 
 the night playing monte with Joaquin and a dozen 
 other young men in the billiard-room. 
 
 During the bridal mass the padre gave communion 
 to the young couple, and to those who had made 
 confession the night before. Elena was not of the 
 number, and during the intense silence she drew 
 back and stood and knelt near Pario. They were 
 
168 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 not close enough to speak, had they dared ; but the 
 Californian had other speech than words, and Dario 
 and Elena made their confession that morning. 
 
 During breakfast they were at opposite ends of 
 the long table in the dining-room, but neither took 
 part in the songs and speeches, the toasts and 
 laughter. Both had done some maneuvering to get 
 out of sight of the old people, and sit at one of the 
 many other tables in the sala, on the corridor, in the 
 court; but Elena had to go with the bridesmaids, 
 and Joaquin insisted upon doing honor to the unin- 
 vited guest. The Indian servants passed the rich 
 and delicate, the plain and peppered dishes, the 
 wines and the beautiful cakes for which Dona Jacoba 
 and her daughters were famous. The massive plate 
 that had done duty for generations in Spain was on 
 the table ; the crystal had been cut in England. It 
 was the banquet of a grandee, and no one noticed 
 the silent lovers. 
 
 After breakfast the girls flitted to their rooms and 
 changed their gowns, and wound rebosas or mantillas 
 about their heads ; the men put off their jackets for 
 lighter ones of flowered calico, and the whole party, 
 in buggies or on horseback, started for a bull-fight 
 which was to take place in a field about a mile be- 
 hind the house. Elena went in a buggy with San- 
 tiago, who was almost as pale as she. Dario, on 
 horseback, rode as near her as he dared ; but when 
 they reached the fence about the field careless riders 
 crowded between, and he could only watch he v from 
 afar. 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 169 
 
 The vaqueros in their broad black hats shining 
 with varnish, their black velvet jackets, their crim- 
 son sashes and short, black velvet trousers laced 
 with silver cord over spotless linen, looked very 
 picturesque as they dashed about the field jingling 
 their spurs and shouting at each other. When the 
 bulls trotted in and greeted each other pleasantly, 
 the vaqueros swung their hissing reatas and yelled 
 until the maddened animals wreaked their vengeance 
 on each other, and the serious work of the day 
 began. 
 
 Elena leaned back with her fan before her eyes, 
 but Santiago looked on eagerly in spite of his Eng- 
 lish training. 
 
 " Caramba!" he cried, "but that old bull is 
 tough. Look, Elena ! The little one is down. No, 
 no ! He has the big one. Ay ! yi, yi ! By Jove ! 
 he is gone no, he has run off he is on him again. 
 He has ripped him up ! Brava ! brava ! " 
 
 A cheer as from one throat made the mountains 
 echo, but Elena still held her fan before the field. 
 
 " How canst thou like such bloody sport?" she 
 asked, disgustedly. "The poor animals ! What 
 pleasure canst thou take to see a fine brute kicking 
 in his death-agony, his bowels trailing on the 
 ground ? " 
 
 " Fie, Elena ! Art thou not a Californian ? Dost 
 thou not love the sport of thy country ? Why, look 
 at the other girls ! They are mad with excitement- 
 By Jove ! I never saw so many bright eyes. I 
 wonder if I will be too stiff to dance to-night j 
 
170 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 Elena! she gave me a beating! But tell me, little 
 one, why dost thou not like the bull-fight ? I feel 
 like another man since I have seen it." 
 
 " I cannot be pleased with cruelty. I shall never 
 get used to see beasts killed for amusement. And 
 Don Dario Castaiiares does not like it either. He 
 never smiled once, nor said, Brava ! ' " 
 
 " Aha! And how dost thou know whether he did 
 or not? I thought thy face was behind that big 
 black fan." 
 
 " I saw him through the sticks. What does c by 
 Jove ' mean, my Santiago ? " 
 
 He enlightened her, then stood up eagerly. An- 
 other bull had been brought in, and one of the 
 vaqueros was to fight him. During the next two 
 hours Santiago gave little thought to his sister, and 
 sometimes her long black lashes swept above the 
 top of her fan. When five or six bulls had stamped 
 and roared and gored and died, the guests of Los 
 Quervos went home to chocolate and siesta, the 
 others returned to their various ranches. 
 
 But Dario took no nap that day. Twice he had 
 seen an Indian girl at Elena's window, and as the 
 house settled down to temporary calm, he saw the 
 girl go to the rancheria among the willows. He 
 wrote a note, and followed her as soon as he dared. 
 She wore a calico frock, exactly like a hundred 
 others, and her stiff black hair cut close to her neck 
 in the style enforced by Dona Jacoba ; But Dario 
 recognized her imitation of Elena's walk and car- 
 riage. He was very nervous, but he managed to 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 171 
 
 stroll about, and make his visit appear one of cu- 
 riosity. As he passed the girl he told her to follow 
 him, and in a few moments they were alone in a 
 thicket. He had hard work persuading her to take 
 the note to her mistress, for she stood in abject 
 awe of Doila Jacoba; but love of Elena and sym- 
 pathy for the handsome stranger prevailed, and 
 the girl went off with the missive. 
 
 The staircase led from Don Roberto's room to 
 Dona Jacoba's ; but the lady's all-seeing eyes were 
 closed, and the master was snoring in his library. 
 Malia tiptoed by both, and Elena, who had been 
 half asleep, sat up, trembling with excitement, and 
 read the impassioned request for an interview. She 
 lifted her head and listened, panting a little. Then 
 she ran to the door and looked into the library. 
 Her father was sound asleep; there could be no 
 doubt of that. She dared not write an answer, but 
 she closed the door and put her lips to the girl's ear. 
 
 " Tell him," she murmured, horrified at her own 
 boldness " tell him to take me out for the contra- 
 danza to-night. There is no other chance." And 
 the girl went back and delivered the message. 
 
 V. 
 
 THE guests and family met again at supper ; but 
 yards of linen and mounds of plate, spirited, quickly 
 turning heads, flowered muslin gowns and silken 
 
172 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 jackets, again separated Dario and Elena. He 
 caught a glimpse now and again of her graceful 
 head turning on its white throat, or of her sad, pure 
 profile shining before her mother's stern old face. 
 
 Immediately after supper the bride and groom 
 led the way to the sala, the musicians tuned their 
 violins and guitars, and after an hour's excited com- 
 ment upon the events of the day the dancing began. 
 Dona Jacoba could be very gracious when she chose, 
 and she moved among her guests like a queen to- 
 night, begging them to be happy, and electrifying 
 them with her rare smile. She dispelled their awe 
 of her with magical tact, and when she laid her hand 
 on one young beauty's shoulder, and told her that 
 her eyes put out the poor candles of Los Quervos, the 
 girl was ready to fling herself on the floor and kiss 
 the tyrant's feet. Elena watched her anxiously. 
 Her father petted her in his harsh, abrupt way. If 
 she had ever received a kiss from her mother she 
 did not remember it ; but she worshiped the blind- 
 ing personality of the woman, although she shook 
 before the relentless will. But that her mother was 
 pleased to be gracious to-night was beyond question, 
 and she gave Dario a glance of timid encouragement, 
 which brought him to her side at once. 
 
 " At your feet, sefiorita," he said ; " may I dare beg 
 the honor of the contradanza ? " 
 
 She bent her slender body in a pretty curtsey. 
 " It is a small favor to grant a guest who deigns to 
 honor us with his presence." 
 
 He led her out, and when he was not gazing en- 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 173 
 
 raptured at the graceful swaying and gliding of her 
 body, he managed to make a few conventional 
 remarks. 
 
 " You do not like bull-fighting, senorita." 
 
 " He watched me," she thought. " No, senor. I 
 like nothing that is cruel." 
 
 " Those soft eyes could never be cruel. Ay, you 
 are so beautiful, senorita." 
 
 " I am but a little country girl, seiior. You must 
 have seen far more beautiful women in the cities. 
 Have you ever been in Monterey ? " 
 
 " Yes, seiiorita, many times. I have seen all the 
 beauties, even Dona Modeste Castro. Once, too 
 that was before the Americans came I saw the 
 Senorita Ysabel Herrera, a woman so beautiful that 
 a man robbed a church and murdered a priest for 
 her sake. But she was not so beautiful as you, 
 senorita." 
 
 The blood throbbed in the girl's fair cheeks. 
 " He must love me," she told herself, " to think me 
 more beautiful than Ysabel Herrera. Joaquin says 
 she was the handsomest woman that ever was 
 seen." 
 
 "You compliment me, senor," she answered, 
 vaguely. " She had wonderful green eyes. So has 
 the Seiiora Castro. Mine are only brown, like so 
 many other girl's." 
 
 " They are the most beautiful eyes in California. 
 They are like the Madonna's. I do not care for 
 green eyes." His black ones flashed their language 
 to hers, and Elena wondered if she had ever been 
 
174 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 unhappy. She barely remembered where she was, 
 forgot that she was a helpless bird in a golden cage. 
 Her mate had flown through the open door. 
 
 The contradanza ends with a waltz, and as Dario 
 held her in his arms his last remnant of prudence 
 gave way. 
 
 "Elena, Elena," he murmured passionately, "I 
 love thee. Dost thou not know it ? Dost thou not 
 love me a little ? Ay, Elena ! I have not slept one 
 hour since I saw thee." 
 
 She raised her eyes to his face. The sadness still 
 dwelt in their depths, but above floated the soft 
 flame of love and trust. She had no coquetry in her 
 straightforward and simple nature. 
 
 " Yes," she whispered, " I love thee." 
 
 " And thou art happy, querida mia f Thou art 
 happy here in my arms ? " 
 
 She let her cheek rest for a moment against his 
 shoulder. " Yes, I am very happy." 
 
 "And thou wilt marry me?" 
 
 The words brought her back to reality, and the 
 light left her face. 
 
 " Ay," she said, " why did you say that ? It can- 
 not ever be." 
 
 " But it shall be ! Why not ? I will speak with 
 Don Roberto in the morning." 
 
 The hand that lay on his shoulder clutched him 
 suddenly. " No, no," she said hurriedly ; " promise 
 me that thou wilt not speak to him for two or three 
 days at least. My father wants us all to marry 
 Englishmen. He is kind, and he loves me, but he 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 175 
 
 is mad* for Englishmen. And we can be happy 
 meanwhile." 
 
 The music stopped, and he could only murmur 
 his promises before leading her back to her mother. 
 
 He dared not take her out again, but he danced 
 with no one else in spite of many inviting eyes, and 
 spent the rest of the night on the corridor, where he 
 could watch her unobserved. The walls were so 
 thick at Los Quervos that each window had a deep 
 seat within and without. Dario ensconced himself, 
 and was comfortable, if tumultuous. 
 
 Elena sang once during the evening not a love- 
 ballad, but that saddest and most beautiful of 
 all Spanish songs, " The Last Sigh of the Moor." 
 So passionate was her cry, "Ay, minca, nunca, 
 nunca mas!" that Dario knelt on the slopes of 
 Granada and kissed the hand of Boabdil el Chico 
 with adoring fealty, then shuddered with the super- 
 stition of his race as he realized that the despairing 
 words came from the lips of Elena Duncan. 
 
 VI. 
 
 WITH dawn the dancing ended, and quiet fell upon 
 Los Quervos. But at twelve gay voices and laugh- 
 ter came through every window. The family and 
 guests were taking their cold bath, ready for another 
 eighteen hours of pleasure. 
 
 Shortly after the long dinner, the iron-barred gates 
 of the corral were thrown open and a band of horses, 
 
176 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 golden bronze in color, with silveren mane and tail, 
 silken embroidered saddle on their slender back, 
 trotted up to the door. The beautiful creatures 
 shone in the sun like burnished armor ; they arched 
 their haughty neck and lifted their small feet as if 
 they were Californian beauties about to dance El Son. 
 
 The girls wore short riding-skirt girt with gay 
 sash. A little round hat was on their head. The 
 men wore thin jackets of brightly colored silk, gold- 
 laced knee-breeches, and silver spurs. They tossed 
 the girls, upon their saddles, vaulted into their own, 
 and all started on a wild gallop for the races. 
 
 Dario, with much manoeuvring, managed to ride 
 by Elena's side. It was impossible to exchange a 
 word with her, for keen and mischievous ears were 
 about them ; but they were close together, and a kind 
 of ecstasy possessed them both. The sunshine was so 
 golden, the quivering visible air so full of soft intoxi- 
 cation! They were filled with a reckless animal 
 joy of living the divine right of youth to exist and 
 be happy. The bars of Elena's cage sank into the 
 warm, resounding earth ; she wanted to cry aloud 
 her joy to the birds, to hold and kiss the air as it 
 passed. Her face sparkled, her mouth grew full. 
 She looked at Dario, and he dug his spurs into his 
 horse's flanks. 
 
 The representatives of many ranches, their wives 
 and daughters, awaited the party from Los Quer- 
 vos. But none pushed their way between Dario 
 and Elena that day. And they both enjoyed the 
 races ; they were in a mood to enjoy anything. They 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACO&A. 177 
 
 became excited, and shouted with the rest as the 
 vaqueros flew down the field. Dario bet and lost a 
 ranchita, then bet and won another. He won a herd 
 of cattle, a band of horses, a saddle-bag of golden 
 slugs. Surely, fortune smiled on him from the eyes 
 of Elena. When the races were over they galloped 
 down to the ocean and over the cliffs and sands, 
 watching the ponderous waves fling themselves on 
 the rocks, then back, and rear their crests to thunder 
 on again. 
 
 " The fog ! " cried some one. " The fog ! " And 
 with shrieks of mock terror they turned their horses' 
 heads and raced down the valley, the fog after them 
 like a phantom tidal wave ; but they outstripped it, 
 and sprang from their horses at the corridor of Los 
 Quervos with shouts of triumph and lightly blown 
 kisses at the enemy. 
 
 After supper they found eggs piled upon silver 
 dishes in the sala, and with cries of " Cascaron! 
 Cascaron ! '" they flung them at each other, the 
 cologne and flour and tinsel with which the shells 
 were filled deluging and decorating them. 
 
 Dona Jacoba again was in a most gracious mood, 
 and leaned against the wall, an amused smile on her 
 strong, serene face. Her husband stood by her, and 
 she indicated Elena by a motion of her fan. 
 
 "Is she not beautiful to-night, our little one?" 
 she asked, proudly. " See how pink her cheeks are ! 
 Her eyes shine like stars. She is the handsomest of 
 all our children, viejo." 
 
 " Yes," he said, something like tenderness in his 
 12 
 
178 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 cold blue eyes, " there is no prettier girl on twenty 
 ranches. She shall marry the finest Englishman of 
 them all." 
 
 Elena threw a cascaron directly into Dario' s mouth, 
 and although the cologne scalded his throat, he 
 heroically swallowed it, and revenged himself by 
 covering her black locks with flour. The guests, 
 like the children they were, chased each other all 
 over the house, up and down the stairs ; the men hid 
 under tables, only to have a sly hand break a cas- 
 caron on the back of their heads, and to receive a 
 deluge down the spinal column. The bride chased 
 her dignified groom out into the yard, and a dozen 
 followed, t'hen Dario found his chance. 
 
 Elena was after him, and as they passed beneath 
 a tree he turned like a flash and caught her in his 
 arms and kissed her. For a second she tried to free 
 herself, mindful that her sisters had not kissed their 
 lover until they stood with him in the chapel ; but 
 she was made for love, and in a moment her white 
 arms were clinging about his neck. People were 
 shouting around them ; there was time for but few 
 of the words Dario wished to say. 
 
 " Thou must write me a little note every day," he 
 commanded. " Thy brother's coat, one that he does 
 not wear, hangs behind the door in my room. To- 
 morrow morning thou wilt find a letter from me in 
 the pocket. Let me find one there too. Kiss me 
 again, Consuelo de mi alma ! " and they separated 
 suddenly to speak no more that night. 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 179 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE next morning, when Elena went to Joaquin'a 
 room to make the bed, she found Dario's note in the 
 pocket of the coat, but she had had no opportunity to 
 write one herself. Nor did she have time to read 
 his until after dinner, although it burned her neck 
 and took away her appetite. When the meal was 
 over she ran down to the willows and read it there, 
 then went straight to the favorite lounging-place of 
 an old vaquero who had adored her from the days 
 when she used to trot about the rancho holding his 
 forefinger, or perch herself upon his shoulder and 
 command him to gallop. 
 
 He was smoking his pipe, and he looked up in 
 some wonder as she stood before him, flushed and 
 panting, her eyes glancing apprehensively about. 
 
 " Pedro," she said, imperiously, " get down on thy 
 hands and knees." 
 
 Pedro was the color of tanned leather and very 
 hairy, but his face beamed with good-nature. He 
 put his pipe between his teeth and did as he was 
 bidden. Elena produced the pencil and paper she 
 had managed to purloin from her father's table, and 
 kneeling beside her faithful vaquero, wrote a note on 
 his back. It took her a long time to coin that simple 
 epistle, for she had never written a love-letter be- 
 fore. But Pedro knelt like a rock, although his old 
 
180 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 
 
 knees ached. When the note was finished she 
 thrust it into her gown, and patted Pedro on the 
 head. 
 
 " I love thee, my old man. I will make thee a new 
 salve for thy rheumatism and a big cake." 
 
 As she approached the house her mother stood on 
 the corridor watching the young people mount, and 
 Elena shivered as she met a fiery and watchful eye. 
 Yesterday had been a perfect day, but the chill of 
 fear touched this. She sprang on her horse and 
 went with the rest to the games. Her brother Joa- 
 quin kept persistently by her side, and Dario thought 
 it best not to approach her. She took little interest 
 in the games. The young men climbed the greased 
 pole amidst soft, derisive laughter. The greased pig 
 was captured by his tail in a tumult of excitement, 
 which rivaled the death of the bull, but Elena paid 
 no attention. It was not until Dario, restive with 
 inaction, entered the lists for the buried rooster, and 
 by its head twisted it from the ground as his horse 
 flew by, that she was roused to interest; and as 
 many had failed, and as his was the signal victory 
 of the day, he rode home somewhat consoled. 
 
 That night, as Dario and Elena danced the contra- 
 danza together, they felt the eyes of Dona Jacoba 
 upon them, but he dared to whisper : 
 
 "To-morrow morning I speak with thy father. 
 Our wedding-day must be set before another sun 
 goes down." 
 
 "No, no!" gasped Elena; but for once Dario 
 would not listen. 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. Ifcl 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As soon as Elena had left his room next morning, 
 Dario returned and read the note she had put in her 
 brother's pocket. It gave him courage, his dreamy 
 eyes flashed, his sensitive mouth curved proudly. 
 As soon as dinner was over he followed Don Roberto 
 up to the library. The old man stretched himself 
 out in the long brass and leather chair which had 
 been imported from England for his comfort, and 
 did not look overjoyed when his guest begged a few 
 moments' indulgence. 
 
 " I am half asleep," he said. " Is it about those 
 cattle? Joaquin knows as much about them as I 
 do." 
 
 Dario had not been asked to sit down, and he stood 
 before Don Roberto feeling a little nervous, and 
 pressing his hand against the mantelpiece. 
 
 " I do not wish to speak of cattle, senor." 
 
 "No? What then?" The old man's face was 
 flushed with wine, and his shaggy brows were droop- 
 ing heavily. 
 
 it is it is about Elena." 
 
 The brows lifted a little. 
 
 Elena ? " 
 
 " Yes, senor. We love each other very much. I 
 wish to ask your permission that we may be mar- 
 ried." 
 
182 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 
 
 The brows went up with a rush ; the stiff hairs 
 stood out like a roof above the cold, angry eyes. 
 For a moment Don Roberto stared at the speaker as 
 if he had not heard, then he sprang to his feet, his 
 red face purple. 
 
 " Get out of my house, you damned vagabond ! " 
 he shouted. "Go as fast as God Almighty'll let you. 
 You marry my daughter, you damned Indian ! I 
 wouldn't give her to you if you were pure-blooded 
 Castilian, much less to a half-breed whelp. And you 
 have dared to make love to her. Go ! Do you hear ? 
 Or I'll kick you down the stairs ! " 
 
 Dario drew himself up and looked back at his 
 furious host with a pride that matched his own. The 
 blood was smarting in his veins, but he made no sign 
 and walked down the stair. 
 
 Don Roberto went at once in search of his wife. 
 Failing to find her, he walked straight into the sala, 
 and taking Elena by the arm before the assembled 
 guests, marched her upstairs and into her room, and 
 locked the door with his key. 
 
 Elena fell upon the floor and sobbed with rebellious 
 mortification and terror. Her father had not uttered 
 a word, but she knew the meaning of his summary 
 act, and other feelings soon gave way to despair. 
 That she would never see Dario Castaiiares again was 
 certain, and she wept and prayed with all the abandon 
 of her Spanish nature. A picture of the Virgin hung 
 over the bed, and she raised herself on her knees and 
 lifted her clasped hands to it beseechingly. With 
 her tumbled hair and white face, her streaming, up- 
 

 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 183 
 
 turned eyes and drawn mouth, she looked more like 
 the Mater Dolorosa than the expressionless print she 
 prayed to. 
 
 " Mary ! Mother ! " she whispered, " have mercy 
 on thy poor little daughter. Give him to me. I ask 
 for nothing else in this world. I do not care for gold 
 or ranches, only to be his wife. I am so lonely, my 
 mother, for even Santiago thinks of so many other 
 things than me. I only want to be loved, and no 
 one else will ever love me who can make me love 
 him. Ay ! give him to me ! give him to me ! " And 
 she threw herself on her face once more, and sobbed 
 until her tears were exhausted. Then she dragged 
 herself to the window and leaned over the deep seat. 
 Perhaps she might have one glimpse of him as he 
 rode away. 
 
 She gave a little cry of agony and pleasure. He 
 was standing by the gates of the corral whilst the 
 vaqueros rounded up the cattle he had bought. His 
 arms were folded, his head hung forward. As he 
 heard her cry, he lifted his face, and Elena saw the 
 tears in his eyes. For the moment they gazed at 
 each other, those lovers of California's long-ago, 
 while the very atmosphere quivering between them 
 seemed a palpable barrier. Elena flung out her arms 
 with a sudden, passionate gesture ; he gave a hoarse 
 cry, and paced up and down like a race-horse curbed 
 with a Spanish bit. How to have one last word with 
 her ? If she were behind the walls of the fort of 
 Monterey it would be as easy. He dared not speak 
 from where he was. Already the horses were at the 
 
184 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 door to carry the eager company to a fight between 
 a bull and a bear. But he could write a note if he 
 only had the materials. It was useless to return to 
 his room, for Joaquin was there, and he hoped never 
 to see that library again. But was there ever a lover 
 in whom necessity did not develop the genius of 
 invention ? Dario flashed upward a glance of hope, 
 then took from his pocket a slip of the rice-paper 
 used for making cigaritos. lie burnt a match, and 
 with the charred stump scrawled a few lines. 
 
 "Elena! Mine! Star of my life! My sweet! 
 Beautiful and idolized. Farewell ! Farewell, my 
 darling ! My heart is sad. God be with thee. 
 
 " DAJJIO." 
 
 He wrapped the paper about a stone, and tied it 
 with a wisp of grass. With a sudden flexile turn of 
 a wrist that had thrown many a reata, he flung it 
 straight through the open window. Elena read the 
 incoherent words, then fell insensible to the floor. 
 
 IX. 
 
 IT was the custom of Dona Jacoba to personally 
 oversee her entire establishment every day, and she 
 always went at a different hour, that laziness might 
 never feel sure of her back. To-day she visited 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 185 
 
 the rancheria immediately after dinner, and looked 
 through every hut with her piercing eyes. It the 
 children were dirty, she peremptorily ordered their 
 stout mammas to put them into the clean clothes 
 which her bounty had provided. If a bed was un- 
 made, she boxed the ears of the owner, and sent her 
 spinning across the room to her task. But she 
 found little to scold about ; her discipline was too 
 rigid. When she was satisfied that the huts were 
 in order, she went down to the great stone tubs 
 sunken in the ground, where the women were wash- 
 ing in the heavy shade of the willows. In their 
 calico gowns they made bright bits of color against 
 the drooping green of the trees. 
 
 " Maria," she cried, sharply, " thou art wringing 
 that fine linen too harshly. Dost thou wish to break 
 in pieces the bridal clothes of thy senorita? Be 
 careful, or I will lay the whip acoss thy shoulders." 
 
 She walked slowly through the willows, enjoying 
 the shade. Her fine old head was held sternly back, 
 and her shoulders were as square as her youngest 
 son's ; but she sighed a little, and pressed a willow 
 branck to her face with a caressing motion. She 
 looked up to the gray peak standing above its fel- 
 lows, bare, ugly, gaunt. She was not an imagina- 
 tive woman, but she had always felt in closer kin- 
 ship with that solitary peak than with her own blood. 
 As she left the wood and saw the gay cavalcade about 
 to start the burnished horses, the dashing cabal- 
 leros, the girls with their radiant face and jaunty 
 habit she sighed again. Long ago she had been 
 
186 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 
 
 the bride of a brilliant young Mexican officer for a 
 few brief years ; her youth had gone with his life. 
 
 She avoided the company and went around to the 
 buildings at the back of the house. Approving here, 
 reproaching there, she walked leisurely through the 
 various rooms where the Indians were making lard, 
 shoes, flour, candles. She was in the chocolate manu- 
 factory when her husband found her. 
 
 "Come come at once," he said. "I have good 
 news for thee." 
 
 She followed him to his room, knowing by his face 
 that something had happened. But she was not 
 prepared for the tale he poured forth with violent 
 interjections of English and Spanish oaths. She 
 had detected a flirtation between her daughter and 
 the uninvited guest, and not approving of flirtations, 
 had told Joaquin to keep his eyes upon them when 
 hers were absent ; but that the man should dare, and 
 the girl should stoop to think of marriage, wrought 
 in her a passion to which her husband's seemed the 
 calm flame of a sperm-candle. 
 
 " What ! " she cried, her hoarse voice breaking. 
 " What ! A half-breed aspire to a Cortez ! " She 
 forgot her husband's separateness with true Cali- 
 fornian pride. " My daughter and the son of an In- 
 dian! Holy God! And she has dared! She has 
 dared ! The little imbecile ! The little- But," 
 and she gave a furious laugh, " she will not for- 
 get again." 
 
 She caught the green-hide reata from the nail and 
 went up the stair. Crossing the library with heavy 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 187 
 
 tread, as if she would stamp her rage through the 
 floor, she turned the key in the door of her daugh- 
 ter's room and strode in. The girl still lay on the 
 floor, although consciousness had returned. As 
 Elena saw her mother's face she cowered pitifully. 
 That terrible temper seldom dominated the iron will 
 of the woman, but Santiago had shaken it a few days 
 ago, and Elena knew that her turn had come. 
 
 Doiia Jacoba shut the door and towered above her 
 daughter, red spots on her face, her small eyes blaz- 
 ing, an icy sneer on her mouth. She did not speak 
 one word. She caught the girl by her delicate 
 shoulder, jerked her to her feet, and lashed her with 
 the heavy whip until screams mingled with the gay 
 laughter of the parting guests. When she had 
 beaten her until her own arm ached, she flung her 
 on the bed and went out and locked the door. 
 
 Elena was insensible again for a while, then lay 
 dull and inert for hours. She had a passive longing 
 for death. After the suffering and the hideous mor- 
 tification of that day, there seemed no other climax. 
 The cavalcade rode beneath her windows once more 
 with their untired laughter, their splendid vitality. 
 They scattered to their rooms to don their bright 
 evening gowns, then went to the dining-room and 
 feasted. 
 
 After supper Francisca unlocked Elena's door and 
 entered with a little tray on her hand. Elena refused 
 to eat, but her sister's presence roused her, and she 
 turned her face to the wall and burst into tears. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " said Francisca, kindly. " Do not 
 
188 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 cry, my sister. What is a lover ? The end of a lit- 
 tle flirtation ? My father will find thee a husband 
 a strong, fair English husband like mine. Dost 
 thou not prefer blondes to brunettes, my sister ? I 
 am sorry my mother beat thee, but she has such a 
 sense of her duty. She did it for thy good, my 
 Elena. Let me dress thee in thy new gown, the 
 white silk with the pale-blue flowers. It is high in 
 the neck and long in the sleeves, and will hide the 
 marks of the whip. Come down and play cascarones, 
 and dance until dawn and forget all about it." 
 
 But Elena only wept on, and Francisca left her 
 for more imperative duties. 
 
 The next day the girl still refused to eat, although 
 Dona Jacoba opened her mouth and poured a cup of 
 chocolate down her throat. Late in the afternoon 
 Santiago slipped into the room and bent over her. 
 
 " Elena," he whispered, hurriedly. " Look ! I 
 have a note for thee." 
 
 Elena sat upright on the bed, and he thrust a 
 piece of folded paper into her hand. "Here it is. 
 He is in San Luis Obispo, and says he will stay 
 there ; remember it is but a few miles away. 
 My " 
 
 Elena sank back with a cry, and Santiago blas- 
 phemed in English. Dona Jacoba unlocked her 
 daughter's hand, took the note, and led Santiago from 
 the room. When she reached her own, she opened 
 a drawer and handed him a canvas bag full of gold. 
 
 " Go to San Francisco and enjoy thyself," she said. 
 "Interfere no farther between thy sister and thy 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 189 
 
 parents, unless thou preferest that reata to gold. 
 Thy craft cannot outwit mine, and she will read no 
 notes. Thou art a foolish boy to set thy sense 
 against thy mother's. I may seem harsh to my 
 children, but I strive on my knees for their good. 
 And when I have made up my mind that a thing is 
 right to do, thou knowest that my nature is of iron. 
 No child of mine shall marry a lazy vagabond who 
 can do nothing but lie in a hammock and bet and 
 gamble and make love. And a half-breed ! Mother 
 of God ! Now go to San Francisco, and send for 
 more money when this is gone." 
 
 Santiago obeyed. There was nothing else for 
 him to do. 
 
 Elena lay in her bed, scarcely touching food. Poor 
 child! her nature demanded nothing of life but 
 love, and that denied her, she could find no reason 
 for living. She was not sport-loving like Joaquin. 
 nor practical like Francisca, nor learned like Santiago, 
 nor ambitious to dance through life like her many 
 nieces. She was but a clinging, unreasoning creat- 
 ure, with hot blood and a great heart. But she no 
 longer prayed to have Dario given her. It seemed 
 to her that after such suffering her saddened and 
 broken spirit would cast its shadows over her hap- 
 piest moments, and she longed only for death. 
 
 Her mother, becoming alarmed at her increasing 
 weakness, called in an old woman who had been 
 midwife and doctor of the county for half a century. 
 She came, a bent and bony woman who must have 
 been majestic in her youth. Her front teeth were 
 
190 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 gone, her face was stained with dark splashes like 
 the imprint of a pre-natal hand. Over her head she 
 wore a "black shawl, and she looked enough like a 
 witch to frighten her patients into eternity had they 
 not been so well used to her. She prodded Elena 
 all over as if the girl were a loaf of bread and her 
 knotted fingers sought a lump of flour in the dough. 
 
 " The heart," she said to Dona Jacoba with sharp 
 emphasis, her back teeth meeting with a click, as 
 if to proclaim their existence. " I have no herbs 
 for that," and she went back to her cabin by the 
 ocean. 
 
 That night Elena lifted her head suddenly. From 
 the hill opposite her window came the sweet rever- 
 beration of a guitar : then a voice, which, though 
 never heard by her in song before, was as unmis- 
 takable as if it had serenaded beneath her window 
 every night since she had known Dario Castanares. 
 
 " EL ULTIMO A DIGS. 
 
 Si elks con el alma 
 Se amaron en vida 
 Y al fin se separan 
 En vida las dos 
 Sables que es tan grande 
 Le pena sentida 
 Que con esa palabra 
 Se dicen a Dios. 
 Y en esa palabra 
 Que breve murmura 
 Ni verse prometen 
 Ni amrase se juran 
 Que en esa palabra 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOEA. 191 
 
 Se dicen a Dios. 
 No hay queja mas honda 
 Suspiro mas largo 
 Que aquellas palabras 
 Que dicen a Dios. 
 Al fin ha llegado 
 La muerte en la vida 
 Al fin para entranibos 
 Muramos los dos 
 Al fin ha llegado 
 La hora cumplida 
 Del ultima a Dios. 
 Ya nunca en la vida 
 Gentil compafiera 
 Yo nunca volvamos 
 A vernos los dos 
 For eso es tan triste 
 Mi accento pose 
 Por eso es tan triste 
 El ultimo a Dios." 
 
 They were dancing downstairs ; laughter floated 
 through the open windows. Francisca sang a song 
 of the bull-fight in her strong high voice ; the frogs 
 chanted their midnight mass by the creek in the 
 willows, the coyotes wailed, the owls hooted. But 
 nothing could drown that message of love. Elena lit 
 a candle and held it at arm's-length before the 
 window. She knew that its ray went straight 
 through the curtains to the singer on the hill, for 
 his voice broke suddenly, then swelled forth in pas- 
 sionate answer. He sat there until dawn singing to 
 her ; but the next night he did not come, and Elena 
 knew that she had not been his only auditor. 
 
192 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 
 
 THE week of festivity was over ; the bridal pair, 
 the relatives, the guests went away. Quiet would 
 have taken temporary possession of Los Quervos 
 had it not been for the many passing guests lavishly 
 entertained by Don Roberto. 
 
 And still Elena lay in her little iron bed, refusing 
 to get out of it, barely eating, growing weaker and 
 thinner every day. At the end of three weeks Doila 
 Jacoba was thoroughly alarmed, and Don Roberto 
 sent Joaquin to San Francisco for a physician. 
 
 The man of science came at the end of a week. 
 He asked many questions, and had a long talk with 
 his patient. When he left the sick-room, he found 
 Don Roberto and Dona Jacoba awaiting him in the 
 library. They were ready to accept his word as law ? 
 for he was an Englishman, and had won high repu- 
 tation during his short stay in the new country. 
 
 He spoke with curt directness. "My dear sir, 
 your child is dying because she does not wish to 
 live. People who write novels call it dying of a 
 broken heart ; but it does not make much difference 
 about the name. Your child is acutely sensitive, 
 and has an extremely delicate constitution pre- 
 disposition to consumption. Separation from the 
 young man she desires to marry has prostrated her 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 193 
 
 to such an extent that she is practically dying. 
 Under existing circumstances she will not live two 
 months, and, to be brutally frank, you will have 
 killed her. I understand that the young man is well- 
 born on his father's side, and possessed of great 
 wealth. I see no reason why she should not marry 
 him. I shall leave her a tonic, but you can throw 
 it out of the window unless you send for the young 
 man," and he walked down the stair and made 
 ready for his departure. 
 
 Don Roberto translated the verdict to his wife. 
 She turned very gray, and her thin lips pressed each 
 other. But she bent her head. " So be it," she said ; 
 " I cannot do murder. Send for Dario Castailares." 
 
 " And tell him to take her to perdition," roared 
 the old man. " Never let me see her again." 
 
 He went down the stair, filled a small bag with 
 gold, and gave it to the doctor. He found Joaquin 
 and bade him go for Dario, then shut himself in a 
 remote room, and did not emerge until late that day. 
 
 Dona Jacoba sent for the maid, Malia. 
 
 " Bring me one of your frocks," she said, " a set 
 of your undergarments, a pair of your shoes and 
 stockings." She walked about the room until the 
 girl's return, her face terrible in its repressed wrath, 
 its gray consciousness of defeat. When Malia came 
 with the garments she told her to follow, and went 
 into Elena's room and stood beside the bed. 
 
 " Get up," she said. " Dress thyself in thy bridal 
 clothes. Thou art going to marry Dario Castanares 
 to-day." 
 13 
 
194 THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOBA. 
 
 The girl looked up incredulously, then closed her 
 eyes wearily. 
 
 "Get up," said her mother. "The doctor has 
 said that we must let our daughter marry the half- 
 breed or answer to God for her murder." She 
 turned to the maid, . " Malia, go downstairs and 
 make a cup of chocolate and bring it up. Bring^ 
 too, a glass of angelica." 
 
 But Elena needed neither. She forgot her desire 
 for death, her misgivings of the future ; hope gave 
 her strength. She slipped out of bed, and would 
 have taken a pair of silk stockings from the chest, 
 but her mother stopped her with an imperious 
 gesture, and handed her the coarse shoes and stock- 
 ings the maid had brought. She raised her eyes 
 wonderingly, but drew them on her tender feet 
 without complaint. Then her mother gave her the 
 shapeless under-garments, the gaudy calico frock, 
 and she put them on. When the maid returned 
 with the chocolate and wine, she drank both. They 
 gave her color and renewed strength ; and as she 
 stood up and faced her mother, she had never looked 
 more beautiful or more queenly in the silken gowns 
 that were hers no longer. 
 
 "There are horses' hoofs," said Dona Jacoba. 
 " Leave thy father's house and go to thy lover." 
 
 Elena followed her from the room, walking 
 steadily, although she was beginning to tremble a 
 little. As she passed the table in the library, she 
 picked up an old silk handkerchief of her father's 
 and tied it about her head and face. A smile was 
 
THE CONQUEST OF DONA JACOB A. 195 
 
 on her lips, but no joy could crowd the sadness from 
 her eyes again. Her spirit was darkened for all 
 time : her nature had come to its own. 
 
 They walked through the silent house, and to 
 Elena's memory came the picture of that other 
 bridal, when the very air shook with pleasure, and 
 the rooms were jeweled with beautiful faces ; but 
 she would not have exchanged her own nuptials for 
 her sister's calm acceptance. 
 
 When she reached the veranda she drew herself 
 up and turned to her mother with all that strange 
 old woman's implacable bearing. 
 
 " I demand one wedding present," she said. " The 
 green-hide reata. I wish it as a memorial of my 
 mother." 
 
 Doiia Jacoba, without the quiver of a muscle, 
 walked into her husband's room and returned with 
 the reata and handed it to her. Then Elena turned 
 her back upon her father's house and walked down the 
 road through the willows. Dario did not notice the 
 calico frock or the old handkerchief about her head. 
 He bent down and caught her in his arms and kissed 
 her, then lifting her to his saddle, galloped down 
 the road to San Luis Obispo. But Dona Jacoba 
 turned her hard old face to the wall and laid it 
 there. 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA.* 
 i. 
 
 DOXA POMPOSA crossed her hands on her stomach 
 and twirled her thumbs. A red spot was in each 
 coffee-colored cheek, and the mole in her scanty eye- 
 brow jerked ominously. Her lips were set in a taut 
 line, and her angry little eyes were fixed upon a girl 
 who sat by the window strumming a guitar, her 
 chin raised with an air of placid indifference. 
 
 " Thou wilt stop this nonsense and cast no more 
 glances at Juan Tornel ! " commanded Dona Pom- 
 posa. " Thou little brat ! Dost thou think that I 
 am one to let my daughter marry before she can 
 hem ? Thank God we have more sense than our 
 mothers ! No child of mine shall marry at fifteen. 
 Now listen thou shalt be locked in a dark room if I 
 am kept awake again by that bobo serenading at thy 
 window. To-morrow, when thou goest to church, 
 take care that thou throwest him no glance. God 
 of my soul ! I am worn out ! Three nights have I 
 been awakened by that tw-a-n-g, tw-a-n-g" 
 
 * Pronounced " A-oo-lo-hia." 
 
198 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 " You need not be afraid," said her daughter, 
 digging her little heel into the floor. " I shall not 
 fall in love. I have no faith in men." 
 
 Her mother laughed outright in spite of her 
 anger. 
 
 " Indeed, my Eulogia ! Thou art very wise. And, 
 why, pray, hast thou no faith in men ? " 
 
 Eulogia tossed the soft black braid from her 
 shoulder, and fixed her keen, roguish eyes on the 
 old lady's face. 
 
 " Because I have read all the novels of the Senor 
 Dumas, and I well know all those men he makes. 
 And they never speak the truth to women ; always 
 they are selfish, and think only of their own pleas- 
 ure. If the women suffer they do not care; they 
 do not love the women only themselves. So I 
 am not going to be fooled by the men. I shall 
 enjoy life but I shall think of myself, not of the 
 men." 
 
 Her mother gazed at her in speechless amazement. 
 She had never read a book in her life, and had 
 not thought of locking from her daughter the few 
 volumes her dead husband had collected. Then she 
 gasped with consternation. 
 
 " Por Dios, senorita, a fine woman thou wilt make 
 of thyself with such ideas ! a nice wife and mother 
 when the time comes. What does Padre Flores 
 say to that, I should like to know ? It is very 
 strange that he has let you read those books." 
 
 " I have never told him," said Eulogia, indiffer- 
 ently. 
 
A EAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 199 
 
 " What ! " screamed her mother. " Thou never 
 told at confession ? " 
 
 " No, I never did. It was none of his business 
 what I read. Reading is no sin. I confessed 
 all " 
 
 " Mother of God ! " cried Dona Pomposa, and she 
 rushed at Eulogia with uplifted hand ; but her 
 nimble daughter dived under her arm with a pro- 
 voking laugh, and ran out of the room. 
 
 That night Eulogia pushed aside the white curtain 
 of her window and looked out. The beautiful, bare 
 hills encircling San Luis Obispo were black in the 
 silvered night, but the moon made the town light 
 as day. The owls were hooting on the roof of the 
 Mission ; Eulogia could see them flap their wings. 
 A few Indians were still moving among the dark 
 huts outside the walls, and within, the padre walked 
 among his olive trees. Beyond the walls the town 
 was still awake. Once a horseman dashed down 
 the street, and Eulogia wondered if murder had 
 been done in the mountains ; the bandits were thick 
 in their fastness. She did wish she could see one. 
 Then she glanced eagerly down the road beneath 
 her window. In spite of the wisdom she had ac- 
 cepted from the French romanticist, her fancy was 
 just a little touched by Juan Tornel. His black, 
 flashing eyes could look so tender, and he rode so 
 beautifully. She twitched the curtain into place 
 and ran across the room, her feet pattering on 
 the bare floor. She jumped into her little iron 
 bed, and drew the dainty sheet to her throat. A 
 
200 A E AMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 ladder had fallen heavily against the side of the 
 house. 
 
 She heard an agile form ascend and seat itself on 
 the deep window sill. Then the guitar vibrated 
 under the touch of master fingers, and a rich sweet 
 tenor sang to her : 
 
 EL CORAZOtf. 
 
 El corazon del amor palpita. 
 Al oir de tu dulce voz, 
 Quando mi sangre, 
 Se pone en agitacion, 
 Tu eras la mas hermosa, 
 Tu eras la luz del dia, 
 Tu eras la gloria mia, 
 Tu eras mi dulce bien. 
 Negro tienes el cabella, 
 Taille lineas hermosas, 
 Mano blanca pie precioso, 
 No hoy que decir en ti. 
 Tu eras la mas hermosa, 
 Tu eras la luz del dia, 
 Tu eras la prenda mia, 
 Tu me haras morir. 
 Qu' importa que noche y dia, 
 En ti sola estoy peusando, 
 El corazon palpitante 
 No cessa de repetir. 
 Tu eras la mas hermosa, 
 Tu eras la luz del dia, 
 Tu eras la prenda mia, 
 Tu me haras morir Eulogia ! 
 
 Eulogia lay as quiet as a mouse in the daytime, 
 not daring to applaud, hoping fatigue had sent her 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 201 
 
 mother to sleep. Her lover tuned his guitar and 
 began another song, but she did not hear it ; she was 
 listening to footfalls in the garret above. With a 
 presentiment of what was about to happen she 
 sprang out of bed with a warning cry ; but she was 
 too late. There was a splash and rattle on the win- 
 dow-seat ; a smothered curse, a quick descent, a 
 triumphant laugh from above. Eulogia stamped 
 her foot with rage. She cautiously raised the win- 
 dow and passed her hand along the outer sill. This 
 time she beat the casement with both hands : they 
 were covered with warm ashes. 
 
 " Well, my daughter, have I not won the battle ? " 
 said a voice behind her, and Eulogia sat down on the 
 window-seat and swung her feet in silent wrath. 
 
 Dona Pomposa wore a rather short night-gown, 
 and her feet were encased in a pair of her husband's 
 old boots. Her hair was twisted under a red silk 
 kerchief, and again she crossed her hands on her 
 stomach, but the thumbs upheld a candle. Eulogia 
 giggled suddenly. 
 
 " What dost thou laugh at, senorita ? At the 
 way I have served thy lover ? Dost thou think he 
 will come again soon ?" 
 
 " No, mamma, you have proved the famous hospi- 
 tality of the Californians which the Americans are 
 always talking about. You need have no more envy 
 of the magnificence of Los Quervos." And then she 
 kicked her heels against the wall, 
 
 " Oh, thou canst make sharp speeches, thou im- 
 pertinent little brat ; but Juan Tornel will serenade 
 
202 A EAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 under thy window no more. Dios ! the ashes 
 must look well on his pretty mustachios. Go to 
 thy bed. I will put thee to board in the convent to- 
 morrow." And she shuffled out of the room, her 
 ample figure swinging from side to side like a large 
 pendulum. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE next day Eulogia was sitting on her window- 
 seat, her chin resting on her knees, a volume of 
 Dumas beside her, when the door was cautiously 
 opened, and her Aunt Anastacia entered the room. 
 Aunt Anastacia was very large ; in fact she nearly 
 filled the doorway ; she also disdained whalebones 
 and walked with a slight roll. Her ankles hung 
 over her feet, and her red cheeks and chin were cov- 
 ered with a short black down. Her hair was twisted 
 into a tight knot and protected by a thick net, and 
 she 'wore a loose gown of brown calico, patterned 
 with large red roses. But good-nature beamed all 
 over her indefinite features, and her little eyes dwelt 
 adoringly upon Eulogia, who gave her an absent 
 smile. 
 
 " Poor little one," she said in her indulgent voice. 
 " But it was cruel in my sister to throw ashes on thy 
 lover. Not but what thou art too young for lovers, 
 my darling, although I had one at twelve. But 
 times have changed. My little one I have a note 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 203 
 
 for thee. Thy mother is out, and he has gone away, 
 
 so there can be no harm in thy reading it " 
 
 " Give it to me at once " and Eulogia dived into 
 her aunt's pocket and found the note. 
 
 " Beautiful and idolized Eulogia. Adios ! Adios ! 
 I came a stranger to thy town. I fell blinded at thy 
 feet. I fly forever from the scornful laughter in 
 thine eyes. Ay, Eulogia, how couldst thou ? But 
 no ! I will not believe it was thou ! The dimples 
 that play in thy cheeks, the sparks that fly in thine 
 eyes God of my life ! I cannot believe that they 
 come from a malicious soul. No, enchanting Eulo- 
 gia ! Consolation of my soul ! It was thy mother 
 who so cruelly humiliated me, who drives me from 
 thy town lest I be mocked in the streets. Ay, 
 Eulogia ! Ay, misericordia ! Adios ! Adios ! 
 
 "JUAN TOKNEL." 
 
 Eulogia shrugged her shoulders. " Well, my mo- 
 ther is satisfied, perhaps. She has driven him away. 
 At least, I shall not have to go to the convent." 
 
 "Thou art so cold, my little one," said Aunt 
 Anastacia, disapprovingly. "Thou art but fifteen 
 years, and yet thou throwest aside a lover as if he 
 were an old rebosa. Mother of God ! In your place 
 I should have wept and beaten the air. But perhaps 
 that is the reason all the young men are wild for 
 thee. Not but that I had many lovers " 
 
 "It is too bad thou didst not marry one," 
 interrupted Eulogia, maliciously. " Perhaps thou 
 
204 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 wouldst " and she picked up her book " if thou 
 hadst read the Senor Dumas." 
 
 " Thou heartless little baby ! " cried her indignant 
 aunt, " when I love thee so, and bring thy notes at 
 the risk of my life, for thou knowest that thy mother 
 would pull the hair from my head. Thou little 
 brat ! to say I could not marry, when I had twen- 
 ty- 
 
 Eulogia jumped up and pecked her on the chin 
 like a bird. " Twenty-five, my old mountain. I only 
 joked with thee. Thou didst not marry because 
 thou hadst more sense than to trot about after a 
 man. Is it not so, my old sack of flour ? I was but 
 angry because I thought thou hadst helped my 
 mother last night." 
 
 " Never ! I was sound asleep." 
 
 " I know, I know. Now trot away. I hear my 
 mother coming," and Aunt Anastacia obediently left 
 her niece to the more congenial company of the 
 Seiior Dumas. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE steep hills of San Luis Obispo shot upward 
 like the sloping sides of a well, so round was the 
 town. Scarlet patches lay on the slopes the wide 
 blossoms of the low cacti. A gray-green peak 
 and a mulberry peak towered, kithless and gaunt, in 
 the circle of tan-colored hills brushed with purple. 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 205 
 
 The garden of the Mission was green with fruit 
 trees and silver with olive groves. On the white 
 church and long wing lay the red tiles ; beyond the 
 wall the dull earth huts of the Indians. Then the 
 straggling town with its white adobe houses crouch- 
 ing on the grass. 
 
 Eulogia was sixteen. A year had passed since Juan 
 Tornel serenaded beneath her window, and, if the 
 truth must be told, she had almost forgotten him. 
 Many a glance had she shot over her prayer-book in 
 the Mission Church ; many a pair of eyes, dreamy 
 and fiery, had responded. But she had spoken with 
 no man. After a tempestuous scene with her 
 mother, during which Aunt Anastacia had wept pro- 
 fusely, a compromise had been made : Eulogia had 
 agreed to have no more flirtations until she was six- 
 teen, but at that age she should go to balls and have 
 as many lovers as she pleased. 
 
 She walked through the olive groves with Padre 
 Moraga on the morning of her sixteenth birthday. 
 The new padre and she were the best of friends. 
 
 " Well," said the good old man, pushing the long 
 white hair from his dark face it fell forward when- 
 ever he stooped " well, my little one, thou goest to 
 thy first ball to-night. Art thou happy ? " 
 
 Eulogia lifted her shoulder. Her small nose also 
 tilted. 
 
 " Happy ? There is no such thing as happiness, 
 my father ! I shall dance, and flirt, and make all 
 the young men fall in love with me. I shall enjoy 
 myself, that is enough." 
 
206 A B AMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 The padre smiled ; he was used to her. 
 
 " Thou little wise one ! " He collected himself 
 suddenly. " But thou art right to build thy hopes 
 of happiness on the next world alone." Then he 
 continued, as if he had merely broken the conversa- 
 tion to say the Angelus, " And thou art sure that 
 thou wilt be la favor ita? Truly thou hast confi- 
 dence in thyself an inexperienced chit who has not 
 half the beauty of many other girls." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but the men shall love me better 
 all the same. Beauty is not everything, my father. 
 I have a greater attraction than soft eyes and a 
 pretty mouth." 
 
 " Indeed ! Thou baby ! Why, thou art no bigger 
 than a well-grown child, and thy mouth was made 
 for a woman twice thy size. Where dost thou keep 
 that extraordinary charm ?" Not but that he knew, 
 for he liked her better than any girl in the town, 
 but he felt it his duty to act the part of curb-bit now 
 and again. 
 
 " You know, my father," said Eulogia, coolly ; 
 " and if you have any doubt wait until to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 The ball was given in the long sala of Dona Anto- 
 nia Ampudia, on the edge of the rambling town. As 
 the night was warm, the young people danced 
 through the low windows on to the wide corri- 
 dor; and, if watchful eyes relaxed their vigilance, 
 stepped off to the grass and wandered among the 
 trees. The brown old women in dark silks sat against 
 the wall as dowagers do to-day. Most of the girls 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 207 
 
 wore bright red or yellow gowns, although softer 
 tints blossomed here and there. Silky black hair was 
 braided close to the neck, the coiffure finished with 
 a fringe of chenille. As they whirled in the dance, 
 their full bright gowns looked like an agitated 
 flower-bed suddenly possessed by a wandering 
 tribe of dusky goddesses. 
 
 Eulogia came rather late. At the last moment 
 her mother had wavered in her part of the contract, 
 and it was not until Eulogia had sworn by every 
 saint in the calendar that she would not leave the 
 sala, even though she stifled, that/Dona Pomposa 
 had reluctantly consented to take her. Eulogia's 
 perfect little figure was clad in a prim white silk 
 gown ; but her cold, brilliant eyes were like living 
 jewels; her large mouth was red as the cactus 
 patches on the hills, and a flame burned in either 
 cheek. In a moment she was surrounded by the 
 young men who had been waiting for her. It might 
 be true that twenty girls in the room were more 
 beautiful than she, but she had a quiet manner more 
 effective than animation, a vigorous magnetism of 
 which she was fully aware, and a cool coquetry 
 which piqued and fired the young men who were 
 used to more sentimental flirtations. 
 
 She danced as airily as a flower on the wind, but 
 with untiring vitality. 
 
 " Senorita ! " exclaimed Don Carmelo Pena, " thou 
 takest away my breath. Dost thou never weary ? " 
 
 " Never. I am not a man." 
 
 " Ay, senorita, thou meanest " 
 
208 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 " That women were made to make the world go 
 round, and men to play the guitar." 
 
 " Ah, I can play the guitar. I will serenade thee 
 to-morrow night." 
 
 " Thou wilt get a shower of ashes for thy pains. 
 Better stay at home, and prepare thy soul with three- 
 card monte." 
 
 " Ay, senorita, but thou art cruel ! Does no man 
 please thee ? " 
 
 " Men please me. How tiresome to dance with a 
 woman!" 
 
 " And that is all the use thou hast for us ? For 
 us who would die for thee ? " 
 
 " In a barrel of aguardiente ? I prefer thee to 
 dance with. To tell the truth, thy step suits 
 mine." 
 
 " Ay, senorita mia / thou canst put honey on thy 
 tongue. God of my life, senorita I fling my heart 
 at thy feet ! " 
 
 " I fear to break it, senor, for I have faith that it 
 is made of thin glass. It would cut my feet. I like 
 better this smooth floor. Who is that standing by 
 the window ? He has not danced to-night ? " 
 
 " Don Pablo Ignestria of Monterey. He says the 
 women of San Luis are not half so beautiful or so 
 elegant as the women of Monterey ; he says they are 
 too dark and too small. He does not wish to dance 
 with any one ; nor do any of the girls wish to dance 
 with him. They are very angry." 
 
 " I wish to dance with him. Bring him to me." 
 
 " But, senorita, I tell thee thou wouldst not like 
 
A RAMBLE Wl*TH ftULOGlA. 209 
 
 him. Holy Heaven ! Why do those eyes flash so ? 
 Thou lookest as if thou wouldst fight with thy little 
 fists." 
 
 " Bring him to me." 
 
 Don Carmelo walked obediently over to Don 
 X'ablo, although burning with jealousy. 
 
 " Seilor, at your service," he said. " I wish to in. 
 troduce you to the most charming senorita in the 
 room." 
 
 " Which ? " asked Ignestria, incuriously. 
 
 Don Carmelo indicated Eulogia with a grand 
 sweep of his hand. 
 
 " That little thing ? Why, there are a dozen 
 prettier girls in the room than she, and I have not 
 cared to meet any of them ! " 
 
 " But she has commanded me to take you to her, 
 seiior, and look at the men crowding about her 
 do you think I dare disobey ? " 
 
 The stranger's dark gray eyes became less.insen- 
 sible. He was a handsome man, with tall figure and 
 smooth, strong face ; but about him hung the indo- 
 lence of the Californian. 
 
 " Very well," he said, " take me to her." 
 
 He asked her to dance, and after a waltz, Eulogia 
 said she was tired, and they sat down within a 
 proper distance of Dona Pomposa's eagle eye. 
 
 " What do you think of the women of San Luis 
 Obispo ? " asked Eulogia, innocently. " Are not they 
 handsome ? " 
 
 " They are not to be compared with the womeu of 
 Monterey since you ask me." 
 14 
 
210 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 " Because they find the men of San Luis more 
 gallant than the Senor Don Pablo Ignestria ! " 
 
 " Do they ? One, I believe, asked to have me in' 
 troduced to her ! " 
 
 " True, senor. I wished to meet you that you 
 might fall in love with me, and that the ladies of 
 San Luis might have their vengeance." 
 
 He stared at her. 
 
 " Truly, senorita, but you do not hide your cards. 
 And why, then, should I fall in love with you ? " 
 
 "Because I am different from the women of 
 Monterey." 
 
 " A good reason why I should not. I have been 
 in every town in California, and I admire no women 
 but those of my city." 
 
 " And because you will hate me first." 
 
 " And if I hate you how can I love you ? " 
 
 " It is the same. You hate one woman and love 
 another. Each is the same passion, only to a dif- 
 ferent person out goes a different side. Let the per- 
 son loved or hated change his nature, and the pas- 
 sion will change." 
 
 He looked at her with more interest. 
 
 " In truth I think I shall begin with love and end 
 with hate, senorita. But that wisdom was not 
 born in your little head, for sixteen years, I think, 
 have not sped over it, no ? It went in, if I mistake 
 not, through those bright eyes." 
 
 " Yes, senor, that is true. I am not content to be 
 just like other girls of sixteen. I want to know to 
 know. Have you ever read any books, senor ?" 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIi. 211 
 
 "Many." He looked at her with a very lively 
 interest now. " What ones have you read ? " 
 
 " Only the beautiful romances of the Senor Dumas. 
 I have seen no others, for there are not many books 
 in San Luis. Have you read others ? " 
 
 " A great many others. Two wonderful Spanish 
 books ' Don Quixote de la Mancha ' and * Gil Bias,' 
 and the romances of Sir Waltere Scote a man of 
 England, and some lives of famous men, seiiorita. 
 A great man lent them to me the greatest of our 
 Governors Alvarado." 
 
 " And you will lend them to me ? " cried Eulogia, 
 forgetting her coquetry, " I want to read them." 
 
 " Aha ! Those cool eyes can flash. That even 
 little voice can break in two. By the holy Evangel- 
 ists, seiiorita, thou shalt have every book I possess." 
 
 " Will the Senorita Doiia Eulogia favor us with a 
 song?" 
 
 Don Carmelo was bowing before her, a guitar in 
 his hand, his wrathful eyes fixed upon Don Pablo. 
 
 " Yes," said Eulogia. 
 
 She took the guitar and sang a love song in a 
 manner which can best be described as no manner 
 at all; her expression never changed, her voice 
 never warmed. At first the effect was flat, then the 
 subtle fascination of it grew until the very memory 
 of impassioned tones seemed florid and surfeiting. 
 When she finished, Tgnestria's heart was hammering 
 upon the steel in which he had prisoned it. 
 
212 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " WELL," said Eulogia to Padre Moraga two weeks 
 later, "am I not lafavorita?" 
 
 "Thou art, thou little coquette. Thou hast a 
 power over men which thou must use with discre- 
 tion, my Eulogia. Tell thy beads three times a day 
 and pray that thou mayest do no harm." 
 
 "I wish to do harm, my father, for men have 
 broken the hearts of women for ages " 
 
 " Chut, chut, thou baby ! Men are not so black as 
 they are painted. Harm no one, and the world will 
 be better that thou hast lived in it." 
 
 "If I scratch, fewer women will be scratched," 
 and she raised her shoulders beneath the flowered 
 muslin of her gown, swung her guitar under her 
 arm, and walked down the grove, the silver leaves 
 shining above her smoken hair. 
 
 The padre had bidden all the young people of the 
 upper class to a picnic in the old Mission garden. 
 Girls in gay muslins and silk rebosas were sitting 
 beneath the arches of the corridor or flitting under 
 the trees where the yellow apricots hung among the 
 green leaves. Languid and sparkling faces coquet- 
 ted with caballeros in bright calico jacket and knee- 
 breeches laced with silken cord, their slender waist 
 girt with long sashe hanging gracefully over the 
 hip. The water rilled in the winding creek, the 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 213 
 
 birds caroled in the trees ; but above all rose the 
 sound of light laughter and sweet strong voices. 
 
 They took their dinner behind the arches, at a 
 table the length of the corridor, and two of the young 
 men played the guitar and sang, whilst the others 
 delighted their keen palates with the goods the 
 padre had provided. 
 
 Don Pablo sat by Eulogia, a place he very often 
 managed to fill; but he never had seen her for a 
 moment alone. 
 
 " I must go soon, Eulogia," he murmured, as the 
 voices waxed louder. "Duty calls me back to 
 Monterey." 
 
 " I am glad to know thou hast a sense of thy 
 duty." 
 
 " Nothing but that would take me away from San 
 Luis Obispo. But both my mother and and a 
 dear friend are ill, and wish to see me." 
 
 " Thou must go to-night. How canst thou eat and 
 be gay when thy mother and and a dear friend 
 are ill?" 
 
 " Ay, Eulogia ! wouldst thou scoff over my grave ? 
 I go, but it is for thee to say if I return." 
 
 " Do not tell me that thou adorest me here at the 
 table. I shall blush, and all will be about my smart- 
 ing ears like the bees down in the padre's hive." 
 
 "I shall not tell thee that before all the world, 
 Eulogia. All I ask is this little favor : I shall send 
 thee a letter the night I leave. Promise me that 
 thou wilt answer it to Monterey." 
 
 " No, sir ! Long ago, when I was twelve, I made 
 
214 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 a vow I would never write to a man. I never break 
 that vow." 
 
 " Thou wilt break it for me, Eulogia." 
 
 " And why for you, senor ? Half the trouble in 
 the world has been made on paper." 
 
 "Oh, thou wise one ! What trouble can a piece 
 of paper make when it lies on a man's heart ? " 
 
 " It can crackle when another head lies on it. " 
 
 " No head will ever lie here but " 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 " Eulogia ! " 
 
 " To thee, Senorita Dona Eulogia," cried a deep 
 voice. " May the jewels in thine eyes shine by the 
 stars when thou art above them. May the tears 
 never dim them while they shine for us below," and 
 a caballero pushed back his chair, leaned forward, 
 and touched her glass with his, then went down on 
 one knee and drank the red wine. 
 
 Eulogia threw him a little absent smile, sipped 
 her wine, and went on talking to Ignestria in her 
 soft monotonous voice. 
 
 " My friend Graciosa La Cruz went a few weeks 
 ago to Monterey for a visit. You will tell her I 
 think of her, no ? " 
 
 " I will dance with her often because she is your 
 friend until I return to San Luis Obispo." 
 
 " Will that be soon, senor ? " 
 
 " I told thee that would be as soon as thou wished. 
 Thou wilt answer my letter promise me, Eulogia." 
 
 " I will not, senor. I intend to be wiser than 
 other women. At the very least my follies shall 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 215 
 
 not burn paper. If thou wantest an answer thou 
 wilt return." 
 
 " I will not return without that answer. I never 
 can see thee alone, and if I could, thy coquetry would 
 not give me a plain answer. I must see it on paper 
 before I will believe." 
 
 " Thou canst wait for the day of resurrection for 
 thy knowledge then ! " 
 
 V. 
 
 ONCE more Aunt Anastacia rolled her large figure 
 through Eulogia's doorway and handed her a letter. 
 
 " From Don Pablo Ignestria, my baby," she said. 
 " Oh, what a man ! what a caballero ! And so smart. 
 He waited an hour by the creek in the Mission 
 Gardens until he saw thy mother go out, and then 
 he brought the note to me. He begged to see thee, 
 but I dared not grant that, ninita, for thy mother 
 will be back in ten minutes." 
 
 "Go downstairs and keep my mother there," 
 commanded Eulogia, and Aunt Anastacia rolled off, 
 whilst her niece with unwonted nervousness opened 
 the letter. 
 
 " Sweet of my soul ! Day-star of my life ! I dare 
 not speak to thee of love because, strong man as I 
 am, still am I a coward before those mocking eyes. 
 
216 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 Therefore if thou laugh the first time them readest 
 that I love thee, I shall not see it, and the second 
 time thou mayest be more kind. Beautiful and 
 idolized Eulogia, men have loved thee, but never 
 will be cast at thy little feet a heart stronger or 
 truer than mine. Ay, duefio adorado ! I love thee ! 
 Without hope ? No ! I believe that thou lovest me, 
 thou cold little one, although thou dost not like to 
 think that the heart thou hast sealed can open to 
 let love in. But, Eulogia ! Star of my eyes ! I love 
 thee so I will break that heart in pieces, and give 
 thee another so soft and warm that it will beat all 
 through the old house to which I will take thee. 
 For thou wilt come to me, thou little coquette? 
 Thou wilt write to me to come back and stand with 
 thee in the Mission while the good padre asks the 
 saints to bless us ? Eulogia, thou hast sworn thou 
 wilt write to no man, but thou wilt write to me, my 
 little one. Thou wilt not break the heart that lives 
 in thine. 
 
 " I kiss thy little feet. I kiss thy tiny hands. I 
 kiss Ay, Eulogia ! Adios ! Adios ! PABLO." 
 
 Eulogia could not resist that letter. Her scruples 
 vanished, and, after an entire day of agonized com- 
 position, she sent these lines : 
 
 You can come back to San Luis Obispo, 
 Eulogia Amata Francisca Guadalupe Carillo. 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 217 
 
 VI 
 
 ANOTHER year had passed. No answer had come 
 from Pablo Ignestria. Nor had he returned to San 
 Luis Obispo. Two months after Eulogia had sent 
 her letter, she received one from Graciosa La Cruz, 
 containing the information that Ignestria had mar- 
 ried the invalid girl whose love for him had been 
 the talk of Monterey for many years. And Eulogia ? 
 Her flirtations had earned her far and wide the title 
 of Dona Coquetta, and she was cooler, calmer, and 
 more audacious than ever. 
 
 " Dost thou never intend to marry ? " demanded 
 Dona Pomposa one day, as she stood over the kitch- 
 en stove stirring red peppers into a saucepan full 
 of lard. 
 
 Eulogia was sitting on the table swinging her 
 small feet. " Why do you wish me to marry ? I 
 am well enough as I am. Was Elena Castanares so 
 happy with the man who was mad for her that 
 I should hasten to be a neglected wife ? Poor my 
 Elena ! Four years, and then consumption and 
 death. Three children and an indifferent husband, 
 who was dying of love when he could not get 
 her." 
 
 " Thou thinkest of unhappy marriages because 
 thou hast just heard of Elena's death. But there 
 are many others." 
 
218 A RAMBLE WITH EULOG1A. 
 
 " Did you hear of the present she left her mother ? " 
 
 "No." Dona Pomposa dropped her spoon; she 
 dearly loved a hit of gossip. " What was it ? " 
 
 " You know that a year ago Elena went home to 
 Los Quervos and begged Don Roberto and Dona 
 Jacoba on her knees to forgive her, and they did, 
 and were glad to do it. Dona Jacoba was with her 
 when she was so ill at the last, and just before she 
 died, Elena said, ' Mother, in that chest you will 
 find a legacy from me. It is all of my own that I 
 have in the world, and I leave it to you. Do not 
 take it until I am dead.' And what do you think it 
 was ? The greenhide reata." 
 
 " Mother of God ! But Jacoba must have felt as 
 if she were already in purgatory." 
 
 " It is said that she grew ten years older in the 
 night." 
 
 " May the saints be praised, my child can leave 
 me no such gift. But all men are not like Dario 
 Castanares. I would have thee marry an American. 
 They are smart and know how to keep the gold. 
 Remember, I have little now, and thou canst not be 
 young forever." 
 
 " I have seen no American I would marry." 
 
 " There is Don Abel Hudson." 
 
 " I do not trust that man. His tongue is sweet 
 and his face is handsome, but always when I meet 
 him I feel a little afraid, although it goes away in a 
 minute. The Senor Dumas says that a woman's 
 instincts " 
 
 " To perdition with Senor Dumas ! Does he say 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 219 
 
 that a chit's instincts are better than her mother's ? 
 Don Abel throws about the money like rocks. He 
 has the best horses at the races. He tells me that 
 he has a house in Yerba Buena " 
 
 " San Francisco* And I would not live in that 
 bleak and sandy waste. Did you notice how he 
 limped at the ball last night ? " 
 
 " No. What of that ? But I am not in love with 
 Don Abel Hudson if thou art so set against him. It 
 is true that no one knows just who he is, now I 
 think of it. I had not made up my mind that he 
 was the husband for thee. But let it be an Amer- 
 ican, my Eulogia, Even when they have no money 
 they will work for it, and that is what no Californian 
 W ill do " 
 
 But Eulogia had run out of the room : she rarely 
 listened to the end of her mother's harangues. She 
 draped a rebosa about her head, and went over to 
 the house of Graciosa La Cruz. Her friend was sit- 
 ting by her bedroom window, trimming a yellow 
 satin bed-spread with lace, and Eulogia took up a 
 half-finished sheet and began fastening the drawn 
 threads into an intricate pattern. 
 
 "Only ten days more, my Graciosa," she said, 
 mischievously. " Art thou going to run back to thy 
 mother in thy night-gown, like Josefita Olvera ? " 
 
 " Never will I be such a fool ! Eulogia, I have a 
 husband for thee." 
 
 " To the tunnel of the Mission with husbands ! I 
 shall be an old maid like Aunt Anastacia, fat, with 
 black whiskers," 
 
220 A RAMBLE WITH EULOG1A. 
 
 Graciosa laughed. "Thou wilt marry and have 
 ten children." 
 
 " By every station in the Mission I will not. Why 
 bring more women into the world to suffer ? " 
 
 " Ay, Eulogia ! thou art always saying things I 
 cannot understand and that thou shouldst not think 
 about. But I have a husband for thee. He came 
 from Los Angeles this morning, and is a friend of 
 my Carlos. His name is not so pretty Tomas 
 Garflas. There he rides now." 
 
 Eulogia looked out of the window with little 
 curiosity. A small young man was riding down the 
 street on a superb horse colored like golden bronze, 
 with silveren mane and tail. His saddle of em bossed 
 leather was heavily mounted with silver ; the spurs 
 were inlaid with gold and silver, and the straps of 
 the latter were worked with gleaming metal threads. 
 He were a light-red serape, heavily embroidered and 
 fringed. His botas of soft deer-skin, dyed a rich 
 green and stamped with Aztec eagles, were tied at 
 the knee by a white silk cord wound about the leg 
 and finished with heavy silver tassels. His short 
 breeches were trimmed with gold lace. As he caught 
 Graciosa's eye he raised his sombrero, then rode 
 through the open door of a neighboring saloon and 
 tossed off an American drink without dismounting 
 from his horse. 
 
 Eulogia lifted her shoulders. " I like his saddle 
 
 and his horse, but he is too small. Still, a new 
 
 man is not disagreeable. When shall I meet him ? " 
 
 41 To-night, my Eulogia, He goes with us to 
 
 Miramar." 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 221 
 
 VII. 
 
 A PAETY of young people started that night for a 
 ball at Miramar, the home of Don Polycarpo Quijas. 
 Many a caballero had asked the lady of his choice to 
 ride on his saddle while he rode on the less comfort- 
 able auquera behind, and guided his horse with arm 
 as near her waist as he dared. Doila Pomposa, with 
 a small brood under her wing, started last of all in 
 an American wagon. The night was calm, the moon 
 was high, the party very gay. 
 
 Abel Hudson and the new-comer, Don Tomas 
 Garfias, sat on either side of Eulogia, and she amused 
 herself at the expense of both. 
 
 " Don Tomas says that he is handsomer than the 
 men of San Luis," she said to Hudson. " Do not 
 you think he is right? See what a beautiful curl 
 his mustachios have, and what a droop his eyelids. 
 Holy Mary ! how that yellow ribbon becomes his 
 hair ! Ay, senor ! Why have you come to dazzle 
 the eyes of the poor girls of San Luis Obispo ? " 
 
 " Ah, senorita," said the little dandy, " it will do 
 their eyes good to see an elegant young man from 
 the city. And they should see my sister. She 
 would teach them how to dress and arrange their 
 hair." 
 
 " Bring her to teach us, senor, and for reward we 
 will find her a tall and modest husband such as the 
 
222 A EAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 girls of San Luis Obispo admire. Don Abel, why 
 do you not boast of your sisters ? Have you none, 
 nor mother, nor father, nor brother ? I never hear 
 you speak of them. Maybe you grow alone out of 
 the earth." 
 
 Hudson's gaze wandered to the canon they were 
 approaching. " I am alone, senorita ; a lonely man 
 in a strange land." 
 
 " Is that the reason why you are such a traveler, 
 senor ? Are you never afraid, in your long, lonely 
 rides over the mountains, of that dreadful bandit 
 John Power, who murders whole families for the 
 sack of gold they have under the floor ? I hope you 
 always carry plenty of pistols, senor." 
 
 " True, dear senorita. It is kind of you to put 
 me on my guard. I had never thought of this 
 man." 
 
 " This devil, you mean. When last night I saw 
 you come limping into the room " 
 
 " Ay, yi, yi, Dios ! " " Maria ! " " Dios de mi 
 alma ! " " Dios de mi vida ! " Cielo Santo ! " 
 
 A wheel had given way, and the party was scat- 
 tered about the road. 
 
 No one was hurt, but loud were the lamentations. 
 No Californian had ever walked six miles, and the 
 wheel was past repair. But Abel Hudson came to 
 the rescue. 
 
 " Leave it to me," he said. " I pledge myself to 
 get you there," and he went off in the direction of a 
 ranch house. 
 
 " Ay ! the good American ! The good American ! " 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 223 
 
 cried the girls. "Eulogia! how canst thou be so 
 cold to him ? The handsome stranger with the kind 
 heart ! " 
 
 " His heart is like the Sacramento Valley, veined 
 with gold instead of blood. Holy Mary ! " she 
 cried some moments later, " what is he bringing ? 
 The wagon of the country ! " 
 
 Abel Hudson was standing erect on the low floor 
 of a wagon drawn by two strong, black mules. The 
 wagon was a clumsy affair a large wooden frame 
 covered with raw-hide, and set upon a heavy axle. 
 The wheels were made of solid sections of trees, and 
 the harness of green-hide. An Indian boy sat astride 
 one of the mules. On either side rode a vaquero, 
 with his reata fastened to the axle-tree. 
 
 " This is the best I can do," said Hudson. " There 
 is probably not another American wagon between 
 San Luis and Miramar. Do you think you can stand 
 it?" 
 
 The girls shrugged their pretty shoulders. The 
 men swove into their moustachios. Dona Pomposa 
 groaned at the prospect of a long ride in a springless 
 wagon. But no one was willing to return, and when 
 Eulogia jumped lightly in all followed, and Hudson 
 placed them as comfortably as possible, although 
 they were obliged to sit on the floor. 
 
 The wagon jolted down the canon, the mules 
 plunging, the vaqueros shouting ; but the moon glit- 
 tered like a silvered snow peak ; the wild green forest 
 was about them, and even Eulogia grew a little 
 sentimental as Abel Hudson's blue eyes bent over 
 
224 A GAMBLE WITH EULOG1A. 
 
 hers, and his curly head cut off Dona Pomposa's 
 view. 
 
 " Dear senorita," he said, " thy tongue is very 
 sharp, but thou hast a kind heart. Hast thou no 
 place in it for Abel Hudson ? " 
 
 "In the sala, senor where many others are re- 
 ceived with mamma and Aunt Anastacia sitting in 
 the corner." 
 
 He laughed. "Thou wilt always jest! But I 
 would take all the rooms, and turn every one out, 
 even to Doila Pomposa and Doiia Anastacia ! " 
 
 " And leave me alone with thee ! God of my soul ! 
 How I should yawn ! " 
 
 " Oh, yes, Dona Coquetta, I am used to such pretty 
 little speeches. When thou began to yawn I should 
 ride away, and thou wouldst be glad to see me when 
 I returned." 
 
 " What wouldst thou bring me from the mount- 
 ains, senor ? " 
 
 He looked at her steadily. "Gold, senorita. I 
 know of many rich veins. I have a little caiion sus- 
 pected by no one else, where I pick out a sack full oi 
 gold in a day. Gold makes the life of a beloved wife 
 very sweet, senorita." 
 
 " In truth I should like the gold better than thy- 
 self, senor," said Eulogia, frankly. "For if thou 
 wilt have the truth Ay ! Holy Heaven ! This is 
 worse than the other ! " 
 
 A lurch, splash, and the party with shrill cries 
 sprang to their feet ; the low cart was filling witt 
 water. They had left the caiion and were crossing 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 225 
 
 a slough ; no one had remembered that it would be 
 high tide. The girls, without an instant's hesitation, 
 whipped their gown up around their neck ; but 
 their feet were wet, and their skirts draggled. They 
 made light of it, however, as they did of everything, 
 and drove up to Miramar amidst high laughter and 
 rattling jests. 
 
 Dona Luisa Quijas, a handsome, shrewd-looking 
 woman, magnificently gowned in yellow satin, the 
 glare and sparkle of jewels on her neck, came out 
 upon the corridor to meet them. 
 
 " What is this ? In a wagon of the country ! An 
 accident ? Ay, God of my life, the slough ! Come 
 in quick! quick! I will give you dry clothes. 
 Trust these girls to take care of their gowns. Mary ! 
 What wet feet ! Quick ! quick ! This way, or you 
 will have red noses to-morrow," and she led them 
 down the corridor, past the windows through which 
 they could see the dancers in the sala, and opened 
 the door of her bedroom. 
 
 "There, my children, help yourselves," and she 
 pulled out the capacious drawers of her chest. " All 
 is at your service." She lifted out an armful of dry 
 underclothing, then went to the door of an adjoining 
 room and listened, her hand uplifted. 
 
 " Didst thou have to lock him up ? " asked Dona 
 Pomposa, as she drew on a pair of Dona Luisa's silk 
 stockings. 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! And such a time, my friend ! Thou 
 knowest that after I fooled him the last time he 
 swore I should never have another ball. But, God 
 15 
 
226 RAMBLE WITH EiTLOGtA. 
 
 of my life ! I was never meant to be bothered with 
 a husband, and have I not given him three children 
 twenty times handsomer than himself? Is not that 
 enough ? By the soul of Saint Luis the Bishop, I 
 will continue to promise, and then get absolution at 
 the Mission, but I will not perform ! Well, he was 
 furious, my friend ; he had spent a sack of gold on 
 that ball, and he swore I should never have another. 
 So this time I invited my guests, and told him noth- 
 ing. At seven to-night I persuaded him into his 
 room and locked the door. But, mother of God! 
 Diego had forgotten to screw down the window, and 
 he got out. I could not get him back, Pomposa, and 
 his big nose was purple with rage. He swore that 
 he would turn every guest away from the door, he 
 swore that he would be taking a bath on the corridor 
 when they came up, and throw insults in their faces. 
 Ay, Pomposa! I went down on my knees. I thought 
 I should not have my ball such cakes as I had 
 made, and such salads ! But Diego saved me. He 
 went into Don Polycarpo's room and cried 'Fire!' 
 Of course the old man ran there, and then we locked 
 him in. Diego had screwed down the window first. 
 God of my soul, but he is terrible, that man ! What 
 have I done to be punished with him ?" 
 
 " Thou art too handsome and too cruel, my Luisa. 
 But, in truth, he is an old wild-cat. The saints be 
 praised that he is safe for the night. Did he swear ? " 
 
 " Swear ! He has cursed the skin off his throat 
 and is quiet now. Come, my little ones, art thou 
 ready ? The caballeros are dry in Diego's clothes by 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 227 
 
 this time, and waiting for their waltzes; "and she 
 drove them through the door into the sala with a 
 triumphant smile on her dark, sparkling face. 
 
 The rest of the party had been dancing for an 
 hour, and all gathered about the girls to hear the 
 story of the accident, which was told with six differ- 
 ent variations. Eulogia as usual was craved for 
 dances, but she capriciously divided her favors be- 
 tween Abel Hudson and Don Tomas Garfias. Dur- 
 ing the intervals, when the musicians were silent 
 and the girls played the guitar or threw cascarones 
 at their admirers, she sat in the deep window-seat 
 watching the ponderous waves of the Pacific hurl 
 themselves against the cliffs, whilst Hudson pressed 
 close to her side, disregarding the insistance of Gar- 
 fias. Finally, the little Don from the City of the 
 Angels went into the dining-room to get a glass of 
 angelica, and Hudson caught at his chance. 
 
 " Senorita," he exclaimed, interrupting one of her 
 desultory remarks, " for a year I have loved you, and, 
 for many reasons, I have not dared to tell you. I 
 must tell you now I can keep it back no longer. I 
 have no reason to think you care more for me than 
 for a dozen other men, but if you will marry me, 
 seiiorita, I will build you a beautiful American house 
 in San Luis Obispo, and you can then be with your 
 friends when business calls me away." 
 
 "And where will you live when you are away 
 from me ? " asked Eulogia, carelessly. " In a cave in 
 the mountains? Be careful of the bandits." 
 
 " Senorita," he replied, calmly, " I do not know 
 
228 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 what you mean by the things you say sometimes. 
 Perhaps you have the idea that I am another per- 
 son John Power, or Pio Lenares, for instance. Do 
 you wish me to bring you a certificate to the effect 
 that I am Abel Hudson ? I can do so, although I 
 thought that Californians disdained the written form 
 and trusted to each other's honor, even to the sell- 
 ing of cattle and lands." 
 " You are not a Californian." 
 " Ah, senorita ! God ! what is that ? " 
 A tremendous knocking at the outer door sounded 
 above the clear soprano of Graciosa La Cruz. 
 
 " A late guest, no doubt. You are white like the 
 wall. I think the low ceilings are not so good for 
 your health, senor, as the sharp air of the mount- 
 ains. Ay, Dios ! " The last words came beneath 
 her breath, and she forgot Abel Hudson. The front 
 doors had been thrown open, and a caballero in rid- 
 ing-boots and a dark serape wound about his tall 
 figure had entered the room and flung his sombrero 
 and saddle-bags into a corner. It was Pablo Ignes- 
 tria. 
 
 " At your feet, seiiora," he said to Dona Luisa, who 
 held out both hands, welcome on her charming face. 
 " I am an uninvited guest, but when I arrived at 
 San Luis and found that all the town had come to 
 one of Dona Luisa' s famous balls, I rode on, hoping 
 that for friendship's sake she would open her 
 hospitable doors to a wanderer and let him dance 
 off the stiffness of a long ride." 
 
 " You are welcome, welcome, Pablo," said Doiia 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EtfLOGlA. 229 
 
 Luisa. " Go to the dining-room and get a glass of 
 aguardiente ; then come back and dance until dawn." 
 
 Ignestria left the room with Diego Qui j as, but re- 
 turned in a few moments and walked directly over 
 to Eulogia, ignoring the men who stood about her. 
 
 " Give me this dance," he whispered, eagerly. " I 
 have something to say to thee. I have purposely 
 come from Monterey to say it." 
 
 Eulogia was looking at him with angry eyes, her 
 brain on fire. But curiosity triumphed, and she put 
 her hand on his shoulder as the musicians swept their 
 guitars with lithe fingers, scraped their violins, and 
 began the waltz. 
 
 " Eulogia ! " exclaimed Ignestria ; " dost thou sus- 
 pect why I have returned ? " 
 
 " Why should I suspect what I have not thought 
 about?" 
 
 " Ay, Eulogia ! Art thou as saucy as ever ? But 
 I will tell thee, beloved one. The poor girl who bore 
 my name is dead, and I have come to beg an answer 
 to my letter. Ay, little one, I feel thy love. Why 
 couldst thou not have sent me one word ? I was so 
 angry when passed week after week and no answer 
 came, that in a fit of spleen I married the poor sick 
 girl. And what I suffered, Eulogia, after that mad 
 act! Long ago I told myself that I should have 
 come back for my answer, that you had sworn you 
 would write no letter ; I should have let you have 
 your little caprices, but I did not reason until " 
 
 " I answered your letter ! " exclaimed Eulogia, 
 furiously. " Thou knowest that I answered it ! 
 
230 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 Thou only wished to humble me because I had sworn 
 I would write to no man. Traitor ! I hate thee ! 
 Thou wert engaged to the girl all the time thou wert 
 here." 
 
 " Eulogia ! Believe ! Believe ! " 
 
 " I would not believe thee if thou kissed the Cross ! 
 Thou said to thyself, 'That little coquette, I will 
 teach her a lesson. To think the little chit should 
 fancy an elegant Monterefio could fall in love with 
 her ! ' Ah ! ha ! Oh, Dios ! I hate thee, thou false 
 man-of- the- world ! Thou art the very picture of 
 the men I have read about in the books of the Senor 
 Dumas ; and yet I was fooled by thy first love-word! 
 But I never loved thee. Never, never ! It was only 
 a fancy because thou wert from Monterey. I am 
 glad thou didst not get my letter, for I hate thee ! 
 Mother of Christ ! I hate thee ! " 
 
 He whirled her into the dining-room. No one else 
 was there. He kissed her full on the mouth. 
 
 " Dost thou believe me now ? " he asked. 
 
 She raised her little hand and struck him on the 
 face, but the sting was not hotter than her lips had 
 been. 
 
 " May the saints roll thee in perdition ! " she cried, 
 hoarsely. " May they thrust burning coals into the 
 eyes that lied to me ! May the devils bite off the 
 fingers that made me shame myself ! God ! God ! 
 How I hate thee ! I, I, who have fooled so many 
 men to have been rolled in the dust by thee ! " 
 
 He drew back and regarded her sadly. 
 1 " I see that it is no use to try to convince thee," 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 231 
 
 he said ; " and I have no proof to show that I never 
 received thy letter. But while the stars jewel the 
 heavens, Eulogia, I shall love thee and believe that 
 thoii lovest me." 
 
 He opened the door and she swept past him into 
 the salon. Abel Hudson stepped forward to offer 
 his arm, and for the moment Pablo forgot Eulogia. 
 
 " John Power ! " he cried. 
 
 Hudson, with an oath, leaped backward, sprang 
 upon the window-seat, and smashing the pane with 
 his powerful hand disappeared before the startled 
 men thought of stopping him. 
 
 " Catch him ! catch him ! " cried Ignestria, ex- 
 citedly. " It is John Power. He stood me up a year 
 ago." 
 
 He whipped his pistol from the saddle-bags in 
 the corner, and opening the door ran down the road, 
 followed by the other men shouting and firing their 
 pistols into the air. But they were too late. Power 
 had sprung upon Ignestria's horse, and was far on 
 his way. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE next day Eulogia went with ner mother and 
 Aunt Anastacia to pay a visit of sympathy to Dona 
 Jacoba at Los Quervos. Eulogia's eyes were not so 
 bright nor her lips so red as they had been the night 
 before, and she had little to say as the wagon jolted 
 
232 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 over the rough road, past the cypress fences, then 
 down between the beautiful tinted hills of Los Quer- 
 vos. Doiia Pomposa sat forward on the high seat, 
 her feet dangling just above the floor, her hands 
 crossed as usual over her stomach, a sudden twirl of 
 thumbs punctuating her remarks. She wore a loose 
 black gown trimmed with ruffles, and a black rebosa 
 about her head. Aunt Anastacia was attired in a 
 like manner, but clutched the side of the wagon with 
 one hand and an American sunshade in the other. 
 
 " Poor Jacoba ! " exclaimed Doiia Pomposa ; " her 
 stern heart is heavy this day. But she has such a 
 sense of her duty, Anastacia. Only that makes her 
 so stern." 
 
 " O-h-h-h, y-e-e-s." When Aunt Anastacia was 
 preoccupied or excited, these words came from her 
 with a prolonged outgoing and indrawirig. 
 
 " I must ask her for the recipe for those cakes 
 the lard ones, Anastacia. I have lost it." 
 
 "O-h-h, y-e-e-s. I love those cakes. Mother of 
 God! It is hot!" 
 
 " I wonder will she give Eulogia a mantilla when 
 the chit marries. She has a chest full." 
 
 " Sure. Jacoba is generous." 
 
 " Poor my friend ! Ay, her heart Holy Mary ! 
 
 What is that?" 
 
 She and Aunt Anastacia stumbled to their feet. 
 The sound of pistol shots was echoing between the 
 hills. Smoke was rising from the willow forest that 
 covered the center of the valley. 
 
 The Indian whipped up his horses with an excited 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 233 
 
 grunt, the two old women reeling and clutching 
 wildly at each other. At the same time they no- 
 ticed a crowd of horsemen galloping along a hill 
 which a sudden turn in the road had opened to view. 
 
 " It is the Vigilantes," said Eulogia, calmly, from 
 the front seat. "They are after John Power and 
 Pio Lenares and their lieutenants. After that awful 
 murder in the mountains the other day, the men of 
 San Luis and the ranches swore they would hunt 
 them out, and this morning they traced them to Los 
 Quervos. I suppose they have made a barricade in 
 the willows, and the Vigilantes are trying to fire 
 them out." 
 
 " Heart of Saint Peter ! Thou little brat ! Why 
 didst thou not tell us of this before, and not let us 
 come here to be shot by flying bullets ? " 
 
 " I forgot," said Eulogia, indifferently. 
 
 They could see nothing ; but curiosity, in spite 
 of fear, held them to the spot. Smoke and cries, 
 shouts and curses came from the willows ; flocks of 
 agitated crows circled screaming through the smoke ; 
 and the men on the hill, their polished horses and 
 brilliant attire flashing in the sun, kept up a ceaseless 
 galloping, hallooing, and waving of sombreros. The 
 beautiful earth-green and golden hills looked upon 
 a far different scene from the gay cavalcades to 
 which they were accustomed. Even Don Roberto 
 Duncan, a black silk handkerchief knotted about 
 his head, was dashing, on his gray horse, up and 
 down the valley between the hills and the willows, 
 regardless of chance bullets. And over all shone 
 
234 A E AMBLE WITH EULOG1A. 
 
 the same old sun, alike indifferent to slaughter and 
 pleasure. 
 
 " Sure, Anastacia, all those bullets must shoot 
 some one." 
 
 " O h h, y e e s." Her sister was grasping 
 the sunshade with both hands, her eyes starting from 
 her head, although she never removed their gaze from 
 the central volume of smoke. 
 
 " Ay, we can sleep in peace if those murdering 
 bandits are killed ! " exclaimed Doiia Pomposa. " I 
 have said a rosary every night for five years that 
 they might be taken. And, holy Heaven ! To think 
 that we have been petting the worst of them as if he 
 were General Castro or Juan Alvarado. To think, 
 my Eulogia ! That thirsty wild-cat has had his arm 
 about thy waist more times than I can count." 
 
 " He danced very well aha ! " 
 
 Aunt Anastacia gurgled like an idiot. Doiia Pom- 
 posa gave a terrific shriek, which Eulogia cut in two 
 with her hand. A man had crawled out of the brush 
 near them. His face was black with powder, one 
 arm hung, limp, at his side. Doiia Pomposa half 
 raised her arm to signal the men on the hill, but her 
 daughter gave it such a pinch that she fell back on 
 the seat, faint for a moment. 
 
 " Let him go," said Eulogia. " Do you want to 
 see a man cut in pieces before your eyes? You 
 would have to say rosaries for the rest of your life." 
 She leaned over the side of the wagon and spoke to 
 the dazed man, whose courage seemed to have de- 
 serted him, 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 235 
 
 " Don Abel Hudson, thou dost not look so gallant 
 as at the ball last night, but thou helped us to get 
 there, and I will save thee now. Get into the 
 wagon, and take care thou crawlest in like a snake 
 that thou mayest not be seen." 
 
 "No no ! " cried the two older women, but in truth 
 they were too terrified not to submit. Power swung 
 himself mechanically over the wheel, and lay on the 
 floor of the wagon. Eulogia, in spite of a protesting 
 whimper from Aunt Anastacia, loosened that good 
 dame's ample outer skirt and threw it over the 
 fallen bandit. Then the faithful Benito turned his 
 horse and drove as rapidly toward the town as the 
 rough roads would permit. They had barely started 
 when they heard a great shouting behind them, 
 and turned in apprehension, whilst the man on the 
 floor groaned aloud in his fear. But the Vigilantes 
 rode by them unsuspecting. Across their saddles 
 they carried the blackened and dripping bodies of 
 Lenares and his lieutenants ; through the willows 
 galloped the caballeros in search of John Power. 
 But they did not find him, then or after. Dona 
 Pomposa hid him in her woodhouse until midnight, 
 when he stole away and was never seen near San 
 Luis again. A few years later came the word that 
 he had been assassinated by one of his lieutenants in 
 Lower California, and his body eaten by wild hogs. 
 
236 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Al contado plasentero, 
 Del primer beso de amor, 
 Un fuego devorador 
 Que en mi pecho siento ardor. 
 
 Y' no me vuelvas a besar 
 For que me quema tu aliento 
 Ya desfayeserme siento 
 Mas enbriagada de amor. 
 
 Si acuantas estimas, das 
 Beso en pruevas de amor. 
 Si me amas hasme el favor 
 De no besarme jamas. 
 
 A CABALLERO on a prancing horse sang beneath 
 Eulogia's window, his jingling spurs keeping time 
 to the tinkling of his guitar. Eulogia turned over 
 in bed, pulling the sheets above her ears, and went 
 to sleep. 
 
 The next day when Don Tomas Garfias asked her 
 hand of her mother, Dona Coquetta accepted him 
 with a shrug of her shoulders. 
 
 " And thou lovest me, Eulogia ? " murmured the 
 enraptured little dandy as Dona Pomposa and Aunt 
 Anastacia good-naturedly discussed the composition 
 of American pies. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Ay! senorita! Why then dost thou marry me? 
 No one compels thee," 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 237 
 
 "It pleases me. What affair of thine are my 
 reasons if I consent to marry thee ? " 
 
 " Oh, Eulogia, I believe thou loyest me ! Why 
 not ? Many pretty girls have done so before thee. 
 Thou only wishest to tease me a little." 
 
 " Well ; do not let me see too much of thee before 
 the wedding day, or I may send thee back to those 
 who admire thee more than I do." 
 
 " Perhaps it is well that I go to San Francisco to 
 remain three months," said the young man, sulkily ; 
 he had too much vanity to be enraged. " Wilt thou 
 marry me as soon as I return ?" 
 
 " As well then as any other time." 
 
 Garfias left San Luis a few days later to attend to 
 important business in San Francisco, arid although 
 Dona Pomposa and Aunt Anastacia began at once 
 to make the wedding outfit, Eulogia appeared to 
 forget that she had ever given a promise of marriage. 
 She was as great a belle as ever, for no one believed 
 that she would keep faith with any man, much less 
 with such a ridiculous scrap as Garfias. Her flirta- 
 tions were more calmly audacious than ever, her 
 dancing more spirited ; in every frolic she was the 
 leader. 
 
 Suddenly Dona Pomposa was smitten with rheu- 
 matism. She groaned by night and shouted by 
 day. Eulogia, whose patience was not great, or- 
 ganized a camping party to the sulphur springs 
 of the great rancho, Paso desRobles. The young 
 people went on horseback ; Dona Pomposa and Aunt 
 Anastacia in the wagon with the tents and other 
 
238 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 camping necessities. Groans and shrieks mingled 
 with the careless laughter of girls and caballeros, 
 who looked upon rehumatism as the inevitable 
 sister of old age ; but when they entered the park- 
 like valley after the ride over the beautiful Chrome 
 Mountains, Dona Pomposa declared that the keen, 
 dry air had already benefited her. 
 
 That evening, when the girls left their tents, 
 hearts fluttered, and gay muslin frocks waved like 
 agitated banners. Several Americans were pitching 
 their tents by the spring. They proved to be a 
 party of mining engineers from San Francisco, and 
 although there was only one young man among 
 them, the greater was the excitement. Many of the 
 girls were beautiful, with their long braids and soft 
 eyes, but Eulogia, in her yellow gown, flashed about 
 like a succession of meteors as the Americans drew 
 near and proffered their services to Dona Pomposa. 
 
 The young man introduced himself as Charles 
 Rogers. He was a good-looking little fellow, in the 
 lighter American style. His well-attired figure was 
 slim and active, his shrewd eyes blue, his mouse- 
 colored hair short and very straight. After a few 
 moments' critical survey of the charming faces be- 
 hind Dona Pomposa, he went off among the trees, 
 and returning with a bunch of wild flowers, walked 
 straight over to Eulogia, and handed them to her. 
 
 She gave him a roguish little courtesy. "Much 
 thanks, senor. You must scuse my English; I 
 no spik often. The Americanos no care for the 
 flores?" 
 
A RAMBLE WITS EULOGIA. 239 
 
 " I like them well enough, but I hope you will 
 accept these." 
 
 " Si, senor." She put them in her belt. " You 
 like California?" 
 
 "Very much. It is full of gold, and, I should 
 say, excellent for agriculture." 
 
 " But it no is beautiful country ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, it does very well, and the climate is 
 pretty fair in some parts." 
 
 " You living in San Francisco ? " 
 
 " I am a mining engineer, and we have got hold 
 of a good thing near here." 
 
 "The mine it is yours?" 
 
 " Only a part of it." 
 
 " The Americanos make all the money now." 
 
 " The gold was put here for some one to take out. 
 You Californians had things all your own way for 
 a hundred years, but you let it stay there." 
 
 " Tell me how you take it out." 
 
 He entered into a detailed and somewhat technical 
 description, but her quick mind grasped the mean- 
 ing of unfamiliar words. 
 
 " You like make the money ? " she asked after he 
 had finished. 
 
 " Of course. What else is a man made for ? Life 
 is a pretty small affair without money." 
 
 " We no have much now, but we live very happy. 
 The Americanos love the money though. Alway I 
 see that." 
 
 " Americans have sense." 
 
 He devoted himself to her during the ten days of 
 
240 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 their stay, and his business shrewdness and matter- 
 of-fact conversation attracted the keen-witted girl, 
 satiated with sighs and serenades. Always eager 
 for knowledge, she learned much from him of the 
 Eastern world. She did not waste a glance on her 
 reproachful caballeros, but held long, practical con- 
 versations with Rogers under the mending wing 
 of Dona Pomposa, who approved of the stranger, 
 having ascertained his abilities and prospects from 
 the older men of his party. 
 
 On the morning of their return to San Luis 
 Obispo, Rogers and Eulogia were standing some- 
 what apart, whilst the vaqueros rounded up the 
 horses that had strayed at will through the valley. 
 Rogers plucked one of the purple autumn lilies and 
 handed it to her. 
 
 " Senorita," he said, " suppose you marry me. It 
 is a good thing for a man to be married in a wild 
 country like this : he is not so apt to gamble and 
 drink. And although I've seen a good many pretty 
 girls, I've seen no one so likely to keep me at home 
 in the evening as yourself. What do you say ?" 
 
 Eulogia laughed. His wooing interested her. 
 
 " I promise marry another man ; not I think much 
 I ever go to do it." 
 
 " Well, let him go, and marry me." 
 
 " I no think I like you much better. But I spose 
 I must get marry some day. Here my mother come. 
 Ask her. I do what she want." 
 
 Dona Pomposa was trotting toward them, and 
 while she struggled for her lost breath Eulogia 
 
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 241 
 
 repeated the proposal of the American, twanging 
 her guitar the while. 
 
 The old lady took but one moment to make up 
 her mind. "The American," she said rapidly in 
 Spanish. " Garfias is rich now, but in a few years 
 the Americans will have everything. Garfias will 
 be poor ; this man will be rich. Marry the Ameri- 
 can," and she beamed upon Rogers. 
 
 Eulogia shrugged her shoulders, and turned to 
 her practical wooer. 
 
 " My mother she say she like you the best." 
 
 " Then I may look upon that little transaction as 
 settled?" 
 
 " Si you like it." 
 
 " Which art thou going to marry, Eulogia?" 
 asked one of the girls that night as they rode down 
 the mountain. 
 
 " Neither," said Eulogia, serenely. 
 
 IX. 
 
 EULOGIA had just passed through an animated 
 interview with her mother. Dona Pomposa had 
 stormed and Eulogia had made an occasional reply 
 in her cool, monotonous voice, her gaze absently 
 fixed on the gardens of the Mission. 
 
 " Thou wicked little coquette ! " cried Dona Pom- 
 posa, her voice almost worn out. "Thou darest 
 16 
 
242 A PAMBLE WITH ETTLOGIA. 
 
 repeat to me that thou wilt not marry the Senor 
 Rogers." 
 
 " I will not. It was amusing to be engaged to 
 him for a time, but now I am tired. You can give 
 him what excuse you like, but tell him to go." 
 
 "And the clothes I have made the chests of 
 linen with the beautiful deshalados that nearly put 
 out Aunt Anastacia's eyes ! The new silk gowns ? 
 God of my life ! The magnificent bedspread with 
 the lace as deep as my hand ! " 
 
 "They will keep until I do marry. Besides, I 
 need some new clothes." 
 
 " Dost thou indeed, thou little brat ! Thou shalt 
 not put on a smock or a gown in that chest if thou 
 goest naked ! But thou shalt marry him, I say ! " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Oh, thou ice-hearted little devil ! " Even Dona 
 Pomposa's stomach was trembling with rage, and 
 her fingers were jumping. " Whom then wilt thou 
 marry? Garfias?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Thou wilt be an old maid like Aunt Anastacia." 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 o h h ! Who is this ?" 
 
 A stranger in traveling serape and riding-boots 
 had dashed up to the house, and flung himself from 
 his horse. He knocked loudly on the open door, 
 then entered without waiting for an invitation, and 
 made a deep reverence to Dona Pomposa. 
 
 "At your service, senora. At your service, 
 seiiorita. I come from the Senor Don Tomas Gar- 
 
A RAMBLE WITH ETJLOGIA. 243 
 
 fias. Word has reached him that the Senorita 
 Eulogia is about to marry an American. I humbly 
 ask you to tell me if this be true or not. I have 
 been told in town that the wedding is set for the day 
 after to-morrow." 
 
 " Ask her ! " cried Dona Pomposa, tragically, and 
 she swung herself to the other end of the room. 
 
 " Senorita, at your feet." 
 
 " You can tell your friend that I have no more in- 
 tention of marrying the American than I have of 
 marrying him." 
 
 " Senorita ! But he expected to return next week 
 and marry you." 
 
 " We expect many things in this world that we 
 do not get." 
 
 " But a thousand apologies for my presumption, 
 senorita why did you not write and tell him? r '^ 
 
 " I never write letters." 
 
 "But you could have sent word by some friend 
 traveling to San Francisco, senorita." 
 
 "He would find it out hi good time. "Why 
 hurry?" 
 
 " Ay, senorita, well are you named Dona Coquetta. 
 You are famous even to San Francisco. I will return 
 to my poor friend. At your service, sefiora. At 
 your service, senorita," and he bowed himself out, 
 and galloped away. 
 
 Dona Pomposa threw herself into her chair, and 
 wept aloud. 
 
 " Mother of God ! I had thought to see her mar- 
 ried to a thrifty American ! What have I done to 
 
244 A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA. 
 
 be punished with so heartless a child? And the 
 Americans will have all the money! The little I 
 have will go too! We shall be left sitting in the 
 street. And we might have a wooden house in San 
 Francisco, and go to the theater ! Oh, Mother of 
 God, why dost thou not soften the heart of the 
 wicked " 
 
 Eulogia slipped out of the window, and went into 
 the Mission gardens. She walked slowly through 
 the olive groves, lifting her arms to part the branches 
 where the little purple spheres lay in their silver 
 nests. Suddenly she came face to face with Pablo 
 Ignestria. 
 
 Two days later she stood with Charles Rogers 
 before the priest in the Mission. 
 
LUKARI'S STORY. 
 
 " Ay, senor ! So terreeblay thing ! It is many 
 years before 1 837, 1 theenk, is the year ; the Ameri- 
 canos no have come to take California; but I re- 
 member like it is yesterday. 
 
 "You see, I living with her Dona Juana Ybarra 
 her name is ever since I am little girl and she too. 
 It is like this : the padres make me Christian in the 
 Mission, and her family take me to work hi the 
 house ; I no living on the rancheria like the Indians 
 who work ouside. Bime by Dona Juana marrying 
 and I go live with her. Bime by I marrying too, 
 and she is comadre godmother, you call, no ? to 
 my little one, and steel I living with her, and in few 
 years my husband and little one die and I love her 
 children like they are my own, and her too ; we grow 
 old together. 
 
 "You never see the San Ysidro rancho? It is 
 near to San Diego and have many, many leagues. 
 Don Carlos Ybarra, the husband de my senora, is 
 very reech and very brave and proud too brave and 
 proud, ay, yi ! We have a beeg adobe house with 
 more than twenty rooms, and a corridor for the front 
 
246 LUKAEVS STORY. 
 
 more than one hundred feets. Outside are plenty 
 other houses where make all the things was need for 
 eat and wear : all but the fine closes. They come 
 from far, from Boston and Mejico. All stand away 
 from the hills and trees, right in the middle the 
 valley, so can see the bad Indians when coming. 
 Far off, a mile I theenk, is the rancheria ; no can 
 see from the house. No so far is the corral, where 
 keeping the fine horses. 
 
 " Ay, we have plenty to eat and no much to do in 
 those days. Don Carlos and Dona Juana are very 
 devot the one to the other, so the family living very 
 happy, and I am in the house like before and take 
 care the little ones. Every night I braid my seiiora's 
 long black hair and tuck her in bed like she is a 
 baby. She no grow stout when she grow more old, 
 like others, but always is muy elegante. 
 
 " Bime by the childrens grow up ; and the two firs 
 boys, Roldan and Enrique, marrying and living in 
 San Diego. Then are left only the senor and the 
 seiiora, one little boy, Carlos, and my two beautiful 
 senoritas, Beatriz and Ester. Ay ! How pretty they 
 are. Dios de mi alma ! Where they are now ! 
 
 " Dona Beatriz is tall like the mother, and sway 
 when she walk, like you see the tules in the little 
 wind. She have the eyes very black and long, and 
 look like she feel sleep till she get mad ; then, Madre 
 de Dios ! they opa wide and look like she is on fire 
 inside and go to burn you too. She have the skin 
 very white, but I see it hot like the blood go to burst 
 out. Once she get furioso cause one the vaqueros 
 
LUKARVS STORY. 247 
 
 hurch her horse, and she wheep him till he yell like 
 he is in purgatory and no have no one say mass and 
 get him out. But she have the disposition very 
 sweet, and after she is sorry and make him a cake 
 hersel ; and we all loving her like she is a queen, and 
 she can do it all whatte she want. 
 
 " Dona Ester have the eyes more brown and soft, 
 and the disposition more mild, but very feerm, and 
 she having her own way more often than Dona Bea- 
 triz. She no is so tall, but very gracerful too, and 
 walk like she think she is tall. All the Spanish so 
 dignify, no ? She maka very kind with the Indians 
 when they are seek, and all loving her, but no so 
 much like Doiia Beatriz. 
 
 " Both girls very industrioso, sewing and make the 
 broidery ; make beautiful closes to wear at the ball. 
 Ay, the balls ! No have balls like those in California 
 now. Sometimes have one fifty miles away, but they 
 no care ; jump on the horse and go, dance till the sun 
 wake up and no feel tire at all. Sometimes when is 
 wedding, or rodeo, dance for one week, then ride 
 home like nothing have happen. In the winter the 
 family living in San Diego ; have big house there 
 and dance every night, horseback in the day when 
 no rain, and have so many races and games. Ay, 
 yi ! All the girls so pretty. No wear hats then ; 
 the rebosa, no more, or the mantilla ; fixit so gracer- 
 ful ; and the dresses so bright colors, sometimes with 
 flowers all over ; the skirt make very f ule, and the 
 waist have the point. And the closes de mens! 
 Madre de Dios ! The beautiful velvet and silk 
 
248 LUKAEVS STORY. 
 
 closes, broider by silver and gold ! And the saddles 
 so fine ! But you think I never go to tell you the 
 story. 
 
 "One summer we are more gay than ever. So 
 many caballeros love my seiioritas, but I think they 
 never love any one, and never go to marry at all. 
 For a month we have the house fule ; meriendas 
 peekneek, you call, no ? And races every day, dance 
 in the night. Then all go to stay at another rancho ; 
 it is costurnbre to visit the one to the other. I feel 
 very sorry for two so handsome caballeros, who are 
 more devot than any. They looking very sad when 
 they go, and I am sure they propose and no was 
 accep. 
 
 " In the evening it is very quiet, and I am sweep 
 the corridor when I hear two horses gallope down the 
 valley. I fix my hand so like the barrel de gun, 
 and look, and I see, riding very hard, Don Carmelo 
 Pelajo and Don Rafael Arguello. The firs, he loving 
 Doila Beatriz, the other, he want Dona Ester. I go 
 queeck and tell the girls, and Beatriz toss her head 
 and look very scornfule, but Ester blushing and the 
 eyes look very happy. The young mens come in in 
 few minutes and are well treat by Don Carlos and 
 Dona Juana, for like them very much and are glad 
 si the girls marry with them. 
 
 " After supper I am turn down the bed in my se- 
 iiora's room when I hear somebody spik very low 
 outside on the corridor. I kneel on the window seat 
 and look out, and there I see Don Rafael have his 
 arms roun Dona Ester and kissing her and she. no* 
 
LUKAEPS STORli 249 
 
 mine at all. I wonder how they get out there by 
 theraself s, for the Spanish very streect with the girls 
 and no 'low that. But the young peoples always 
 very how you say it ? smart, no ? After while all 
 go to bed, and I braid Dona Juana's hair and she tell 
 me Ester go to marry Don Rafael, and she feel very 
 happy and I no say one word. Then I go to Dona 
 Beatriz's beroom ; always I fix her for the bed, too. 
 Ester have other woman take care her, but Beatriz 
 love me. She keeck me when she is little, and pull 
 my hair, when I no give her the dulces ; but I no 
 mine, for she have the good heart and so sweet 
 spression when she no is mad and always maka very 
 kind with me. I comb her hair and I see she look 
 very cross and I ask her why, and she say she hate 
 mens, they are fools and womens too. I ask her why 
 she think that, and she say she no can be spect have 
 reason for all whatte she think ; and she throw her 
 head aroun so I no can comb at all and keeck out her 
 little foot. 
 
 " * You no go to marry with Don Carlos ? ' I 
 asking. 
 
 " < No ! ' she say, and youbetcherlife her eyes 
 flash. You think I marrying a singing, sighing, 
 gambling, sleepy caballero ? Si no can marry man 
 I no marry at all. Madre de Dios ! ' (She spik 
 beautiful ; but I no spik good Eenglish, and you no 
 ondrestan the Spanish.) 
 
 " ' But all are very much like,' I say ; * and you no 
 want die old maid, no ? ' 
 
 I no care ! ' and then she fling hersel roun on 
 
250 LUKAEVS STORY. 
 
 the chair and throw her arms roun me and cry and 
 sob on my estomac. c Ay, my Lukari ! ' she cry 
 when she can spik, ' I hate everybody ! I am tire 
 out to exista ! I want to live ! I am tire stay all 
 alone ! Oh, I want I no know what I want ! Life 
 is terreeblay thing, macheppa ! ' 
 
 " I no know at all whatte she mean, for have 
 plenty peoples all the time, and she never walk, so I 
 no can think why she feel tire ; but I kissing her 
 and smoothe her hair, for I jus love her, and tell her 
 no cry. Bime by she fine it some one she loving, 
 and she is very young yet, twenty, no more. 
 
 " ' I no stay here any longer,' she say. * I go to 
 ask my father take me to Mejico, where can see 
 something*, cept hills and trees and missions and 
 forts, andj'',where perhaps ay, Dios de mi alma ! ' 
 Then she jump up and take me by the shoulders 
 and jus throw me out the room and lock the door ; 
 but I no mine, for I am use to her. 
 
 " Bueno, I think I go for walk, and bime by I 
 come to tfce rancheria and while I am there I hear 
 terreeblay \hing from old Pepe. He say he hear for 
 sure that the bad Indians who was no make Chris- 
 tian by the padres and living very wild in the mount- 
 ains come killing all the white peoples on the 
 ranches. He say he know sure it is true, and tell 
 me beg Don Carlos send to San Diego for the soldiers 
 come take care us. I feel so fright I hardly can 
 walk back to the house, and I no sleep that night. 
 In the morning firs thing I telling Don Carlos, but 
 he say is nonsense and no will lissen. He is very 
 
LUKAEVS STORY. 251 
 
 brave and no care for nothing; fight the Indians 
 and killing them plenty times. The two caballeros 
 go away after breakfas, and when they are gone I 
 can see my senora alone, and I telling her. She feel 
 very fright and beg Don Carlos send for the soldiers, 
 but he no will. Ay, yi ! Ester is fright too ; but 
 JBeatriz laugh and say she like have some excite and 
 killing the Indians hersel. After while old Pepe 
 come up to the house and tell he hear 'gain, but 
 Don Carlos no will ask him even where he hear, and 
 tell him to go back to the rancheria where belong, 
 and make the reatas ; he is so old he no can make 
 anything else. 
 
 " Bueno ! The nex morning bout nine o'clock 
 Don Carlos is at the corral with two vaqueros and 
 I am in the keetchen with the cook and one Indian 
 boy, call Franco. Never I like that boy. Something 
 so sneak, and he steal the dulces plenty times and 
 walk so soffit. I am help the cook very good wo- 
 man, but no have much sense fry lard, when I hear 
 terreeblay noise horses gallop like they jump out 
 the earth near the house, and many mens yell and 
 scream and shout. 
 
 " I run to the window and whatte I see ? Indians, 
 Indians, Indians, thick like black ants on hill, jus 
 race for the house, yelling like the horses backs been 
 fule de pins ; and Don Carlos and the two vaqueros 
 run like they have wings for the kitchen door, so 
 can get in and get the guns and fight from the win- 
 dows. I know whatte they want, so I run to the 
 door to throw wide, and whatte I see but that devil, 
 
252 LUKAEI'S STOBY. 
 
 Franco lock it and stan in front. I jump on him 
 so can scratch his eyes out, but he keeck me in the 
 estomac and for few minutes I no know it nothing. 
 
 " When I opa my eyes, the room is fule de Indians, 
 and in the fron the house I hear my senora and 
 Dona Ester scream, scream, scream. I crawl up by 
 the window seat and look out, and their Ay, Madre 
 de Dios ! I see on the groun my seiior dead, stuck 
 fule de arrows ; and the vaqueros, too, of course. 
 That maka me crazy and I run through the Indians, 
 hitting them with my fists, to my senora and my 
 senoritas. Jus as I run into the sala they go to kill- 
 ing my senora, but I snatch the knife and fall down 
 on my knees and beg and cry they no hurcha her, 
 and bime by they say all right. But Santa Dios ! 
 whatte you think they do it ? They tear all the 
 closes off a her till she is naked like my han, and 
 drive her out the house with the reatas. They no 
 letting me follow and I look out the window and 
 see her reel like she is drunk down the valley and 
 scream, scream ! Ay, Dios ! 
 
 " Ester, she faint and no know it nothing. Beatriz, 
 she have kill one Indian with her pistol, but they 
 take way from her, and she stan look like the dead 
 woman with eyes that have been in hell, in front 
 the chief, who looka her very hard. He is very fine 
 look, that chief, so tall and strong, like he can kill 
 by sweep his arm roun, and he have fierce black 
 eyes and no bad nose for Indian, with nostrils that 
 jump. His mouth no is cruel like mos the bad 
 Indians, nor his forehead so low. He wear the 
 
LUKAUrS STORY. 253 
 
 crown de feathers, and botas, and serape de goaskin ; 
 the others 110 wear much at all. In a minute he 
 pick up Beatriz and fling her over his shoulder like 
 she is the dead deer, and he tell other do the same 
 by Ester, and he stalk out and ride away hard. The 
 others set fire everything, then ride after him. They 
 no care for me and I stand there shriek after my 
 senoritas and the beautiful housses burn up. 
 
 " Then I think de my senora and I run after the 
 way she going. Bime by I find her in a wheat field, 
 kissing and hugging little Carlos, who go out early 
 and no meet the Indians ; and he no ondrestan what 
 is the matter and dance up and down he is so fright. 
 I tell him run fas to San Diego and tell Don Roldan 
 and Don Enrique whatte have happen, and he run 
 like he is glad to get away. Then I take off my 
 closes and put them on my senora and drag her 
 along, and, bime by, we coming to a little house, 
 and a good woman give me some closes and in the 
 night we coming to San Diego. Ay ! but was excite, 
 everybody. Carlos been there two or three hours 
 before, and Don Roldan and Don Enrique go with 
 the soldiers to the hills. Everybody do it all whatte 
 they can for my poor senora, but she no want to 
 speak by anybody, and go shut hersel up in a room 
 in Don Enrique's house and jus moan and I sit 
 ouside the door and moan too. 
 
 " Of course, I no am with the soldiers, but many 
 times I hear all and I tell you. 
 
 "The Indians have good start, and the white 
 peoples no even see them, but they fine the trail and 
 
254 LUKAEVS STORY. 
 
 follow hard. Bime by they coming to the mountains. 
 You ever been in the mountains back de San Diego ? 
 No the hills, but the mountains. Ay ! So bare and 
 rofe and sharp, and the canons so narrow and the 
 trails so steep ! No is safe to go in at all, for the 
 Indians can hide on the rocks, and jus shoot the 
 white peoples down one at the time, si they like it, 
 when climb the gorges. The soldiers say they no 
 go in, for it is the duty de them to living and protec 
 California from the Americanos ; but Don Enrique 
 and Don Roldan say they go, and they ride right in 
 and no one ever spect see them any more. It is 
 night, so they have good chancacurn to look and no be 
 seen si Indians no watch. 
 
 " Bime by they meet one Indian, who belong to the 
 tribe they want, and fore he can shoot they point the 
 pistol and tell him he mus show them where are the 
 girls. He say he taking them and on the way he 
 telling them the chief and nother chief make the 
 girls their wifes. This make them wild and they 
 tie up the horses so can climb more fast. But it is 
 no till late the nex morning when they come sudden 
 out of a gorge and look right into a place, very flat 
 like a plaza, where is the pueblo de the Indians they 
 want. For moment no one see them, and they see 
 the girls Dios de mi alma ! Have been big feast, 
 I theenk and right where are all the things no been 
 clear away, Ester, she lie on the groun on the face 
 and cry and sob and shake. But Beatriz, she stan 
 very straight in the middle, 'fore the door the big 
 wigwam, and never look more hansoine. She never 
 
LUKARVS STORY. 255 
 
 take her eyes off the chief who taking her away 
 and no look discontent at all. Then the Indians see 
 the brothers and yell and run to get the bows and 
 arrows. Don Enrique and Don Roldan fire the pis- 
 tols, but after all they have to run, for no can do 
 it nothing. They get out live but have arrows in 
 them. And that is the las we ever hear de my 
 senoritas. Many times plenty white peoples watch 
 the mountains and sometimes go in, but no can 
 find nothing and always are wound. 
 
 " And my poor senora ! For whole year she jus 
 sit in one room and cry so loud all the peoples in 
 San Diego hear her. No can do it nothing with her. 
 Ay, she love the husband so, and the two beautiful 
 girls ! Then she die and I am glad. Much better 
 die than suffer like that. And Don Rafael and Don 
 Carmelo ? Oh, they marrying other girls, course," 
 
LA PERDIDA. 
 
 ON her fourteenth birthday they had married her 
 to an old man, and at sixteen she had met and loved 
 a fire-hearted young vaquero. The old husband had 
 twisted his skinny fingers around her arm and 
 dragged her before the Alcalde, who had ordered her 
 beautiful black braids cut close to her neck, and 
 sentenced her to sweep the streets. Carlos, the 
 tempter of that childish, unhappy heart, was flung 
 into prison. Such were law and justice in California 
 before the Americans came. 
 
 The haughty, elegant women of Monterey drew 
 their mantilla more 'closely about their shocked 
 face as they passed La Perdida sweeping the dirt 
 into little heaps. The soft-eyed girls, lovely in their 
 white or flowered gowns, peered curiously through 
 the gratings of their homes at the " lost one," whose 
 sin they did not understand, but whose sad face and 
 sorry plight appealed to their youthful sympathies. 
 The caballeros, dashing up and down the street, 
 dazzling in bright silken jacket, gold embroidered, 
 lace-trimmed, the sun reflected in the silver of their 
 saddle, shot bold, admiring glances from beneath 
 17 
 
258 LA PERDIDA. 
 
 their sombrero. No one spoke to her, and she asked 
 no one for sympathy. 
 
 She slept alone in a little hut on the outskirts of 
 the town. With the dawn she rose, put on her 
 coarse smock and black skirt, made herself a tor- 
 tilla, then went forth and swept the streets. The 
 children mocked her sometimes, and she looked at 
 them in wonder. Why should she be mocked or 
 punished? She felt no repentance; neither the 
 Alcalde nor her husband had convinced her of her 
 sin's enormity ; she felt only bitter resentment that 
 it should have been so brief. Her husband, a blear- 
 eyed, crippled old man, loathsome to all the youth 
 and imagination in her, had beaten her and made 
 her work. A man young, strong, and good to look 
 upon, had come and kissed her with passionate ten- 
 derness. Love had meant to her the glorification of 
 a wretched, sordid life ; a green spot and a patch of 
 blue sky in the desert. If punishment followed 
 upon such happiness, must not the Catholic religion 
 be all wrong in its teachings ? Must not purgatory 
 follow heaven, instead of heaven purgatory ? 
 
 She watched the graceful girls of the wealthy 
 class flit to and fro on the long corridors of their 
 houses, or sweep the strings of the guitar behind 
 their gratings as the caballeros passed. Watchful 
 old women were always near them, their ears alert 
 for every word. La Perdida thanked God that she 
 had had no duena. 
 
 One night, on her way home, she passed the long, 
 low prison where her lover was confined. The large 
 
LA PERDIDA. 250 
 
 Crystal moon flooded the red-tiled roof projecting 
 over the deep windows and the shallow cells. The 
 light sweet music of a guitar floated through iron 
 bars, and a warm voice sang : 
 
 " Adios, adios, de ti al ausentarme, N 
 Para ir en paz de mi fatal estrella, 
 11 levo grabado tu imagen bello, 
 Aqui en mi palpitante corazon. 
 
 " Pero aunque lejos de tu lado me halle 
 No olvides, no, que por tu amoe deliro 
 Enviame siquiera un suspiro, 
 Que de consuelo, a mi alma en su dolor. 
 
 " Y de tu pecho la emocion sentida 
 Ilegue hasta herrir mi lacerado oido, 
 Y arranque de mi pecho dolorido 
 Un echo que repita, adios ! adios ! " 
 
 La Perdida's blood leaped through her body. Her 
 aimless hands struck the spiked surface of a cactus- 
 bush, but she never knew it. When the song was 
 finished, she crept to the grating and looked in. 
 
 " Carlos ! " she whispered. 
 
 A man who lay on the straw at the back of the 
 ! cell sprang to his feet and came forward. 
 
 " My little one ! " he said. " I knew that song 
 would bring thee. I begged them for a guitar, then 
 to be put in a front cell." He forced his hands 
 through the bars and gave her life again with his 
 strong warm clasp. 
 
 " Come out," she said. 
 
 K Ay ! they have me fast. But when they do let 
 
LA PERDIDA. 
 
 me out, nina, I will take thee in my arms ; and who- 
 soever tries to tear thee away again will have a 
 dagger in his heart. God of my life ! I could tear 
 their flesh from their bones for the shame and the 
 pain they have given to thee, thou poor little in- 
 nocent girl ! " 
 
 " But thou lovest me, Carlos? " 
 
 " There is not an hour I am not mad for thee, not 
 a corner of my heart that does not ache for thee ! 
 Ay, little one. never mind ; life is long, and we are 
 young." 
 
 She pressed nearer and laid his hand on her 
 heart. 
 
 " Ay ! " she said, " life is long." 
 
 "Holy Mary!" he cried. "The hills are on 
 fire ! " 
 
 A shout went up in the town. A flame, midway 
 on the curving hills, leaped to the sky, narrow as a 
 ribbon, then swept out like a fan. The moon grew 
 dark behind a rolling pillar of smoke. The up- 
 curved arms of the pines were etched into a wall of 
 liquid, shifting red. The caballeros sprang to their 
 horses, and driving the Indians before them, 
 fled to the hills to save the town. The indolent 
 women of Monterey mingled their screams with the 
 shrill cries of the populace and the hoarse shouts of 
 their men. The prison sentries stood to their post 
 for a few moments ; then the panic claimed them, 
 and they threw down their guns and ran with the 
 rest to the hills. 
 
 Carlos gave a cry of derision and triumph. " My 
 
LA PEJIDIDA. 261 
 
 little one ! our hour has come ! Run and find the 
 keys." 
 
 The big bunch of keys had been flung hastily into 
 a corner. A moment later Carlos held the shaking 
 form of the girl in his powerful arms. Slender 
 and delicate as she was, she made no protest against 
 the fierceness of that embrace. 
 
 " But come," he said. " We have only this hour 
 for escape. When we are safe in the mountains 
 come ! " 
 
 He lifted her in his arms and ran down the 
 crooked street to a corral where an hidalgo kept his 
 finest horses. Carlos had been the vaquero of the 
 band. The iron bars of the great doors were down 
 only one horse was in the corral ; the others had 
 carried the hidalgo and his friends to the fire. The 
 brute neighed with delight as Carlos flung saddle 
 and aquera into place, then, with La Perdida in his 
 arms, sprang upon its back. The vaquero dug his 
 spurs into the shining flanks, the mustang reared, 
 shook his small head and silver mane, and bounded 
 through the doors. 
 
 A lean, bent, and wiry thing darted from the 
 shadows and upon the horse's neck. It was the 
 husband of La Perdida, and his little brown face 
 looked like an old walnut. 
 
 " Take me with thee ! " he cried. " I will give 
 thee the old man's blessing," and, clinging like a 
 crab to the neck of the galloping mustang, he drove 
 a knife toward the heart of La Perdida. The blade 
 turned upon itself as lightning sometimes does, and 
 
262 LA PERDIDA. 
 
 went through stringy tissues instead of fresh young 
 blood. 
 
 Carlos plucked the limp body from the neck of the 
 horse and flung it upon a cactus-bush, where it 
 sprawled and stiffened among the spikes and the 
 blood-red flowers. But the mustang never paused ; 
 and as the fires died on the hills, the mountains 
 opened their great arms and sheltered the happiness 
 of two wayward hearts. 
 
NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF 
 FORT ROSS. 
 
 AT Fort Ross, on the northern coast of California, 
 an astonishing sight may be witnessed in the mid- 
 night of the twenty-third of August. The present 
 settlement vanishes. In its place the Fort appears 
 as it was when the Russians abandoned it in 1841. 
 The quadrilateral stockade of redwood beams, 
 pierced with embrasures for carronades, is com- 
 pact and formidable once more. The ramparts are 
 paced by watchful sentries ; mounted cannon are 
 behind the iron-barred gates and in the graceful 
 bastions. Within the enclosure are the low log 
 buildings occupied by the Governor and his officers, 
 the barracks of the soldiers, the arsenal, and store- 
 houses. In one corner stands the Greek chapel, 
 with its cupola and cross-surmounted belfry. The 
 silver chimes have rung this night. The Governor, 
 his beautiful wife, and their guest, Natalie Ivanhoff, 
 have knelt at the jeweled altar. 
 
 At the right of the Fort is a small " town " of rude 
 huts which accommodate some eight hundred 
 Indians and Siberian convicts, the working-men of 
 
264 NATALIE IVANHOFF: 
 
 the company. Above the "town," on a. high knoll, 
 is a large grist mill. Describing an arc of perfect 
 proportions, its midmost depression a mile behind 
 the Fort, a great mountain forms a natural rampart. 
 At either extreme it tapers to the jagged cliffs. On 
 its three lower tables the mountain is green and 
 bare ; then abruptly rises a forest of redwoods, tall, 
 rigid, tenebrious. 
 
 The mountain is visible but a moment. An 
 immense white fog-bank which has been crouching 
 on the horizon rears suddenly and rushes across 
 the ocean, whose low mutter rises to a roar. It 
 sweeps like a tidal wave across cliffs and Fort. It 
 halts abruptly against the face of the mountain. In 
 the same moment the ocean stills. It would almost 
 seem that nature held her breath, awaiting some 
 awful event. 
 
 Suddenly, in the very middle of the fog-bank, 
 appears the shadowy figure of a woman. She 
 is gliding to the right rapidly and stealthily. 
 Youth is in her slender grace, her delicate profile, 
 dimly outlined. Her long hair of a silveren-blonde 
 color, is unbound and luminously distinct from the 
 white fog. She walks swiftly across the lower 
 table of the mountain, then disappears. One sees, 
 vaguely, a dark figure crouching along the lower 
 fringe of the fog. That, too, disappears. 
 
 For a moment the silence seems intensified. 
 Then, suddenly, it is crossed by a low whirr a 
 strange sound in the midnight. Then a shriek 
 whose like is never heard save when a soul is 
 
A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS. 265 
 
 wrenched without warning in frightfullest torture 
 from its body. Then another, and another, and 
 another in rapid successipn, each fainter and more 
 horrible in suggestion than the last. With them 
 has mingled the single frenzied cry of a man. A 
 moment later a confused hubbub arises from the 
 Fort and town, followed by the flashes of many 
 lights and the report of musketry. Then the fog 
 presses downward on the scene. All sound but that 
 of the ocean, which seems to have drawn into its 
 loud, dull voice all the sound of all the ages, ceases 
 as though muffled. The fog lingers a moment, then 
 drifts back as it came, and Fort Ross is the Fort 
 Ross of to-day. 
 
 And this is the story : 
 
 When the Princess Helene de Gagarin married 
 Alexander Rotscheff, she little anticipated that 
 she would spend her honeymoon in the northern 
 wilds of the Californias. Nevertheless, when her 
 husband was appointed Governor of the Fort Ross 
 and Bodega branch of the great Alaskan Fur Com- 
 pany, she volunteered at once to go with him 
 being in that stage of devotion which may be 
 termed emotionally heroic as distinguished from the 
 later of non-resistance. As the exile would last but 
 a few years, and as she was a lady of a somewhat 
 adventurous spirit, to say nothing of the fact that 
 she was deeply in love, her interpretation of wifely 
 duty hardly wore the hue of martyrdom even to her- 
 self. 
 
 Notwithstanding, and although she had caused to 
 
266 NATALIE IVANHOFF: 
 
 be prepared a large case of books and eight trunks 
 of ravishing raiment, she decided that life in a fort 
 hidden between the mountains and the sea, miles 
 away from even the primitive Spanish civiliza- 
 tion, might hang burdensomely at such whiles as 
 her husband's duties claimed him and books ceased 
 to amuse. So she determined to ask the friend of 
 her twenty-three years, the Countess Natalie Ivan- 
 hoff, to accompany her. She had also an unselfish 
 motive in so doing. Not only did she cherish for 
 the Countess Natalie one of the real affections which 
 one woman occasionally retains for another until 
 some trifling cause reduces it to memory, but her 
 friend was as deeply wretched as she was happy. 
 
 Two years before, the Prince Alexis Mikhailof, be- 
 trothed of Natalie Ivanhoff, had been, without ex- 
 planation or chance of parting word, banished to 
 Siberia under sentence of perpetual exile. Later had 
 come rumor of his escape, then of death, then of re- 
 capture. Nothing definite could be learned. When 
 the Princess Helene proffered her invitation it was 
 accepted gratefully, hope suggesting that in the 
 New World might be found relief from the torture 
 that was re-lived in every vibration of the invisible 
 wires that held memory fast to the surroundings in 
 which the terrible impressions, etchers of memory, 
 had their genesis. 
 
 They arrived in summer, and found the long log 
 house, with its low ceilings and rude finish, admi- 
 rably comfortable within. By aid of the great case 
 of things Rotscheff had brought, it quickly became 
 
A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS. 267 
 
 an abode of luxury. Thick carpets covered every 
 floor ; arras hid the rough walls ; books and pictures 
 and handsome ornaments crowded each other ; every 
 chair had been designed for comfort as well as 
 elegance; the dining table was hidden beneath finest 
 damask, and glittered with silver and crystal. It 
 was an unwritten law that every one should dress 
 for dinner ; and with the rich curtains hiding the 
 gloomy mountain and the long sweep of cliffs in- 
 tersected by gorge and gulch, it was easy for the gay, 
 congenial band of exiles to forget that they were not 
 eating the delicacies of their French cook and drink- 
 ing their costly wines in the Old World. 
 
 In the daytime the women several of the officers' 
 wives had braved the wilderness also found much 
 diversion in riding through the dark forests or along 
 the barren cliffs, attended always by an armed guard. 
 Diego Estenega, the Spanish magnate of the North, 
 whose ranches adjoined Fort Ross, and who was 
 financiall) 7 " interested in the Russian fur trade, soon 
 became an intimate of the Rotscheff household. A 
 Californian by birth, he was nevertheless a man of 
 modern civilization, traveled, a student, and a keen 
 lover of masculine sports. Although the most power- 
 ful man in the politics of his conservative country, 
 he was an American in appearance and dress. His 
 cloth or tweed attire suggested the colorous mag- 
 nificence of the caballeros as little as did his thin, 
 nervous figure and grim, pallid, intellectual face. 
 Rotscheff liked him better than any man he had ever 
 met ; with the Princess he usually waged war, that 
 
268 NA TALIE IVANHOFF : 
 
 lady being clever, quick, and wedded to her own 
 opinions. For Natalie he felt sincere friendship at 
 once. Being a man of keen sympathies and strong 
 impulses, he divined her trouble before he heard her 
 story, and desired to help her. 
 
 The Countess Natalie, despite the Governor's pro- 
 hibition, was addicted to roving over the cliffs by 
 herself, finding kinship in the sterile crags and futile 
 restlessness of the ocean. She had learned that al- 
 though change of scene lightened the burden, only 
 death would release her from herself. 
 
 " She will get over it," said the Princess Helene 
 to Estenega. "I was in love twice before I met 
 Alex, so I know. Natalie is so beautiful that some 
 day some man, who will not look in the least like 
 poor Alexis, will make her forget." 
 
 Estenega, being a man of the world and having 
 consequently outgrown the cynicism of youth, also 
 knowing women better than this fair Minerva would 
 know them in twenty lifetimes, thought differently, 
 and a battle immediately ensued. 
 
 Natalie, meanwhile, wandered along the cliffs. 
 She passed the town hurriedly. Several times when 
 in its vicinity before the magnetism of an intense 
 gaze had given her a thrill of alarm, and once or 
 twice she had met face to face the miller's son a 
 forbidding youth with the skull of the Tartar and 
 the coarse black hair and furtive eyes of the Indian 
 whose admiration of her beauty had been annoyingly 
 apparent. She was not conscious of observation to- 
 day, however, and skirted the cliffs rapidly, drawing 
 
A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS. 269 
 
 her gray mantle about her as the wind howled by, 
 but did not lift the hood ; the massive coils of sil- 
 veren-blonde hair kept her head warm. 
 
 As the Princess Heldne, despite her own faultless 
 blondinity, had approved, Natalie Ivanhoff was a 
 beautiful woman. Her profile had the delicate effect 
 produced by the chisel. Her white skin was trans- 
 parent and untinted, but the mouth was scarlet. 
 The large, long eyes of a changeful blue-gray, al- 
 though limpid of surface, were heavy with the sad- 
 ness of a sad spirit. Their natural fire was quenched 
 just as the slight compression of her lips had les- 
 sened the sensuous fullness of their curves. 
 
 But she had suffered so bitterly and so variously 
 that the points had been broken off her nerves, she 
 told herself, and, excepting when her trouble 
 mounted suddenly like a wave within her, her mind 
 was tranquil. Grief with her had expressed 
 itself in all its forms. She had known what it was 
 to be crushed into semi-insensibility ; she had thrilled 
 as the tears rushed and the sobs shook her until 
 every nerve ached and her very fingers cramped ; 
 and she had gone wild at other times, burying her 
 head that her screams might not be heard : the last, 
 as imagination pictured her lover's certain physical 
 suffering. But of all agonies none could approximate 
 to that induced by death. When that rumor reached 
 her she realized that hope had given her some meas- 
 ure of support, and how insignificant all other 
 trouble is beside that awful blank, that mystery, 
 whose single revelation is the houseless soul's unre.- 
 
270 NATALIE IVANHOFF: 
 
 turning flight from the only world we are sure of. 
 When the contradicting rumor came she clutched 
 at hope, to which she had since clung frantically. 
 
 " It is the only reason I do not kill myself," she 
 thought, as she stood on the jutting brow of the cliff 
 and looked down on the masses of huge stones 
 which, with the gaunt, outlying rocks, had once 
 hung on the face of the crags. The great breakers 
 boiled over them with the ponderosity peculiar to 
 the waters of the Pacific. The least of those 
 breakers would carry her far into the hospitable 
 ocean. 
 
 " It is so easy to die and be at peace ; the only 
 thing which makes life supportable is the knowledge 
 of Death's quick obedience. And the tragedy of life 
 is not that we cannot forget, but that we can. 
 Think of being an old woman with not so much as a 
 connecting current between the memory and the 
 heart, the long interval blocked with ten thousand 
 petty events and trials! It must be worse than 
 this. I shall have gone over the cliff long before 
 that time comes. I would go to-day, but I cannot 
 leave the world while he is in it." 
 
 She drew a case from her pocket, and opened it. 
 It showed the portrait of a young man with the 
 somber eyes and cynical mouth of the northern 
 European, a face indicating intellect, will, passion, 
 and much recklessness. Eyes and hair were dark, 
 the face smooth but for a slight mustache. 
 
 Natalie burst into wild sobbing, reveling in the 
 solitude that gave her freedom. She pressed the 
 
A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS. 271 
 
 picture against her face, and cried her agony aloud 
 to the ocean. Thrilling memories rushed through 
 her, and she lived again the first ecstasy of grief. 
 She did not fling herself upon the ground, or other- 
 wise indulge in the acrobatics of woe, but she shook 
 xTom head to foot. Between the heavy sobs her 
 breath came in hard gasps, and tears poured, hiding 
 the gray desolation of the scene. 
 
 Suddenly, through it all, she became conscious 
 that some one was watching her. Instinctively she 
 knew that it was the same gaze which so often had 
 alarmed her. Fear routed every other passion. 
 She realized that she was unprotected, a mile from 
 the Fort, out of the line of its vision. The brutal 
 head of the miller's son seemed to thrust itself be- 
 fore her face. Overwhelmed with terror, she turned 
 swiftly and ran, striking blindly among the low 
 bushes, her glance darting from right to left. No 
 one was to be seen for a moment : then she turned 
 the corner of a boulder and came upon a man. She 
 shrieked and covered her face with her hands, now 
 too frightened to move. The man neither stirred 
 nor spoke ; and, despite this alarming circumstance, 
 her disordered brain, in the course of a moment, 
 conceived the thought that no subject of Rotscheff 
 would dare to harm her. 
 
 Moreover, her brief glance had informed her that 
 this was not the miller's son ; which fact, illogically, 
 somewhat tempered her fear. She removed her 
 hands, and compelled herself to look sternly at the 
 creature who had dai ed raise his eyes to the Count- 
 
272 NATALIE IVANHOFF: 
 
 ess Natalie Ivanhoff. She was puzzled to find some- 
 thing familiar about him. His grizzled hair was 
 long, but not unkempt. The lower part of his face 
 was covered by a beard. He was almost fleshless ; 
 but in his sunken eyes burned unquenchable fire, 
 and there was determined vigor in his gaunt figure. 
 He might have been any age. Assuredly, the out- 
 ward seeming of youth was not there, but its sug- 
 gestion still lingered tenaciously in the spirit which 
 glowed through the worn husk. And about him, in 
 spite of the rough garb and blackened skin, was an 
 unmistakable air of breeding. 
 
 Natalie, as she looked, grew rigid. Then she 
 uttered a cry of rapturous horror, staggered, and 
 was caught in a fierce embrace. Her stunned senses 
 awoke in a moment, and she clung to him, crying 
 wildly, holding him with straining arms, filled with 
 bitter happiness. 
 
 In a few moments he pushed her from him, and 
 regarded her sadly. 
 
 " You are as beautiful as ever," he said ; " but I 
 look at me ! Old, hideous, ragged ! I am not fit 
 to touch you ; I never meant to. Go ! I shall never 
 blame you." 
 
 For answer she sprang to him again. 
 
 " What difference is it how you look ? " she cried, 
 still sobbing. " Is it not you f Are not you in here 
 just the same ? What matter ? What matter ? No 
 matter what you looked through, you would be the 
 same. Listen," she continued, rapidly, after a 
 moment. " We are in a new country ; there is hope 
 
A MEMORY OF FOE1 ROSS. 273 
 
 for us. If we can reach the Spanish towns of the South 
 we are safe. I will ask Don Diego Estenega to help 
 us, and he is not the man to refuse. He stays with 
 us to-night, and I will speak alone with him. Meet 
 me to-morrow night where ? At the grist-mill at 
 midnight. We had better not meet by day again. 
 Perhaps we can go then. You will be there ? " 
 
 "Will I be there? God! Of course I will be 
 there." 
 
 And, the brief details of their flight concluded, 
 they forgot it and all else for the hour. 
 
 IV. 
 
 NATALIE could not obtain speech alone with 
 Estenega that evening; but the next morning the 
 Princess Helene commanded her household and guest 
 to accompany her up the hill to the orchard at the 
 foot of the forest ; and there, while the others wan- 
 dered over the knolls of the shadowy inclosure, 
 Natalie managed to tell her story. Estenega offered 
 his help spontaneously. 
 
 "At twelve to-night," he said, "I will wait for 
 you in the forest with horses, and will guide you 
 myself to Monterey. I have a house there, and you 
 can leave on the first barque for Boston." 
 
 As soon as the party returned to the Fort, 
 Estenega excused himself and left for his home. The 
 day passed with maddening slowness to Natalie. 
 She spent the greater part of it walking up and 
 down the immediate cliffs, idly watching the men 
 18 
 
274 NATALIE IVANHOFF: 
 
 capturing the seals and otters, the ship-builders 
 across the gulch. As she returned at sunset to the 
 inclosure she saw the miller's son standing by the 
 gates, gazing at her with hungry admiration. He 
 inspired her with sudden fury. 
 
 " Never presume to look at me again," she said> 
 harshly. " If you do I shall report you to the 
 Governor." 
 
 And without waiting to note how he accepted the 
 mandate, she swept by him and entered the Fort, 
 the gates clashing behind her. 
 
 The inmates of Fort Ross were always in bed by 
 eleven o'clock. At that hour not a sound was to be 
 heard but the roar of the ocean, the soft pacing of 
 the sentry on the ramparts, the cry of the panther 
 in the forest. On the evening in question, after the 
 others had retired, Natalie, trembling with excite- 
 ment, made a hasty toilet, changing her evening 
 gown for a gray traveling frock. Her heavy hair 
 came unbound, and her shaking hands refused to 
 adjust the close coils. As it fell over her gray mantle 
 it looked so lovely, enveloping her with the silver 
 sheen of mist, that she smiled in sad vanity, re- 
 membering happier days, and decided to let her 
 lover see her thus. She could braid her hair at the 
 mill. 
 
 A moment or two before twelve she raised the 
 window and swung herself to the ground. The 
 sentry was on the rampart opposite : she could not 
 make her exit by that gate. She walked softly 
 around the buildings, keeping in their shadow, and 
 
A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS. 275 
 
 reached the gates facing the forest. They were not 
 difficult to unbar, and in a moment she stood with- 
 out, free. She could not see the mountain ; a heavy 
 bank of white fog lay against it, resting, after its 
 long flight over the ocean, before it returned, or 
 swept onward to ingulf the redwoods. 
 
 She went with noiseless step up the path, then 
 turned and walked swiftly toward the mill. She 
 was very nervous ; mingling with the low voice of 
 the ocean she imagined she heard the moans with 
 which beheaded convicts were said to haunt the 
 night. Once she thought she heard a footstep be- 
 hind her, and paused, her heart beating audibly. 
 But the sound ceased with her own soft footfalls, 
 and the fog was so dense that she could see nothing. 
 The ground was soft, and she was beyond the sen- 
 try's earshot ; she ran at full speed across the field, 
 down the gorge, and up the steep knoll. As she 
 reached the top she was taken in Mikhaiilof s arms. 
 For a few moments she was too breathless to speak ; 
 then she told him her plans. 
 
 " Let me braid my hair," she said, finally, and we 
 will go." 
 
 He drew her within the mill, then lit a lantern and 
 heid it above her head, his eyes dwelling pas- 
 sionately on her beauty, enhanced by the color of 
 excitement and rapid exercise. 
 
 "You look like the moon queen," he said. "I 
 missed your hair, apart from yourself." 
 
 She lifted her chin with a movement of coquetry 
 most graceful in spite of long disuse, and the answer- 
 
276 NATALIE IVANHOFF: 
 
 ing fire sprang into her eyes. She looked very piquant 
 and a trifle diabolical. He pressed his lips suddenly 
 on hers. A moment later something tugged at the 
 long locks his hand caressed, and at the same time 
 he became conscious that the silence which had 
 fallen between them was shaken by a loud whirr. 
 He glanced upward. Natalie was standing with 
 her back to one of the band- wheels. It had begun 
 to revolve; in the moment it increased its speed; 
 and he saw a glittering web on its surface. With 
 an exclamation of horror, he pulled her toward him ; 
 but he was too late. The wheel, spinning now with 
 the velocity of midday, caught the whole silver cloud 
 in its spokes, and Natalie was swept suddenly up- 
 ward. Her feet hit the low rafters, and she was 
 whirled round and round, screams of torture torn 
 from her rather than uttered, her body describing a 
 circular right angle to the shaft, the bones breaking 
 as they struck the opposite one ; then, in swift 
 finality, she was sucked between belt and wheel. 
 Mikhailof managed to get into the next room and 
 reversed the lever. The machinery stopped as 
 abruptly as it had started ; but Natalie was out of 
 her agony. 
 
 Her lover flung himself over the cliffs, shattering 
 bones and skull on the stones at their base. They 
 made her a coffin out of the copper plates used for 
 their ships, and laid her in the straggling, unpopu- 
 lous cemetery on the knoll across the gulch beyond 
 the chapel. 
 
A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS. 277 
 
 " When we go we will take her," said Rotscheff to 
 his distracted wife. 
 
 But when they went, a year or two after, in the 
 hurry of departure they forgot her until too late ; 
 and they promised to return. But they never came, 
 and she sleeps there still, on the lonely knoll between 
 the sunless forest and the desolate ocean. 
 
THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO. 
 
 PILAR, from her little window just above the high 
 wall surrounding the big adobe house set apart for 
 the women neophytes of the Mission of Santa Ines, 
 watched, morning and evening, for Andreo, as he 
 came and went from the rancheria. The old wo- 
 men kept the girls busy, spinning, weaving, sewing, 
 but age nods and youth is crafty. The tall young 
 Indian who was renowned as the best huntsman of 
 all the neophytes, and who supplied Padre Arroyo's 
 table with deer and quail, never failed to keep his 
 ardent eyes fixed upon the grating so long as it lay 
 within the line of his vision. One day he went to 
 Padre Arroyo and told him that Pilar was the pret- 
 tiest girl behind the wall the prettiest girl in all 
 the Californias and that she should be his wife. 
 But the kind, stern old padre shook his head. 
 
 " You are both too young. Wait another year, my 
 son, and if thou art still in the same mind thou shalt 
 have her." 
 
 Andreo dared make no protest, but he asked per- 
 
 279 
 
280 THE VENGEANCE OF PADEE AEEOYO. 
 
 mission to prepare a home for his bride. The padre 
 gave it willingly, and the young Indian began to 
 make the big adobes, the bright red tiles. At the 
 end of a month he had built him a cabin among the 
 willows of the rancheria a little apart from the 
 others : he was in love, and association with his 
 fellows was distasteful. When the cabin was builded 
 his impatience slipped from its curb, and once more 
 he besought the priest to allow him to marry. 
 
 Padre Arroyo was sunning himself on the corridor 
 of the Mission, shivering in his heavy brown robes, 
 for the day was cold. 
 
 " Orion," he said, sternly he called all his neo- 
 phytes after the celebrities of earlier days, regardless 
 of the names given them at the font " have I not told 
 thee thou must wait a year ? Do not be impatient, 
 my son. She will keep. Women are like apples : 
 when they are too young they set the teeth on edge ; 
 when ripe and mellow they please every sense ; when 
 they wither and turn brown it is time to fall from the 
 tree into a hole. Now go and shoot a deer for Sun- 
 day : the good padres from San Luis Obispo and 
 Santa Barbara are coming to dine with me." 
 
 Andreo, dejected, left the padre. As he passed 
 Pilar's window and saw a pair of wistful black eyes 
 behind the grating his heart took fire. No one was 
 within sight. By a series of signs he made his lady 
 understand that he would place a note beneath a cer- 
 tain adobe in the wall. 
 
 Pilar, as she went to and fro under the fruit-trees 
 in the garden, or sat on the long corridor weaving 
 
THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO. 281 
 
 baskets, watched that adobe with fascinated eyes. 
 She knew that Andreo was tunneling it, and one day 
 a tiny hole proclaimed that his work was accom- 
 plished. But how to get the note ? The old women's 
 eyes were very sharp when the girls were in front 
 of the gratings. Then the civilizing development of 
 Christianity upon the heathen intellect triumphantly 
 asserted itself. Pilar, too, conceived a brilliant 
 scheme. That night the padre, who encouraged any 
 evidence of industry, no matter how eccentric, gave 
 her a little garden of her own a patch where she 
 could raise sweet peas and Castilian roses. 
 
 " That is well, that is well, my Nausicaa," he said, 
 stroking her smoken braids. " Go cut the slips and 
 plant them where thou wilt. I will send thee a 
 package of sweet pea seeds." 
 
 Pilar spent every spare hour bending over her 
 " patch," and the hole, at first no bigger than a pin's 
 point, was larger at each setting of the sun behind 
 the mountain, while the old women, scolding on the 
 corridor, called to her not to forget vespers. 
 
 On the third evening, kneeling on the damp 
 ground, she drew from the little tunnel in the adobe 
 a thin slip of wood covered with the labor of sleepless 
 nights. She hid it in lier smock that first of Cali- 
 fornia's love-letters then ran with shaking knees 
 and prostrated herself before the altar. That night 
 the moon streamed through her grating, and she 
 deciphered the fact that Andreo had loosened eight 
 adobes above her garden, and would await her every 
 midnight. 
 
282 THE VENGEANCE OF PADEE AEEOTO. 
 
 Pilar sat up in bed and glanced about the room 
 with terrified delight. It took her but a moment to 
 decide the question ; love had kept her awake too 
 many nights. The neophytes were asleep ; as they 
 turned now and again, their narrow beds of hide, 
 suspended from the ceiling, swung too gently to 
 awaken them. The old women snored loudly. Pilar 
 slipped from her bed and looked through the grat- 
 ing. Andreo was there, the dignity and repose of 
 primeval man in his bearing. She waved her hand 
 and pointed downward to the wall ; then, throwing 
 on the long, coarse gray smock that was her only 
 garment, crept from the room and down the stair. 
 The door was protected against hostile tribes by a 
 heavy iron bar, but Pilar's small hands were hard 
 and strong, and in a moment she stood over the 
 adobes which had crushed her roses and sweet peas. 
 
 As she crawled through the opening, Andreo took 
 her hand bashfully, for they had never spoken. 
 " Come," he said : " we must be far away before 
 dawn." 
 
 They stole past the long Mission, crossing them- 
 selves as they glanced askance at the ghostly row of 
 pillars; past the guard-house, where the sentries 
 slept at their post ; past the rancheria ; then, spring- 
 ing upon a waiting mustang, dashed down the valley. 
 Pilar had never been on a horse before, and she 
 clung in terror to Andreo, who bestrode the unsad- 
 dled beast as easily as a cloud rides the wind. His 
 arm held her closely: fear vanished, and she en- 
 joyed the novel sensation. Glancing over Andreo's 
 
THE VENGEANCE OF PADBE ARROYO. 283 
 
 shoulder she watched the mass of brown and white 
 buildings, the winding river, fade into the mountain. 
 Then they began to ascend an almost perpendicular 
 steep. The horse followed a narrow trail ; the crowd- 
 ing trees and shrubs clutched the blanket and smock 
 of the riders; after a time trail and scene grew 
 white : the snow lay on the heights. 
 
 " Where do we go ? " she asked. 
 
 " To Zaca lake, on the very top of the mountain, 
 miles above us. No one has ever been there bub 
 myself. Often I have shot deer and birds beside it. 
 They will never find us there." 
 
 The red sun rose over the mountains of the east. 
 The crystal moon sank in the west. Andreo sprang 
 from the weary mustang and carried Pilar to the 
 lake. 
 
 A sheet of water, round as a whirlpool, but calm 
 and silveren, lay amidst the sweeping willows and 
 pine-forested peaks. The snow glittered beneath 
 the trees, but a canoe was on the lake, a hut on the 
 marge. 
 
 II. 
 
 PADRE ARROYO tramped up and down the corridor, 
 smiting his hands together. The Indians bowed 
 lower than usual, as they passed, and hastened their 
 steps. The soldiers scoured the country for the bold 
 violators of Mission law. No one asked Padre Arroyo 
 what he would do with the sinners, but all knew 
 that punishment would be sharp and summary : the 
 
284 THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO. 
 
 men hoped that Andreo's mustang had carried him 
 beyond its reach ; the girls, horrified as they were, 
 wept and prayed in secret for Pilar. 
 
 A week later, in the early morning, Padre Arroyo 
 sat on the corridor. The Mission stood on a plateau 
 overlooking a long valley forked and silvered by the 
 broad river. The valley was planted thick with 
 olive-trees, and their silver leaves sparkled in the 
 rising sun. The mountain-peaks about and beyond 
 were white with snow, but the great red poppies 
 blossomed at their feet. The padre, exiled from the 
 luxury and society of his dear Spain, never tired of 
 the prospect : he loved his Mission children, but he 
 loved Nature more. 
 
 Suddenly he leaned forward on his staff and lifted 
 the heavy brown hood of his habit from his ear. 
 Down the road winding from the eastern mountains 
 came the echo of galloping footfalls. He rose ex- 
 pectantly and waddled out upon the plaza, shading 
 his eyes with his hand. A half-dozen soldiers, rid- 
 ing closely about a horse bestridden by a stalwart 
 young Indian supporting a woman, were rapidly 
 approaching the Mission. The padre returned to his 
 seat and awaited their coming. 
 
 The soldiers escorted the culprits to the corridor ; 
 two held the horse while they descended, then led it 
 away, and Andreo and Pilar were alone with the 
 priest. The bridegroom placed his arm about the 
 bride and looked defiantly at Padre Arroyo, but 
 Pilar drew her long hair about her face and locked 
 her hands together. 
 
THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO. 285 
 
 Padre Arroyo folded his arms and regarded them 
 with lowered brows, a sneer on his mouth. 
 
 " I have new names for you both," he said, in his 
 thickest voice. " Antony, I hope thou hast enjoyed 
 thy honeymoon. Cleopatra, I hope thy little toes 
 did not get frost-bitten. You both look as if food 
 had been scarce. And your garments have gone in 
 good part to clothe the brambles, I infer. It is too 
 bad you could not wait a year and love in your cabin 
 at the rancheria, by a good fire, and with plenty of 
 frijoles and tortillas in your stomachs." He dropped 
 his sarcastic tone, and, rising to his feet, extended 
 his right arm with a gesture of malediction. " Do 
 you comprehend the enormity of your sin?" he 
 shouted. " Have you not learned on your knees that 
 the fires of hell are the rewards of unlawful love ? 
 Do you not know that even the year of sackcloth 
 and ashes I shall impose here on earth will not save 
 you from those flames a million times hotter than 
 the mountain fire, than the roaring pits in which evil 
 Indians torture one another ? A hundred years of 
 their scorching breath, of roasting flesh, for a week 
 of love ! Oh, God of my soul ! " 
 
 Andreo looked somewhat staggered, but un- 
 repentant. Pilar burst into loud sobs of terror. 
 
 The padre stared long and gloomily at the flags of 
 the corridor. Then he raised his head and looked 
 sadly at his lost sheep. 
 
 " My children," he said, solemnly, " my heart is 
 wrung for you. You have broken the laws of God 
 and of the Holy Catholic Church, and the punish- 
 
286 THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO. 
 
 ments thereof are awful. Can I do anything for you, 
 excepting to pray ? You shall have my prayers, my 
 children. But that is not enough ; I cannot ay ! I 
 cannot endure the thought that you shall be damned. 
 Perhaps " again he stared meditatively at the 
 stones, then, after an impressive silence, raised his 
 eyes. " Heaven vouchsafes me an idea, my children. 
 I will make your punishment here so bitter that 
 Almighty God in his mercy will give you but a few 
 years of purgatory after death. Come with me." 
 
 He turned and led the way slowly to the rear of 
 the Mission buildings. Andreo shuddered for the 
 first time, and tightened his arm about Pilar's shak- 
 ing body. He knew that they were to be locked in 
 the dungeons. Pilar, almost fainting, shrank back 
 as they reached the narrow spiral stair which led 
 downward to the cells. " Ay ! I shall die, my 
 Andreo ! " she cried. " Ay ! my father, have 
 mercy ! " 
 
 " I cannot, my children," said the padre, sadly. 
 "It is for the salvation of your souls." 
 
 " Mother of God ! When shall I see thee again, my 
 Pilar ? " whispered Andreo. " But, ay ! the memory 
 of that week on the mountain will keep us both 
 alive." 
 
 Padre Arroyo descended the stair and awaited 
 them at its foot. Separating them, and taking each 
 by the hand, he pushed Andreo ahead and dragged 
 Pilar down the narrow passage. At its end he took 
 a great bunch of keys from his pocket, and raising 
 both hands commanded them to kneel. He said a 
 
THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO. 287 
 
 long prayer in a loud, monotonous voice which 
 echoed and re-echoed down the dark hall and made 
 Pilar shriek with terror. Then he fairly hurled the 
 marriage ceremony at them, and made the couple 
 repeat after him the responses. When it was over, 
 "Arise," he said. 
 
 The poor things stumbled to their feet, and Andreo 
 caught Pilar in a last embrace. 
 
 " Now bear your incarceration with fortitude, my 
 children ; and if you do not beat the air with your 
 groans I will let you out in a week. Do not hate 
 your old father, for love alone makes him severe, 
 but pray, pray, pray." 
 
 And then he locked them both in the same cell. 
 
MISSION TALES. 
 
UNI 
 
 THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL 
 
 I. 
 
 THE Senor Capitan Don Luis de la Torre walked 
 impatiently up and down before the grist-mill where- 
 in were quartered the soldiers sent by Mexico to 
 protect the building of the Mission of San Gabriel. 
 The Indian workmen were slugs ; California, a vast 
 region inhabited- only by savages and a few priests, 
 offered slender attractions to a young officer craving 
 the gay pleasures of his capital and the presence of 
 the woman he was to marry. For months he had 
 watched the Mission church mount slowly from 
 foundation to towers, then spread into pillared cor- 
 ridors and rooms for the clergy. He could have 
 mapped in his mind every acre of the wide, beautiful 
 valley girt by mountains snowed on their crest. He 
 had thought it all very lovely at first : the yellow 
 atmosphere, the soft abiding warmth, the blue reflect- 
 ing lake ; but the green on mountain and flat had 
 waxed to gold, then waned to tan and brown, and 
 he was tired. Not even a hostile Indian had come 
 to be killed. 
 
 19 289 
 
290 THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 
 
 He was very good-looking, this tall young Span- 
 iard, with his impatient eyes and haughty, intelligent 
 face, and it is possible that the lady in Mexico had 
 added to his burden by doleful prayers to return. 
 He took a letter from his pocket, read it half through, 
 then walked rapidly over to the Mission, seeking 
 interest in the work of the Indians. Under the keen, 
 merciless supervision of the padres, the cleverest 
 body of men who ever set foot in America, they 
 were mixing and laying the adobes, making nails 
 and tiles, hewing aqueducts, fashioning great stone 
 fonts and fountains. De la Torre speculated, after 
 his habit, upon the future of a country so beautiful 
 and so fertile, which a dozen priests had made their 
 own. Would these Indians, the poorest apologies 
 for human beings he had ever seen, the laziest and 
 the dirtiest, be christianized and terrified into worthy 
 citizens of this fair land? Could the clear white 
 flame that burned in the brain of the padres strike 
 fire in their neophytes' narrow skull, create a soul 
 in those groveling bodies ? He dismissed the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Would men of race, tempted by the loveliness of 
 this great gold-haired houri sleeping on the Pacific, 
 come from old and new Spain and dream away a life 
 of pleasure? What grapes would grow out of this 
 rich soil to be crushed by Indian slaves into red 
 wine ! And did gold vein those velvet hills ? How 
 all fruits, all grains, would thrive! what superb 
 beasts would fatten on the thick spring grass ! Ay ! 
 it was a magnificent discovery for the Church, and 
 
THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 291 
 
 great would be the power that could wrest it from 
 her. 
 
 There was a new people, somewhere north of 
 Mexico, in the United States of America. Would 
 they ever covet and strive to rob ? The worse for 
 them if they molested the fire-blooded Spaniard. 
 How he should like to fight them ! He stamped his 
 foot with rage. 
 
 That night the sentinel gave a sudden, pierc- 
 ing shout of warning, then dropped dead with a 
 poisoned arrow in his brain. Another moment, and 
 the soldiers had leaped from their swinging beds 
 of hide, and, headed by their captain, had reached 
 the church they were there to defend. Through 
 plaza and corridors raced and shrieked the savage 
 tribe, whose invasion had been made with the swift- 
 ness and cunning of their race. The doors had not 
 been hung in the church, and the naked figures sped 
 in upon the heels of the soldiers, waving torches 
 and yelling with delight. The few neophytes who 
 retained spirit enough to fight after the bleaching 
 process which had chilled their native fire and pro- 
 duced a result which was neither man nor beast but 
 a sort of barnyard fowl, hopped about under the 
 weight of their blankets and .were promptly dis- 
 patched. 
 
 The brunt of the battle fell upon the small detach- 
 ment of troops, and at the outset they were over- 
 whelmed by numbers, dazzled by the glare of torches 
 that waved and leaped in the cavern-like darkness 
 of the church. But they fought like Spaniards, 
 
292 THE SELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 
 
 hacking blindly with their swords, cleaving dusky 
 skulls with furious maledictions, using their fists, 
 their feet, their teeth wrenching torches from 
 malignant hands and hurling them upon distorted 
 faces. Curses and wild yells intermingled. De 
 la Torre fought at the head of his men until men and 
 savages, dead and living, were an indivisible mass, 
 then thrust back and front, himself unhurt. The 
 only silent, clear-brained man among them, he could 
 reason as he assaulted and defended, and he knew 
 that the Spaniards had little chance of victory and 
 he less of looking again upon the treasures of Mexico. 
 The Indians swarmed like ants over the great nave 
 and transept. Those who were not fighting smashed 
 the altar and slashed the walls. The callous stars 
 looked through the apertures left for windows, and 
 shed a pallid light upon the writhing mass. The 
 padres had defended their altar, behind the chancel 
 rail ; but they lay trampled, with arrows vibrating 
 in their hard old muscles. 
 
 De la Torre forced his way to the door and stood 
 for a moment, solitary, against the pale light of the 
 open, then turned his face swiftly to the night air 
 as he fell over the threshold of the Mission he had 
 so gallantly defended. 
 
THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 293 
 
 II. 
 
 DELFINA DE CAPALLEJA, after months of deferred 
 hope, stood with the crowd at the dock, awaiting 
 the return of the troop which had gone to defend 
 the Mission of San Gabriel in its building. There 
 was no flutter of color beneath her white skin, and 
 the heavily-lashed lids almost concealed the impa- 
 tient depths of her eyes ; the proud repose of her head 
 indicated the reserve and self-control of her nature. 
 Over her white gown and black dense hair she wore 
 a black lace mantilla, fastened below the throat with 
 a large yellow rose. 
 
 The ship swung to anchor and answered the salute 
 from the fort. Boats were lowered, but neither 
 officers nor soldiers descended. The murmur of 
 disappointment on shore rose to a shout of execra- 
 tion. Then, as the ship's captain and passengers 
 landed, a whisper ran through the crowd, a wail, 
 and wild sobbing. They flung themselves to the 
 earth, beating their heads and breasts, all but Del- 
 fina de Capalleja, who drew her mantilla about her 
 face and walked away. 
 
 The authorities of the city of Mexico yielded to 
 public clamor and determined to cast a silver bell 
 in honor of the slaughtered captain and his men. 
 The casting was to take place in the great plaza be- 
 
294 THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 
 
 fore the cathedral, that all might attend : it was 
 long since any episode of war had caused such ex- 
 citement and sorrow. The wild character and re- 
 moteness of the scene of the tragedy, the meager- 
 ness of detail which stung every imagination into 
 action, the brilliancy and popularity of De la Torre, 
 above all, the passionate sympathy felt for Delfina 
 de Capalleja, Mexico's most beautiful woman, served 
 to shake society from peak to base, and no event 
 had ever been anticipated with more enthusiasm than 
 the casting of that silver bell. 
 
 No one had seen Delfina since the arrival of the 
 news had broken so many hearts, and great was 
 the curiosity regarding her possible presence at the 
 ceremony. Universal belief was against her ever 
 again appearing in public ; some said that she was 
 dead, others that she had gone into a convent, but a 
 few maintained that she would be high-priestess at 
 the making of the bell which was to be the symbol 
 and monument of her lover's gallantry and death. 
 
 The hot sun beat upon the white adobe houses of 
 the stately city: at the upper end of the plaza, 
 bending and swaying, coquetting and languishing, 
 were women clad in rich and vivid satins, their 
 graceful head and shoulders draped with black or 
 white mantillas; caballeros gay in velvet trousers 
 laced with gold and serape embroidered with silver. 
 Eyes green and black and blue sparkled above the 
 edge of large black fans ; fiery eyes responded from 
 beneath silver-laden sombreros. The populace, in 
 gala attire, crowded the rest of the plaza and adja- 
 
THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 295 
 
 cent streets, chattering and gesticulating. But all 
 looked in vain for Delfina de Capalleja. 
 
 Much ceremony attended the melting of the bell. 
 Priests in white robes stiff with gold chanted prayers 
 above the silver bubbling in the caldron. A full- 
 robed choir sang the Te Deum ; the regiment to 
 which De la Torre had belonged fired salutes at in- 
 tervals ; the crowd sobbed and shouted. 
 
 Thunder of cannon, passionate swell of voices: 
 the molten silver was about to be poured into the 
 mold. The crowd hushed and parted. Down the 
 way made, for her came Delfina de Capalleja. Her 
 black hair hung over her long white gown, her 
 body bent under the weight of jewels the jewels of 
 generations and the jewels of troth. Her arms hung 
 at her sides. In her eyes was the peace which be- 
 longs only to the dead. 
 
 She walked to the caldron, and taking a heavy 
 gold chain from her neck flung it into the silver. 
 It swirled like a snake, then disappeared. One by 
 one, amidst quivering silence, the magnificent jewels 
 followed the chain. Then, as she took the last 
 bracelet from her arm, madness possessed the breath- 
 less crowd. The indifferent, self-conscious men, the 
 languid, coquetting women, the fat, drowsy old 
 dowagers, all rushed, scrambling and screaming, to 
 the caldron, tore from their head and body the 
 superb jewels and ropes of gold with which they 
 were bedecked, and flung them into the molten mass, 
 which rose like a tide. The electric current sprang 
 to the people ; their baubles sped like hail through 
 
296 THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL. 
 
 the air. So great was the excitement that a sudden 
 convulsing of the earth was unfelt. When not a 
 jewel was left to sacrifice, the caldron held enough 
 element for five bells the five sweet-voiced bells 
 which rang in the Mission of San Gabriel for more 
 than a century. 
 
 Exhausted with shouting, the multitude was silent. 
 Delfina de Capalleja, who had stood with panting 
 chest and dilating nostrils, turned from the sacrifi- 
 cial caldron, the crowd parting for her again, the 
 Laudate Dominum swelling. As she reached the 
 steps of the cathedral, a man who loved her, not- 
 ing a change in her face, sprang to her side. She 
 raised her bewildered eyes to his and thrust out her 
 hand suddenly. " Adios," she said, and fell at his 
 feet, dead. 
 
 
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL 
 
 THE Devil locked the copper gates of Hell one 
 night, and sauntered down a Spacian pathway. The 
 later arrivals from the planet Earth had been of a 
 distressingly commonplace character to his Majesty 
 a gentleman of originality and attainments, what- 
 ever his disagreements with the conventions. He 
 was become seriously disturbed about the moral 
 condition of the sensational little twinkler. 
 
 " What are my own about ? " he thought, as he 
 drifted past planets which yielded up their tributes 
 with monotonous regularity. "What a squeezed 
 old orange would Earth become did I forsake it ! I 
 must not neglect it so long again; my debt of 
 gratitude is too great. Let me see. Where shall I 
 begin ? It is some years since I have visited Amer- 
 ica in person, and unquestionably she has most 
 need of my attention ; Europe is in magnificent run- 
 ing order. This is a section of her, if my geography 
 does not fail me ; but what ? I do not recall it." 
 
 297 
 
298 WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 
 
 He poised above a country that looked as if it still 
 hung upon the edge of chaos : wild, fertile, massive, 
 barren, luxuriant, crouching on the ragged line of 
 the Pacific. From his point of vantage he saw 
 long ranges of stupendous mountains, some but 
 masses of scowling crags, some green with forests 
 of mammoth trees projecting their gaunt, rigid arms 
 above a carpet of violets ; indolent valleys and swirl- 
 ing rivers ; snow on the black peaks of the North, 
 the riotous color of eternal summer in the South. 
 Suddenly he uttered a sharp exclamation and swept 
 downward, halting but a mile above the ground. 
 He frowned heavily, then smiled a long, placid, 
 sardonic smile. There appeared to be but few in- 
 habitants in this country, and those few seemed to 
 live either in great, white, irregular buildings, sur- 
 mounted by crosses, in little brown huts near by, in 
 the caves, or in hollowed trees on the mountains. 
 The large buildings were situated about sixty miles 
 apart, in chosen valleys; they were imposing and 
 rambling, built about a plaza. They boasted pil- 
 lared corridors and bright red tiles on their roofs. 
 Within the belfries were massive silver bells, and 
 the crosses could be seen to the furthermost 
 end of the valley and from the tops of the loftiest 
 mountain. 
 
 " California ! " exclaimed the Devil. " I know of 
 her. Her scant history is outlined in the Scarlet 
 Book. I remember the points : Climate, the finest, 
 theoretically, in the world ; satanically, simply mag- 
 nificent. I have waited impatiently for the stream 
 
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 299 
 
 of humanity to deflect thitherward, but priests will 
 answer my present purpose exactly unless they 
 are all too tough. To continue, gold under that 
 grass in chunks aha ! I shall have to throw out 
 an extra wing in Hell ! Parched deserts where men 
 will die cursing; fruitful valleys, more gratifying 
 to my genius ; about as much of one as of the other, 
 but the latter will get all the advertising, and the 
 former be carefully kept out of sight. Everything 
 in the way of animal life, from grizzly bears to fleas. 
 A very remarkable State ! Well, I will begin on the 
 priests." 
 
 He shot downward, and alighted in a valley whose 
 proportions pleased his eye. Its shape was oval ; 
 the bare hills enclosing it were as yellow and as 
 bright as hammered gold ; the grass was bronze- 
 colored, baking in the intense heat ; but the placid 
 cows and shining horses nibbled it with the con- 
 tentment of those who know not of better things. 
 A river, almost concealed by bending willows and 
 slender, erect cotton woods, wound capriciously across 
 the valley. The Mission, simpler than some of the 
 others, was as neatly kept as a farm of older civ- 
 ilization. Peace, order, reigned everywhere ; all 
 things drowsed under the relentless outpouring of 
 the midsummer sun. 
 
 " It is well I do not mind the heat," thought His 
 Majesty ; " but I am sensible of this. I will go 
 within." 
 
 He drew a boot on his cloven foot, thus rendering 
 himself invisible, and entered a room of the long 
 
300 WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 
 
 wing that opened upon the corridor. Here the tem- 
 perature was almost wintry, so thick were the 
 adobe walls. 
 
 Two priests sat before a table, one reading aloud 
 from a bulky manuscript, the other staring absently 
 out of the window. The reader was an old man; 
 his face was pale and spiritual ; no fires burned in his 
 sunken eyes ; his mouth was stern with the lines of 
 self-repression. The Devil lost all interest in him 
 at once, and turned to the younger man. His face 
 was pale also, but his pallor was that of fasting and 
 hair shirts ; the mouth expressed the determination 
 of the spirit to conquer the restless longing of the 
 eyes ; his nostrils were spirited ; his figure lean 
 and nervous ; he moved his feet occasionally, and 
 clutched at the brown Franciscan habit. 
 
 " Paulo," said the older priest, reprovingly, as he 
 lifted his eyes and noted the unbowed head, " thou 
 art not listening to the holy counsel of our glorious 
 Master, our saint who has so lately ascended into 
 Heaven." 
 
 " I know Junipero Serra by heart," said Paulo, a 
 little pettishly. " I wish it were not too hot to go 
 out; I should like to take a walk. Surely San 
 Miguel is the hottest spot on earth. The very fleas 
 are gasping between the bricks." 
 
 " The Lord grant that they may die before the 
 night ! Not a wink have I slept for two ! But thou 
 shouldst not long for recreation until the hour comes, 
 my son. Do thy duty and think not of when it will 
 "be over, for it is a blessed privilege to perform it 
 
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 301 
 
 far more so than any idle pleasure just as it is 
 more blessed to give than to receive " 
 
 Here the Devil snorted audibly, and both priests 
 turned with a jump. 
 
 " Did you hear that, my father ? " 
 
 " It is the walls cracking with the intense heat. 
 I will resume my reading, and do thou pay attention, 
 my son." 
 
 " I will, my father." 
 
 And for three hours the Devil was obliged to listen 
 to the droning voice of the old man. He avenged 
 himself by planting wayward and alarming desires 
 in Paulo's fertile soul. 
 
 Suddenly the Mission was filled with the sound of 
 clamorous silver : the bells were ringing for Vespers 
 a vast, rapid, unrhythmical, sweet volume of sound 
 which made the Devil stamp his hoofs and gnash his 
 teeth. The priests crossed themselves arid hurried 
 to their evening duties, Satan folio wing, furious, but 
 not daring to let .them out of his sight. 
 
 The church was crowded with dusky, half-clothed 
 forms, prostrate before the altar. The Devil, during 
 the long service, wandered amongst them, giving a 
 vicious kick with his cloven foot here, pricking with 
 the sharp point of his tail there, breeding a fine dis- 
 cord and routing devotion. When Vespers were 
 over he was obliged to follow the priests to the re- 
 fectory, but found compensation in noting that Paulo 
 displayed a keen relish for his meat and wine. The 
 older man put his supper away morsel by morsel, as 
 if he were stuffing a tobacco-pouch. 
 
302 WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 
 
 The meal finished, Paulo sallied forth for his 
 evening walk. The Devil had his chance. 
 
 He was a wise Devil a Devil of an experience so 
 vast that the world would go crashing through space 
 under the weight of its printed volumes. He wasted 
 no time with the preliminary temptations pride, am- 
 bition, avarice. He brought out the woman at once. 
 
 The young priest, wandering through a grove of 
 cotton woods, his hands clasped listlessly behind 
 him, his chin sunken dejectedly upon his breast 
 suddenly raised his eyes and beheld a beautiful 
 woman standing not ten paces away. She was not 
 a girl like the one whom he had renounced for the 
 Church, but a woman about whose delicate, warm 
 face and slender, palpitating bosom hung the vague 
 shadow of maturity. Her hair was the hot brown 
 of copper, thick and rich ; her eyes like the meeting 
 of flame and alcohol. The emotion she inspired was 
 not the pure glow which once had encouraged rather 
 than deprecated renunciation; but at the moment 
 he thought it sweeter. 
 
 He sprang forward with arms outstretched, in- 
 stinct conquering vows in a manner highly satis- 
 factory to the Devil ; then, with a bitter imprecation, 
 turned and fled. But he heard light footfalls behind 
 him ; was conscious of a faint perfume, born of no 
 earthly flower, and felt a soft, panting breath. A 
 light hand touched his face. He flung his vows to 
 anxious Satan, and turned to clasp the woman in 
 his arms. But she coyly retreated, half-resentfully, 
 half -invitingly, wholly-lovely. Satan closed his iron 
 
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 303 
 
 hand about the vows, and the priest ran toward the 
 woman, the lines of repression on his face gone, the 
 eyes conquering the mouth. But again she retreated. 
 He quickened his steps ; she accelerated hers ; his 
 legs were long and agile ; but she was fleet of foot. 
 Finally she ran at full speed, her warm bright hair 
 lifted and spreading, her tender, passionate face 
 turned and shining through it. 
 
 They left the cotton woods, and raced down the 
 wide silent valley, the cows staring with stolid dis- 
 approval, the stars pulsing in sympathy. The priest 
 felt no fatigue ; he forgot the Church behind him, 
 the future of reward or torment. He wanted the 
 woman, and was determined to have her. He 
 was wholly lost ; and the Devil, satisfied, returned 
 to the Mission. 
 
 "Now," thought he, "for revenge on that old fool 
 for defying me for sixty years ! " 
 
 He raised his index finger and pointed it straight 
 at the planet Hell. Instantly the sky darkened, the 
 air vibrated with the rushing sound of many forms. 
 A moment later he was surrounded by a regiment 
 of abbreviated demons a flock as thick as a grass- 
 hopper plague, twisted, grinning, leering, hideous. 
 He raised his finger again and they leaped to the 
 roofs of the Mission, wrenched the tiles from their 
 places and sent them clattering to the pavement. 
 They danced and wrestled on the naked roof, yelling 
 with their hoarse, unhuinan voices, singing awful 
 chants. 
 
04 Wnm TE DEVIL WAS WELL. 
 
 The Devil passed within, and found the good old 
 priest on his knees, a crucifix clasped to his breast, 
 his white face upturned, shouting ave marias and 
 pater nosters at the top of his aged voice as if fear- 
 ful they would not ascend above the saturnalia on 
 the roof. The Devil added to his distraction by 
 loud bursts of ribald laughter ; but the father, re- 
 volving his head as if it were on a pivot, continued 
 to pray. Satan began to curse like a pirate. 
 
 Suddenly above the crashing of tiles, the hideous 
 voices of Devil and demon, the prayers of the padre, 
 sounded the silver music of the bells. Not the ir- 
 regular clash which was the daily result of Indian 
 manipulation, but long, rhythmic peals, as sweet and 
 clear and true as the singing of angels. The Devil 
 and his minions, with one long, baffled, infuriated 
 howl, shot upward into space. Simultaneously a 
 great wind came roaring down the valley, uprooting 
 trees and shaking the sturdy Mission. Thunder 
 detonated, lightning cut its zig-zag way through 
 black clouds like moving mountains ; hail rattled to 
 the earth ; water fell as from an overturned ocean. 
 And through all the bells pealed and the priest 
 prayed. 
 
 Morning dawned so calm and clear, that, but for 
 the swimming ground and the broken tiles bestrew- 
 ing it, the priest would have thought he had 
 dreamed a terrible nightmare. He opened the door 
 and looked anxiously forth for Paulo. Paulo was 
 not to be seen. He called, but his tired voice would 
 
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 305 
 
 not carry. Clasping his crucifix to his breast, he 
 tottered forth in search of his beloved young col- 
 league. He passed the rancheria of the Indians, and 
 found them all asleep, worn out, doubtless, from a 
 night of terror. 
 
 He was too kind to awaken them, and pursued 
 his way alone down the valley, peering fearfully to 
 right and left. 
 
 The ground was plowed, dented, and strewn 
 with fallen trees ; the river roared like a tidal wave. 
 Shuddering, and crossing himself repeatedly, he 
 passed between the hills and entered a forest, follow- 
 ing a path which the storm had blasted. After a 
 time he came to an open glade where he and Paulo 
 had loved to pray whilst the spring and the birds 
 made music. To his surprise he saw a large stone ly- 
 ing along the open. He wondered if some meteor had 
 fallen. Mortal hands Indian hands, at least were 
 not strong enough to have brought so heavy a bulk, 
 and he had not seen it in forest or valley before. 
 
 He approached and regarded it; then began 
 mumbling aves and paters, running them together 
 as he had not done during the visitation and storm. 
 The stone was outlined with the shape of a man, 
 long, young and slender. The face was sharply cut, 
 refined, impassioned and intellectual. A smile of 
 cynical contentment dwelt on the strong mouth. 
 The eyes were fixed on something before him. Invol- 
 untarily the priest's followed them and lingered. A 
 tree also broke the open one which never had been 
 20 
 
306 WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL. 
 
 there before and it bore an intoxicating similitude 
 to the features and form of a surpassingly beautiful 
 woman. 
 
 "Paulo! Paulo!" murmured the old man, with 
 tears in his eyes, " would that I had been thee ! " 
 
 THE END. 
 
The Doomswoman. 
 
 BY GERTRUDE ATHERTON, author of "Hermia Suyd- 
 am" "Los Cerritos," "A Question of time," etc. 16mo, 
 cloth, ornamental, $1.00. Paper Binding, 50 cents. 
 
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 "A powerful dramatic representation of old California life." 
 
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 could be surpassed by few authors. A breathing reality created by a master hand; 
 and she is not less real because she is an uncommon, an original character. This 
 is high praise but it is not too high." Vanity Fair, London. 
 
 " The novel is full of a vivid life and personality, of freshness and fascination, of 
 
 pictures which will not easily be forgotten It is by far the most 
 
 picturesque and characteristic showing that has been made of that time (the old 
 Spanish days)." Literary World. 
 
 "Though Mrs. Atherton's descriptions of the land and of the estates, of the dwell- 
 ings and of the inhabitants, of their christenings and marriages with the joyous 
 accompaniments of feast and dance, are vivid and interesting, yet her novel has in 
 it an abundance of thought, a critical intellectuality, an acuteness in character 
 analysis that give it abundant worth even were it not placed in an attractive set- 
 ting of unusual scenery." Public Opinion. 
 
 " Mrs. Atherton's realism can be praised because it is natural and not pretended. 
 Given the strange atmosphere in which her characters move they are men and 
 women with the virtues and failings of genuine people. Her descriptions of social 
 life in California are vivid, and they haye the effect of dissipating some of those 
 ceremonious forms which were crystallized in much old-fashioned fiction respect, 
 ing the Spaniards in America." New York Tribune. 
 
 "A novel of early Californian and Mexican days before the discovery of gold. 
 Told with force and vivid effect." Baltimore Sun* 
 
t 
 
JA 
 
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 the Gringo 
 
 TOY. 16*14. 
 
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