The Bride of Mission San José: A Tale of Early California

CHAPTER XXI

A FEW DIPLOMATIC TOUCHES

"Buenos noches, señores."

Two men sitting by a fire rose to their feet.

"Buenos noches," responded one of them. The men moved a little toward the newcomer, one of them limping considerably, as if injured.

"I say," came from the lame man, "perhaps this is some one our guide has sent in search of us."

"We'll soon see," replied the other, in English. Then in Spanish: "We are lost here in the forest. Can you tell us where we can find food and shelter for the night?"

"Of a surety, señor, of a surety," the stranger replied. "I am major-domo of Señor Miramonte's hacienda. This is his property here. The señor and his lady are out, but wayfarer guests are none the less welcome. I saw your fire and thought some vagrant peons had built it. We greatly dread forest and pasture fires this time of year. Come, señors, come with me."

"He offers us the hospitality of a rancho house."

"I'll be deuced glad for shelter anywhere," the injured man replied, both speaking in English. "I'm at home on a ship, but riding a stiff-backed horse with wooden legs is too much for me. Ugh! I'm sore as if I'd been put in a sack and beaten with clubs. Besides, I'm actually seasick. Commodore, think of that! Sea-sick! All for riding a jointless, iron-jawed broncho."

The man addressed as "Commodore" laughed. "Maybe riding your horse over that twenty-foot precipice is a contributary cause to your soreness, Captain."

The horseman had dismounted and was carefully extinguishing the fire, treading on each separate ember until it was out.

"Gentlemen, will you come with me?" he asked, finally. "I'll bring you to your own."

"What does he say?" asked the one who had been called "Captain."

"He is offering a house after the Spanish custom."

"Well, indeed! One of the first things I do when I get on shipboard will be to learn Spanish."

The one riding moved away from the wide-branching oak, where the fire had been, out toward the open. It was bright starlight.

"Let the injured one ride my horse. I will show the path on foot. Come. It is not far to Señor Miramonte's house."

The Commodore interpreted this to his companion.

"If it isn't far I'd rather crawl than ride," the Captain replied. "Where in the world is the path? It's light enough, but I surely do not see any. Say, is that fellow an agent for a bandit or something like that? The pay of an American naval captain is such, you know——"

"Never fear, Hamilton," laughed the Commodore. "Your pay and mine combined, for a year, would be hardly more than a bagatelle for one of these land-and-cattle barons, such as is Miramonte, I believe."

"You've been here before?"

"Yes, ten or a dozen years ago. Rode from Yerba Buena to San José along a road which I trust must be near here, though I couldn't find it to-day. Went from San José back to San Francisco harbor along the eastern side of the valley. Remember, Hamilton, what your name is for the present?"

"Certainly, I'm plain Smith."

"And I'm plain Jones."

They followed the man who was leading the horse. In the open they could see him easily. In the dense growths they followed by the sound. Captain Hamilton was becoming greatly fatigued when a number of well-lighted buildings came into view. Dogs barked and Indian men and women talked excitedly as the party approached.

A courtyard gate opened wide to receive them.

"Behold the bandits' cave, Smith!" said the Commodore.

"I see it, Jones," replied the injured man. "I declare, it looks good to me. Will the head bandit demand that we prove our identity, or something like that?"

"I forgot to tell you that the owner of the premises is away at present. The man who brought us here is major-domo, which might be translated, overseer. I fancy he is altogether in charge and will make us as comfortable as we could wish."

The major-domo gave his horse to a peon, then waved his hand to the front door of the house. "Gentlemen, it is as I said before. What you see is yours. Enter your own."

"I'm willing," agreed Smith when he was told what had been said. "A bath and a comfortable bed appeal to me just now."

They were brought to large, airy chambers within. A hot tub-bath was prepared for Smith; while a peon, skillful in massaging, kneaded his aching muscles. The injury to his knee, sustained in falling, was rather severe. The massaging peon bound it tightly with various poultices of herbs.

"I say, man, that's too hot," Smith protested.

Jones grinned. "Perhaps the bandit's servant is preparing you like a trussed goose."

"I say, Commodore——"

"Jones, my friend."

"Very well, Jones. If this confounded thing were around your leg, you wouldn't laugh. You're my superior officer, and all that——"

"I'm Jones," the other said, emphatically.

"Pardon me Com——I mean, Jones. Oh! Ouch! he's taking those weeds right out of boiling water and tying them around my smashed knee. I say, man——"

The Indian paid no attention to his remonstrances or squirming.

"Why, Jones! Where did you get those clothes?"

Jones was attired in the regulation house-dress of the California grandee, from fluted shirt-front to silver-clasped shoes.

"Found them in my room, with a peon valet ready to assist me into them. Doubtless you'll be treated the same way."

"Well! I'll admire myself. But my bandaged knee wouldn't fit into such trouserettes as you have on."

The bandaging was finished at last. The peon spoke to the patient in Spanish.

"What is he saying?"

"Says for you to go to bed soon. In the morning he will remove the bandages, and hopes your knee will be greatly improved."

"Go to bed. Well, the quarters are sumptuous enough. High-posted bed, mahogany bureaus—one, two, three of them; and chairs, mahogany too, and heavy enough for state occasions. It's all fine, if I only had a bite of something to eat."

The major-domo entered the room, several peons following him, carrying trays on which were steaming dishes.

Smith was quickly arrayed in a flannel dressing gown. A table was laid and moved over to his chair. Savory meats, vegetables, and fruits were ready. Wine was uncorked and placed at the hungry man's hand.

The major-domo gave some further orders to the peons, and then spoke to the traveler who understood Spanish. That worthy's eyes twinkled. "I'm invited to supper with the family, or the part of it in the house. I hope you'll enjoy your meal, and have a good rest to-night. The Indian surgeon says if necessary he'll use still hotter and stronger applications to-morrow."

Smith was comforting himself with the warm meal. His fellow traveler followed the major-domo along a corridor, down a short flight of stairs, to a door which a peon within opened at their approach. The major-domo bowed low, and left the man standing at the door.

"In my son's absence I welcome you," said a very kindly voice. "I am Señor Miramonte's mother."

"I am delighted to greet you, señora."

"I regret your companion is injured and unable to dine with us."

"I trust he'll be well to-morrow."

"Señor—I do not know your name?"

"Er-r-Jones." His face flushed a little.

"Señor Jones, I wish to introduce you to my friend, Señora Valentino, who is also our guest to-night. Senora Valentino, our esteemed visitor, the Señor Jones."

Señora Valentino extended her hand to Jones. "Señor Jones, I am pleased to see you." A slow, deliberate smile lit up her features. "Am glad to meet you—here." Her low bow did not wholly cover the quizzical look which darted from her eyes.

They were ushered into a dining room where a table generously laid was before them.

"Señora Valentino," asked the hostess, "will you not take the head of the table?"

The señora complied.

"I am not very strong these days," the elderly lady explained, "and I am happy that so fair and clever a hand as Señora Valentino's is here to manage in serving the dinner."

Señora Valentino presided gracefully.

"Señor Jones," she said, with just a hint of emphasis on 'Jones,' "may I ask if you have been long in Alta California?"

"Well, no. In fact, only a few days or so."

The hour of dinner passed pleasantly. Places of interest were spoken of; men and events discussed. Spain, France, England, were passed in review. Señora Miramontes was European born. Her husband had been Spanish ambassador at the great capitals; and the splendid Miramonte grant in West Santa Clara Valley was his reward for able service.

"Thirty years and more have I been here," she said. "It was a splendid wilderness when we came; nevertheless, a wilderness. We have claimed it for our own, and now it smiles for us. The flag of great Spain once waved over these valleys. The tread of Spanish friars hallowed the ground; and God blessed the work of these men with hundredfold increase. Then the Mexican colors replaced those of Spain. Ah, me! But Mexico cares nothing for us; and at heart we are still Spaniards. Yes, Spaniards; never Mexicans!"

The meal over, the party went to an adjoining room. A fire flickered on a vast, old-fashioned hearth. Candles were not lighted, and the shadows danced fitfully on the walls and tapestries of the apartment.

Señora Miramonte still wished to speak of Europe.

"My husband was once ambassador at Saint Petersburg. We met there a Russian who had been in these Californias. He had been in the diplomatic service here in Monterey, and knew the country well. Knew it north and south and east and west. 'Soon Spain loses that country—all of it; for Mexico is going,' were his words; and he was a very shrewd, far-seeing man. He also said, 'Then the English and the Americans will come to blows over the empire that in large part is no man's land. Not twenty years,' he would say, 'after Spain withdraws from North America, not twenty years will elapse before the British Lion and the American Eagle will bare the teeth and claws to each other over these great stretches of wonderful country.'"

She paused a moment.

"The British Lion has not yet shown his teeth. He is ready to do so, just the same. Do we not know of Texas, and the country north of us here—Oregon they call it? The American Eagle has not yet cried his war-scream; yet it is swelling in his throat."

"Madam, you speak of great subjects," was Jones's reply.

She nodded, the light now playing uninterruptedly over her features which were still keen and comely. "No. It is my friend, Lomilkovsky, who does the speaking; and he died sixteen years ago."

No one broke the silence for several moments.

"I may have spoken too plainly," the venerable lady went on. "Rarely has the past opened before me as to-night. Spain cannot win; and, I say, let the flag rule the Pacific Ocean that can." She arose. "Señor, you breakfast with us to-morrow. Now, please excuse me, friends. I must retire. Early hours compel me. Señora Valentino, will you kindly act as hostess for the rest of the evening in my place?"

"Certainly, señora, certainly."

The light shone on her snow-white hair as she bowed her head in final good night.

"Well, Señor Jones, the sitting room is pleasant. Shall we return?" from Señora Valentino.

"With all my heart."

The Commodore's features were keen and powerful. Heavy eyebrows stood out across his forehead. A strong chin, cleft in the middle, balanced a well-carved nose. His lips shut like the jaws of a trap. His hair, bushy and dark, glanced grayish in the light. Withal a kindly smile seemed rarely absent from his face. A martinet on the quarterdeck, off it he was the most genial of men.

"I have not inquired how your friend met his accident," from the señora.

"We set out at daybreak this morning expecting to make our destination by night. In the afternoon something frightened my friend's horse. It took the bit in its teeth, and jumped over the bank of a ravine. Luckily, there was a pond of water at the bottom. My friend was disabled. The horse escaped despite our guide's efforts to lasso it. The guide set out to get another mount. Time passed, and he did not return. I tied my horse, securely, I thought, and climbed a high hill to get sight of some habitation. I could see none. I returned to find my own horse gone. Then we set out on foot to find shelter. I knew the Camino Real was somewhere to the east of us. Our progress was necessarily slow. Darkness came. After wandering aimlessly for a while we built the fire which the major-domo saw. Then," smiling, "the hospitality of California was offered."

"Señor Miramonte will rejoice, I know, when he learns that Señor Jones and his friend—the name—I did not hear it——"

"My friend's name is Smith."

"Ah!—Smith. Señor Miramonte will rejoice that his house could give hospitality to the Señors Jones and Smith—unusual names. No?" She looked him full in the eyes, her smile inscrutable.

"California's hospitality is proverbial the world over," was his evasive reply.

"Ah! yes. Ah! yes. The world over, you say. I too have been much about. May it not be, Señor—ah!—Jones, that we have met before? Was it, perhaps, in London three years ago, or, even in your capital, Washington, two years past?"

"Señora Valentino, let me say, once having seen you no man could forget you. It was in Washington, also in London; and, before that, in Vienna, that I had the pleasure of knowing you."

"And the Señor Smith, your companion?" smilingly.

"Madam, I cry a truce of this. I am Commodore Billings, of the American navy. The man with me is Captain Hamilton, of my flagship. For the present neither of us cares to be thus known."

The woman arched her eyebrows. "That is entirely the affair of the Señor Commodore and the Señor Capitan. Still, why so far from the flagship?"

"We were riding incognito through a peaceful and friendly land, señora."

"Rumors float about, Señor Officer."

The man looked into the fire for a moment. "Señora Valentino, I have told you who I am. I will tell you also that I am in command of the Pacific squadron of the American navy. Will you be as candid with me, and tell me why you are in this country?"

She laughed. "You haven't yet told me why you are traveling under an assumed name; neither, why you are on the mainland of California."

"Undoubtedly for diversion, señora."

"Come, Señor Commodore, it is as our hostess said, is it not so? that the Lion and the Eagle are straining to the contest over spoils vast as the territory of all Europe. Come, let us be fair with each other. You are here in the interest of the United States. Some special errand leads you on a secret journey. An accident brings you and me under the same roof; and fate, perhaps, leaves us here alone together in conversation. It may be that you and I could come to some understanding about affairs of mighty interest. Indeed, it may be, save two nations from grave misunderstanding."

His smile was as genial as ever, as he said: "The señora favors Great Britain in the dispute she alleges may some time arise. Am I not correct?"

She bowed. "You met the Señor O'Donnell a week ago, and again four days ago. Was it at your last meeting he told you of my preferences, or at the first?" She laughed, and playfully tapped the Commodore's hand with her fan.

"Madam, may I say to you that I have letters in my possession from our State Department, in Washington, which relate not only to your presence here but which also tell something of your work as England's secret agent in Alta California."

Again the woman laughed. "Child's play, Commodore! Child's play! The man who sent this information to your State Department, in Washington, is here, and in touch with you. Certainly, he told you as much as he wrote to Washington."

The officer made no reply.

"Commodore Billings, I deal with you, and with you only. I take not account of the frontiersman, O'Donnell. The United States, though still young, is a great nation; and should be represented by men such as you."

"Señora, O'Donnell has the confidence of Mr. Tyler, President of the United States."

"Has your Mr. Tyler the confidence of the republic which made him its President?"

There was no reply.

The señora arose. The jewels in her hair flamed and glittered in the firelight. A hundred questions seemed to burn in the depths of her eyes. She extended her hand, as if in gesture. The warrior-diplomat was impelled to arise also, and to take the hand in his.

"Señor the Commodore, you go to conference with Mendoza, of Mission San José. Is it not so?"

He started to reply, but checked himself.

"Think on what you do. We of this province—Mendoza and a handful of others excepted—desire not to be ruled by your nation."

"Señora Valentino, I am but a student of conditions here."

She moved closer toward him. He still held her hand.

"You do not come with prejudged verdict?" In her earnestness she placed her disengaged hand on his shoulder.

"Assuredly not. Of course I know the general desire of my government. Further than that I do what seems wisest."

"Then consult the people of California. See Padre Osuna, that saintly Chrysostom of this Western world. Meet Colonel Barcelo, the acting-governor. Interview Pio Pico, and his brother Andreas. See the Peraltas, the Carillos. Señor Mendoza represents but few besides himself."

She moved away from him. "As to this O'Donnell—O'Donnell! He is a man with a price on his head, placed there by the English government. What wonder he intrigues against England!"

"Some political offense, of course."

"For attempted murder! He struck down his captain on the parade ground in Dublin, following an admonition."

"Zounds, madam!"

"This would-be assassin carries word to you from Señor Mendoza—why does he forget he is Colonel Mendoza?—carries word that Mendoza has wishes for the department of California which differ from the wishes of the people themselves who comprise this department. Indeed! And who is this Mendoza? Is he not of a make-up so unrestrained that once, in a burst of temper, he even burned to the ground his magnificent home? Ask the people of California if this is not true. Bethink you, my Commodore."

"Señora, I ask you, what is in the wind?"

"Let us be seated, Señor Commodore."

She looked at him intently. "Texas is free from Mexico. Some of your States wish to accept the republic of Texas as one of themselves. The States north of the Mason and Dixon line object. They oppose extension of Negro slavery. Your President Tyler is on the fence, dangling his long legs in the air, prepared to jump to either side, as it seems expedient for him."

The Commodore covered his mouth with his hand, to conceal an involuntary smile.

"Oregon is now jointly held by the United States and England. Some of your States wish for a part of Oregon. Others make opposition; and the opposition this time comes from those south of the Mason and Dixon line. The reason? No possibility of slavery in Oregon. Your President, from his perch, dangles his long legs yet more alertly."

Billings now laughed outright.

"Señora, you are droll."

"Is what I say not true, my Commodore?"

"Oregon is ours, my lady, by occupation. Doctor Whitman and his missionaries live in that country; are Christianizing the Indians, and drawing settlers from beyond the Mississippi. Oregon is ours, I say, by right of occupation."

"A hundred years before your Whitman saw light missionaries from French Canada lived among those same tribes. England succeeded to the rights of France. Oregon, then, is England's by this right of occupation of which you speak."

"But, the rifles of the American settlers in Oregon! They will speak, and speak strongly, my lady."

"But the rifles of the Spanish hacenderos in California, my Commodore! Can they not speak? Commodore Billings, a shot in California will echo around the world!"

She leaned toward him and placed her hand on the arm of his chair. "A few months ago I saw Doctor McLoughlin, head of the Hudson Bay Company, at Vancouver. He knows of the work of your missionary Whitman. My Commodore, twenty British ships-of-war are in the Pacific waters. I saw them, one and all, on my journey to the North. They are not far from here."

"So many, Señora Valentino?"

"That many."

"I did not think Admiral Fairbanks——"

She waited for him to continue. As he did not she went on:

"That enthusiast, Mendoza, thinks he can persuade you to seize our capital, Monterey. Suppose you do? The province will seethe in rebellion, and call to Admiral Fairbanks for aid. He will give it. That means war. Your United States is unprepared for war at sea. Mexico then goes under an English protectorate. Texas goes back to Mexico, and England will then control the Pacific Coast from the tropics to the Russian line in the far north."

Both were standing now.

"Señora Valentino, neither Mendoza, nor anyone, can lead me into an unconsidered move in this matter."

"To-night you had an appointment with Mendoza. Fate intervened. To-morrow sees not the danger removed. He will ask you to seize this province for the United States. Commodore Billings, ruin comes if you do."

"Señora, I have never seen Mendoza."

"You know of his wishes. Others do."

"But I shall judge for myself."

Again her inscrutable smile. "Commodore, I thank you. I mean—that is to say—I thank you for listening to me to-night. I pray good will come of it." Her hand was on his arm. He took it in fervent grasp.

"Señora, Europe knows you for a brilliant woman. I say you are that, and more. I am glad to have met you again." He looked at his watch. "It is late. I fear I have kept you too long. I ask your pardon."

"My Commodore, have a care, only, that you do not ask pardon of the world one day for what your decision to-morrow may bring about."

"Your words do you honor, señora. May I ask leave now to retire?"

"The leave is yours, Commodore."

After good night had been said Señora Valentino returned to her chair by the fire. Into the flames she looked for a long time.

"The Commodore talks in his silence," she finally said to herself, smiling grimly. "The pages of this drama fast turn themselves—very fast—to the issue. 'But I shall judge for myself.' Ah! Commodore, your silence is indeed golden. So, Mendoza wishes you to seize Monterey—evidently—but, 'you will judge for yourself.' Discreet Commodore! But we shall see—we shall see!"

The thick oaken log in the fireplace was ashes before the señora went to her room.

CHAPTER XXII
ALMOST——

Señora Valentino rode slowly along the way leading from Santa Clara to Pueblo San José. Willow trees lined the edge of the road, lifting their featherly foliage in greeting to the morning sun. Yellow light filtered through and marked the interlacing plumes with myriad fairy figures in golden tints. The branches nodded and undulated in low-toned rhythm. Tempered breezes from the bay, sweet with the breath of virgin meadow, hung light-winged over this shaded alameda. Peons, men and women, worked in the vegetable gardens by the wayside, singing as they labored. Betimes they used the guttural words of their aborigine tongue, the age-old longing of savage man flowing in heavy note and shrill refrain. Again, some neophyte rested for the moment on hoe or mattock and intoned a hymn. Then knoll and hollow resounded as the children of the wilderness sang the words of their new-found faith.

The long white line marking the fort at San José had come plainly into view when the señora halted.

"My message requested the Captain to meet me here at this hour," she said to no one in particular. Her mounted Indian guard was a score of paces behind. Just then Captain Farquharson, coming at swift gallop, turned the bend just ahead.

"Good morning!" she called to him.

"Good morning!" he called back. "Well, the great question," as he drew up at her side. "Your word reached me after midnight. Our signal-fire was lighted within two hours, on the high mountains east of San José. This morning at daylight the signal-smoke told me that Admiral Fairbanks's anchors are under weigh for Monterey harbor. Now, your note told me nothing of the particulars of your interview with Billings last night. You managed to gain his attention, I'm sure."

"I did. But our English admiral? Tell me, is he of two minds, as he was the other day; or have they crystallized into one?"

"He has agreed to keep his fleet hidden until our signal-fire or smoke informs him it is the hour to enter Monterey harbor and take possession."

"Ah! that is his mind now."

"Señora, I await with great interest some news of your interview last night with the American. He must have said something of deep import that you sent word to signal at once our admiral's fleet. Fairbanks reaches Monterey easily to-morrow. What I signal him to do there, and how soon, will be greatly determined by what you learned last night from this Billings."

"Well, Captain, since nothing is to be done until to-morrow, you have time to answer me a question or two." The lady laughed, then went on: "How did you manage to get our gringo naval heroes lost at the right time yesterday?"

"Simple, very simple, indeed. They lost themselves. One hero's saddle seat was uncertain. He gripped his horse with his calves, to make himself more secure, forgetting the sharp spurs on his heels. The indignant broncho jumped over the nearest bank, his rider just naturally following. I declare, the gallant officer actually spun head over heels twice before he landed in the water. The peon with the two gentlemen was held by our men under pretended suspicion of being a runaway, when he went in search of another horse. This left our heroes without a guide; and Valeriano, the Miramonte major-domo, did his part when the stars began to shine. Now, señora, of course Commodore Billings——"

She interrupted him. "If the gringo hero's horse had not obligingly jumped over that bank, how would you have got the Commodore to Señor Miramonte's hacienda house at the right time?"

"Depend on it, I would have found a way. Bringing them to the Miramonte's place as suspicious characters would have been the last resort. You would have identified the Commodore, in that case, and would have made all possible amends for unwarranted detention."

"Of course." The two joined their laughter.

"Mendoza's peons were scouring the woods last night for the officers. Our fellows furnished them plenty of information. It didn't lead them to Miramonte's house, you may be sure." Again the forest echoed the sound of their laughter.

"Well," from the señora, "our two worthies set out comfortably enough this morning, after early breakfast with us. Alberto, the Miramonte's peon, guides them to Señor Mendoza. Alberto," lifting her eyebrows, "understands English. When a lad, a religious-minded gringo tallow-trader captain took him to Boston, and had him educated, hoping he would become a missionary here of the tallow-trader's faith. Instead he reverted to the ordinary peon, and an ardent Americano hater, into the bargain."

"Fortunately for us. It was simply invaluable that he was present the other day at that Billings-O'Donnell talk at Half Moon bay, and thus found out about the appointment to meet at Mendoza's last night. But," laughing a little, yet serious, "I'm anxious as to what happened last night at Miramonte's."

"Just one more question, Captain. In what frame of mind was Padre Osuna when you last saw him?"

"You have swung him to our side, señora, for the second time. But he forced from Fairbanks and me papers giving these natives extraordinary rights when the country is ours."

"The padre is where now, do you judge?"

"Somewhere near San Luis Obispo. He travels like the whirlwind. Yesterday he swept the crowd off its feet when he spoke from the church steps at Monterey. They cheered and stormed for English rule. His discourse over, he set off for the south with the impetuosity of a crusader."

"Very well, my Captain, we have done our part. It remains for Fairbanks to do his."

"Now, señora, why was it you sent the hurried messenger last night? What did Billings say that you thought such haste necessary?"

"Practically nothing."

"I beg pardon, señora. You must have misunderstood me. I——"

"I understood you perfectly."

"Well, then, señora, think of your reply."

"My reply was that Commodore Billings said practically nothing from which I thought haste necessary. It was from what he palpably refrained from saying that I made my inference."

Farquharson drew his bridle-rein. His horse curveted over the turf, under pressure of the curb-bit. He drew the animal back to the woman's side. "Señora Valentino, what does Billings intend to do?"

"To seize Monterey for the United States if——"

"If what?"

"If he can find reasonable excuse, in the attitude of the hacenderos here, for such a move."

"But can he?"

"He can, if Colonel Mendoza is minded to supply it."

"But, señora, at the Mendoza baile the entire countryside cried out for an English protectorate."

"Yes, but we made the minds of these men for them. The structure may not be the most lasting."

"But, perdition! they——"

"Admiral Fairbanks must seize Monterey as soon as he reaches there," she went on.

"He must! By heaven he must! I'll ruin him before all England if he flinches."

"Remember, Captain, Commodore Billings will fight."

"My word, señora! Fight us! Why, bless my soul! our fleet outnumbers him at least three to one. Fairbanks could sink him in an hour."

The woman leaned in her saddle toward the officer. "I shall be in Monterey all day to-morrow. So must you, Captain."

They shook hands over the manes of their horses and parted company, the Captain riding swiftly across the fields, the lady walking her mount toward San José.

The adobe walls of the fort were a dozen feet or so in height, with eaves projecting outward, the better to prevent scaling by a possible enemy. Within these walls was a row of buildings in which were the officers of the alcalde, the subprefect, the jefe-politico and other civil officers of the pueblo. Here also were the quarters of Morando's men. The Captain himself had a reception room in one corner of an edifice facing the street. A motley gathering was in this room, also clustered around the door as the Señora Valentino drew rein. Her mounted escort had drawn up on either side of her in orderly lines, each peon so tightening his bridle that the horses walked in perfect step.

Captain Morando, the comandante, pushed his way through the crowd to the lady's side. "Thrice glad am I to see you, amiga mia. Will you not alight and rest awhile?"

"Thank you, Captain."

He released her foot from the stirrup and assisted her to the ground.

"My poor place shines like the morning in answer to your presence, señora."

She smiled on him and looked about over the waiting crowd. "Why so many sad faces here, Captain?"

"These friends mourn relatives who fell in the recent contest with Yoscolo. To-day the Department, through me, considers the demands for pensions."

"Then I interrupt."

"Indeed not, my friend. This reception room meets never a guest more welcome than Señora Valentino."

"But these sad ones? You must not neglect them for my sake."

"I shall not forget you, nor neglect them. Besides, my work with the pensioners has about concluded."

The peonas had nearly all dried their tears, had gathered their restless pocos niños together and were preparing to depart, with many blessings murmured on the "very good and very handsome comandante."

The señora seated near the Captain was greatly interested in the scene. "Their praises for you, señor, are fervent, if not loud," she remarked.

Soon the man and woman were alone in the reception room. She regarded him gravely. He started from a revery and caught her look. He flushed. She laughed a little.

"Well, Captain, I have done as you requested."

"What?"

"I have seen the Señorita Mendoza and have told her for you that——" She paused.

He waited for her to continue.

"I must say I do not quite understand the girl, charming, indeed, as she is."

"How so, señora?"

"O, friend of my heart, I would spare you pain."

"Tell me everything, señora."

"O, Don Alfredo, everything? My heart fails me. How can I wound you?"

"Do not fear for me, gentle one. Let me know the truth. Please go on."

"Well—if I must. I made occasion to do your bidding by visiting the Mendoza house, ostensibly to express to the host of the great baile at Mission San José my appreciation of that event. The señor was away, but his daughter received me. This was just the opportunity I would have wished for. Nothing could have been better for our purpose, Don Alfredo."

He bowed in recognition of the fact.

"We passed bits of conversation from one to the other on chance topics. The young lady was delightful. As we sat in the cool drawing room sipping tea and nibbling dulces I thought continually of you, my friend. Small wonder, truly, that you wished to wed this beautiful and talented young woman. Small wonder, again, that the swains of the valley lay their hearts before her, as she beckons."

The soldier's face grew gloomy.

"When our time had in a measure sped I introduced the subject on which you wished me to speak with her."

"How did she receive it?"

"I am puzzled to know how to explain. It is but a step, often, from joy to sorrow; at times, discourtesy seems waiting on the threshold of courtesy. Well, enough to say that our pleasant relations underwent a change most unaccountable. The Doña Carmelita grew cold and drew within herself. Try as I might I could not bring back the former cordiality. In the course of the conversation I said: 'Señorita, Captain Morando loves you and you only.' She replied: 'Señora Valentino, I cannot listen to you; even though you are a guest in this house I cannot.'

"We parleyed further. She was obdurate. She tried to cut me short with the words: 'I request that this conversation cease and that you do not again mention to me the name of Captain Morando.'

"Yet still did I refuse to accept her dismissal of the subject. You see, my one-time knight, I was determined to fulfill your wishes, no matter what came."

She lowered her eyes with a tender little sigh, but went on hastily. "I continued to speak of you and of your love for her. She almost flung at me: 'Captain Morando is nothing to me, nor can he ever be. I would not wish it otherwise.'

"Then I concluded: 'At least accept his word that he meant no harm by his attentions to you.' To this she gave no response.

"We were now at the hacienda gate. She summoned the peon who had my horse in charge. As I mounted she said: 'Remember, if you call again, I shall give word to my maid to tell you I am not at home.'"

The young man came to her side and took her hand in both his. "Forgive me, señora. Forgive me, my dear friend, the stupid selfishness in asking you to do such an errand. When I think of your goodness to me and of my placid acceptance of it I curse myself for a brute."

"You are harsh with yourself, Alfredo," putting her disengaged hand on his.

"No, señora, a thousand times, no. How can I ever atone for my thoughtlessness!"

The lustrous brown eyes were looking gently at him. He gazed into their beautiful depths. She leaned a trifle nearer.

He continued: "I have been a cur! You have suffered your life long. You generously gave me the confidences of your heart. I saw how empty your years have been of the things that, after all, really count in this world; yet I, selfish fool! could only whine about my own loss."

"Don't, don't, Alfredo. You must not say such words."

"Dear amiga, you are too forgetful of yourself, always thinking of the good you may do others. You have a claim on me, a strong claim, which I shall always remember; for, no matter how unwitting on my part, unhappiness came to you years ago, and that unhappiness still persists. Added to this, I have been the direct cause of your losing your friend, the Doña Carmelita. I wish I could make compensation."

The woman's eyes drooped. Her hands fell to her side.

"The past is gone—gone the way of all past things," she said, very slowly.

"But the hurt continues," he returned.

"You certainly cannot blame yourself for that."

He dropped on his knees beside her. "My dear señora, my true friend, ask what you will of me, and if I can accomplish it, it shall be yours. I would do anything to be of service to you."

She raised her eyes and put her hand on his shoulder. "Alfredo, how could you retrieve a broken life? Why, I envy the love of the peonas for their husbands who fell by your side at La Cuesta de los Gatos. Though bereft their love lives on. Their heart is not empty, as is mine—as is mine. Ah, me!"

"Doña Silvia, the way of love should not be difficult to one of your gentle spirit. Surely, you will find it, with all the joys bordering thereon."

Her eyebrows lifted almost imperceptibly. She moved a little away.

"Forgive me," he said anxiously, noting the movement. "I have entered forbidden ground."

"No, no, dear Alfredo. For you it is not forbidden ground. There is not a recess within my heart where you might not enter."

"You are more than kind, my good friend."

"Friend! Captain," showing some impatience, "friend! Good friend!" She tried to hide the sarcasm in her tone by an unusually alluring smile. "I am but one of your many, many good friends. Is it not so?" her voice sounding hard in spite of herself. "O, well, I must be content with whatever the gods see fit to bestow."

"Señora, you are not merely one of many. You are my most loyal, my warmest, my ever-remaining, ever-to-be-cherished, never-to-be-forgotten——" He paused, overcome by his own vehemence.

"You would scale barbed walls to carry away the señorita of the window pane," leaning wearily on her arm.

"Yes, dear Silvia, I would scale those walls," he went on, passionately. "I would scale them and bear you away," taking both her hands. Her warm breath was against his cheek. "I would—I would——" His voice choked.

"—Even sing love songs outside the window, to the accompaniment of the guitar. O, Alfredo!"

In space of time hardly more than an instant he saw the Señorita Carmelita's eyes flash behind the barred window; heard her gay banter at the house party; felt her soft hand in his as he had spoken love to her at the baile.

Very gently he moved away from the señora. Slowly he arose to his feet. The woman quickly realized the effect of her ill-chosen words. She arose also and stood leaning on the back of her chair. For a moment they looked at each other. She was the first to speak, a queer little smile stealing over her face.

"Well, Captain Morando, I have made report to you," the smile vanishing. "I must now—journey homeward."

He escorted the señora to her horse. Assisting her to mount he kissed her hand in parting salute.

She rode leisurely out of the pueblo, pleasantly exchanging greetings with acquaintances along the way. Once on the plains, however, she lashed her horse until the beast plunged and kicked in fury. She quelled him with bit and word, then rode at break-neck speed until he was winded.

The peon guard followed in wonderment.

CHAPTER XXIII
PEDRO ZELAYA BRINGS IMPORTANT NEWS

"On with the green boughs, Anselmo. Now, you, Francisco, the turpentine in plenty. Pronto! hombre. Pronto! Hasten! Diablo!"

The wind from the Yerba Buena side blew more and more strongly, and finally stiffened to a quarter gale.

"It is useless, Señor Zelaya," said the peon Anselmo. "The breeze from the bay so fans the blaze that there is no smoke at all, but all flame."

Don Pedro Zelaya and his peons were on a pinnacle of one of the high hills which skirt the eastern side of San Francisco harbor. Away at the south somewhere was the hacienda of Mendoza. On the roof of Mendoza's hacienda house by night and by day watchers scanned the north horizon for fire or smoke signals telling that the British fleet had sailed, and announcing, in the devious ways known to such signal-makers, the direction the ships had taken, together with other apt information.

"Caramba! Caramba!" stormed little Zelaya. "Bring more green leaves. Give over using that turpentine now. Perhaps we'll get some smoke after all."

The keen air breathed through the heaping leaves with a bellowslike sound. The fierce heat exuded the oil from the fiber and the flames roared with added vigor.

"Bring water!" commanded Zelaya. "We must have a signal-smoke here, or it means a wild dash on horseback to Mission San José. Bring water, I say."

"There is no water within a league, Señor Zelaya. Besides, the high wind would blow the smoke along the mountain top, not letting it form a column that would reach upward."

The excitable Zelaya ran to his horse tied to some brush near by. Taking his canteen from the saddle he poured the contents, a quart or so of water, on the blazing fire. There was a splutter, a sizzle, and the leaves burned as furiously as before.

The sun was just peeping over the eastern horizon. Zelaya looked intently, listening expectantly. When the wind lulled for a moment there came swelling over the hills the reenforced bellowings from tens of thousands of cattle throats.

"Ah! the herds are at last coming in from the San Joaquin bottoms. Well, we have other fish to fry besides thinking of that. Say! you, Anselmo, and you, Francisco, are you sure you caught all the signals right? No danger of mistake? Are you sure?"

The small black eyes of the peons glittered. "We wish we were as sure of heaven, Señor Zelaya. Our men saw the signal fire on the high mountains east of San José last night; saw the answer on Tamalpais. This morning at daybreak they saw the great white birds swim out in the direction of the south wind. Our young master, Roberto Morago, said that only cannon and heaps of cannon balls were on the decks. He saw it through his field glass from his station on the flank of Mount Diablo. We have brought you his word, Señor Zelaya, and our telling is true. It's no use; we cannot send a smoke signal in this wind."

Zelaya was already astride his mount. "It means a couple of hours' delay," he muttered, "a couple of hours which we can in no way afford."

He rode his horse furiously. The wind sang in his ears as he swept along. His face was set and hard, his eyes narrowing to burning sparks.

"So, the English ships have sailed southward, with decks cleared for action!" he thought. "Word must be given to Mendoza and the American commodore at once." Then with an oath: "What misfortune this strong wind was blowing on this of all mornings! Well, I'll get to Mission San José with the news if my horse holds out! or," he half laughed, "if he fails, I'll lasso a bull and press him into service."

The horseman slipped down the steep grades, passed the rancho of his neighbor, Señor Peralta; rode through the foothills comprising part of the grant of Don Luis Castro, and into the confines of his own property, the Rancho Arroyo San Lorenzo. Here he reined in for a moment, and allowed the animal to lope, an easy canter much affected in early-California days.

"Now, for Arroyo Seco, Mendoza's outpost! I'll find a fresh horse there in his corrals."

He spurred his horse which dashed along the foothills toward Mission San José. The bellowing of the returning cattle became plainer and plainer. The vanguard of the herds was already dotting the higher levels above him.

"Caramba! I'm none too far away, if I wish to avoid being caught in the press."

With word and quirt and spur he urged his horse forward. Mile after mile sped past.

"You, poor fellow, are pretty well done," to his animal as it labored along. "Well, I see Mendoza's corrals ahead. I'll leave you there in good hands, and get my saddle on another racer."

Many cattle and horses in the marshes adjacent on the bay had not been rounded up in the spring when the droves had been formed for the San Joaquin. They had swum across the intervening sloughs to the salt-grass pastures where fodder was more plentiful. After the rains had come these animals had returned to the valley lands and had grown fat.

Each stallion is a general having under him his lieutenants who, with him, form a guard for the protection of the mothers and foals of the family. As it is with the horse so is it with the cattle. The cows and calves follow the mighty leaders that afford them safety.

Thus, from the valley came hundreds of horses and cattle to meet the homecomers. They had scented their fellows from afar, and flew madly to the foothills, to do them battle. The vaqueros were miles away, in the rear of the swarming, home-coming herds. In time they would make peace by clubbing the fighting leaders over nose or horn with their heavy whip-stocks.

Zelaya was within half a mile of the Mendoza corral when a drove of fifty or more horses, led by a splendid dapple-gray stallion, came thundering from a deep hollow directly in front of him. The leader disdained battle with a single stranger and rushed by like the wind. Don Pedro turned rein and ran with the drove for safety. Little by little he lessened speed; then, as the way opened, he left the company forced on him and again turned toward the Mendoza corrals.

A hundred paces to the side a herd of cattle, led by an immense bull, was charging in the foothills. The leader saw the horseman and made for him viciously. The Spaniard waved his reata and shouted, "Hoop-la! Hoop-la!" after the manner of the vaquero. The herd paused, snorted; then, with head and tail up, looked on while their protector fought the enemy.

The bull lowered its head and rushed at him, roaring a tremendous bass defiance. The Spaniard swung his horse to one side, and the beast stumbled past him. Again and again was this repeated. Finally, the horse stepped into a hole and fell. The rider came to the ground on his feet, moved quickly aside, in time to avoid a furious rush from the tormentor. As the bull stopped in preparation for another attack Don Pedro sprang on its back.

"I have for myself a merienda," he thought, grimly, remembering the day when he had ridden the bull at the Calaveras picnic ground.

"Come, come, run to the corral, my lordly beast!"

The animal ran around and around in a circle, roaring terrifically.

"Carrajo! Carrajo! 'twill not do," called the rider. "I must make the corral. Go, now, you son of an imp! Run as I direct!"

Climbing out well on the shoulders he managed to reach the beast's nose with his spur. First kicking it on one side of the muzzle, then on the other, he succeeded in getting it started toward the corral.

"Grande! Grande!" he shouted. "You make not badly the mount. Hoop-la! Hoop-la! Pronto! Pronto!"

The bull ran under some trees, endeavoring to free itself from the incumbrance. Zelaya drew himself up into the branches.

"It is again the merienda, as I have said. Now, farewell, toro mio, I go to the corral and stables for a mount superior even to you."

The bull hurried back to his bellowing herd, and soon together they were tearing onward to the hills, to fight the myriad homecomers.

"A thousand and one devils! A thousand and one devils!" exclaimed Zelaya a few moments later. The corrals and stables were empty. The peon cots were vacant. Evidently, Mendoza had sent all available horses and men to the San Joaquin to bring home his grazing stock.

The little man did not hesitate. Off came his embroidered jacket, his outer, as well as his inner, shirt, then his long riding boots. He tossed his sombrero, heavy with gold, to one side.

"Behold! 'twould not be so bad, if I only had my running shoes."

The morning sun fell on his muscular torso, the runner's flat abdomen and well-sinewed limbs discernible through the knee-pants and leggings.

For an instant he pulled his short mustachios savagely. "I may meet more bulls and their families, and I have now no spurs," glancing at his discarded boots. "Well, if a bull chases me toward Mission San José I shall reach my goal all the quicker."

It was three leagues good, as the bird flies, to the Mendoza hacienda house, at the Mission. Don Pedro set off across country at a long, swinging gait which ate the miles like fire. For nearly a league he ran along cattle paths in the tall oats and drying mustard. Then he struck the main-traveled road. Here he rested for a moment.

"Diablo!" standing first on one foot, then on the other. "That dried grass has the edge of a knife!"

The roaring of cattle and the raucous threatening of a stallion sent him flying along instantly.

"A pest on it! I prefer the sharp grass edge to these infernal stones," the ragged pebbles in the road bruising and tearing his feet, while the dry grass had cut cleanly. Still he did not waver. Bright red spots showed on his cheeks; his breath came in quick gasps, but he did not slacken the wonderful pace he had set for himself.

Once a bull compelled him to climb a tree, and once he hid under a bank while a stallion led his squadron past. "I take the rest whether or no I need it," was his laconic thought at these times.

Finally he came in sight of the towers of Mendoza's house. It was yet a league away, and more. Don Pedro tightened his belt, looked at his bleeding feet, then at the mansion gleaming white in the sun. He surveyed the landscape in search of a horseman, but in vain.

He bathed his feet in a streamlet, then darted along the rough road at a speed that might, indeed, be fitly described as only less than that of a fast-galloping horse.

*******

"Commodore Billings, float the stars and stripes over Monterey before another sun goes out!"

In the Administrator's sitting room were gathered Billings, Hamilton, O'Donnell, and a score of land barons of the valley.

The American's mouth shut in a straight line. "You Spaniards, save a handful, are clamoring for English rule. Still, Señor Mendoza, you ask me to invest the capital of this province with my ships. To what end?"

"To afford our California opportunity to appeal from her inconsiderate self to her wiser self."

"Mendoza, I represent the United States. My office is to conserve, or advance, her interests."

"Señor Commodore, California is the key to the vast region north and east. With this province goes mastery of the Pacific from the Isthmus to the ice. No small addition to the United States of America."

"California, in her wiser thought, you intimate, would elect to become a province under my government. I so understand you, señor."

The Administrator nodded affirmatively.

"I am, then, to hold your capital pending this expected change of attitude?"

Again the affirmation from Mendoza.

"Very well, our Señor Hacendado, suppose the inevitable finds resting place on the other horn of this dilemma, and your province elects to become British?"

Several of the men were on their feet, speaking excitedly.

"Señor Billings, not one chance in ten of such an outcome," exclaimed Fulgencio Higuera. "Geographically we belong to the United States. In politics we are one with you. Give us time to think and all of us will say aye to this."

Diego Valencia and others seconded him.

"I voted in haste for English rule," said Luis Castro. "My preference is for your country, Señor Commodore."

"And I! And I!" from a dozen others.

Billings shrugged. "Your California Baja is solid for England."

"I have letters here from Señor Carillo, the Picos, and others prominent there, stating that these men will accept what is wisest for the province," replied Mendoza.

"Well said! Well said!" broke in the heavy voice of O'Donnell.

Billings looked around the room from one face to another. Finally, his eyes rested on Mendoza. "But there is a possibility if I take your capital that I may be asked to give it over to the English admiral. Is that not true? Your people, after all, may vote to become a British dependency," giving the table beside him a resounding blow with his clenched hand.

"A bare possibility—nothing more," said Mendoza, quietly.

"In which case I should have my trouble for my pains," asserted the American.

"You would, then, have aided a sovereign people to exercise their right of franchise. Surely, your government would uphold you in that. Besides, the chance is ten to one—yes, a hundred to one—that your flag will continue flying over the province," argued the Administrator.

Billings's heavy mustachios raised along his face in a peculiar smile. His bushy eyebrows were elevated. In a moment his features fell into their usual mold.

"If I do not take Monterey, what then?"

"Then comes England," replied Mendoza, his voice low and even, "and at the present—the present, mind you, I say—an apparent majority of our people would welcome her coming. If she comes, she will stay." He looked steadily at the other. "Señor the Commodore, it may be now or never for the Americans."

There was a rush of feet in the corridor, a clatter of excited native voices, angry expostulations, and then there burst into the room a figure which startled the grave assemblage nearly out of its senses. A man naked to the waist, his feet cut and bleeding, his face streaked with dust and perspiration. He was scarcely able to stand.

"Dios!" exclaimed Mendoza. "It's Señor Zelaya. What has happened?"

The perspiring, fainting man partially steadied himself. "The English fleet sailed—this morning—at daybreak—toward the south—decks cleared for action——" He collapsed and would have fallen had not Mendoza caught him.

Zelaya soon recovered. Quickly he told his story.

"By thunder! The English fleet stripped for battle! Hurrying to Monterey! I'll shoot their infernal rudders off!" cried the Commodore.

Hamilton, unsheathing his sword, bounded to the side of his superior.

Billings's blade gave answering flash.

Excited voices hushed under the swish of steel.

The officers and Mendoza strode from the room.

O'Donnell was already at his horse's side.

"On, for Half Moon Bay! You, O'Donnell, lead the way!" shouted Billings.

"Faith! Commodore, I'm in for the race, and it's bad luck catch the hindmost!" as O'Donnell swung to the saddle.

Tomaso and his peons, signaled by Mendoza, came hurrying with horses.

"I too will ride with the Commodore Americano," called Zelaya, forgetful of his fatigue.

"Not so, Pedro," from Mendoza. "A bed and a surgeon for thee."

The Administrator mounted his prized racer, Mercurio. He waved his hand. Instantly, Tomaso and his fighting peons reined their horses behind him in double file. Captain Hamilton stood with toe in stirrup, looking ruefully enough at the prospect of a jolting ride back to Half Moon Bay.

"Fall in, Captain!" called Billings.

In a moment the Captain was racing along the road, not second to many in the run.

CHAPTER XXIV
THE NEXT DAY

"It's ingratitude, I say, ingratitude worthy of a—Catalonian," puffed Colonel Barcelo, striding up and down the veranda on the second story of his house.

"But, dear husband, Captain Morando is not a Catalonian. He is Castilian, native of Madrid, just the same as we are."

The Colonel paused in his walk and glared at his wife. "All the worse for him! All the worse for him!" he roared. "He has birth and training of a lion and the instincts of a—a——" Breath failed him.

"O, dear husband!" in expostulation.

"Dear husband! Dear husband!" mockingly. "This is no time——" Sufficient breath had not returned to him to complete his thought.

"O, Crisostimo! Crisostimo!"

"Crisostimo! Crisostimo!" again mocking her. "I've always said, Señora Barcelo, that you have no pride, and that you talk too much."

"O, my husband, you don't love me any more. How I wish I had never come to California!"

"So do I," growled the husband.

"How dare you! How dare you!" bridled the little woman. "I believe, now, those stories about your drinking absinthe and gambling in Paris."

"Clarinda, love, I mean I wish we had never come to California, but that we had remained in Europe."

"Well, that sounds different."

"As for this Morando, why, confound those Catalonian instincts in him!"

"But he isn't a Catalonian."

"I nearly shot a villainous Catalan major once for less than what Morando has done," he blustered, ignoring his wife's remark.

"What has Captain Morando done? I'm sure he is a very good man, and everyone thinks him handsome."

"Handsome!" straightening his shoulders and looking down at his ample proportions. "Handsome! Why, once at a court ball where I was present half a dozen princesses——"

"Were present also, I presume," snappingly interrupted his wife. "Well, tell me about Morando."

"Clarinda, my dear," sententiously, "I've labored for position and power, not for my own sake, but that you should receive what is worthy of you. That has been my great ambition," pompously.

"How exceedingly nice of you!" half sarcastically from the señora, not yet quite mollified after her husband's reference to the princesses.

"I had climbed to a place where high honor was almost mine. Mexico goes out of California and England comes in. I had aimed to gain for myself governorship of the province, as well as the commandership-in-chief of all the land forces. Under England such a position should satisfy anyone. It would have satisfied me—at least, for the present; that is, my love, when you would be at my side sharing the honors."

"Where else would I be?" her wide-open eyes darkening a little.

"Nowhere else; nowhere else, my love—not with my consent."

"Nor mine either," firmly.

The Colonel floundered a moment. "Where was I when interrupted? O yes. At last I had attained a place proper and fitting for me—and for you, too, Clarinda. When I say 'I' I mean you also."

"Crisostimo, why didn't you say that at first?"

"First! Say it first! Well, I meant it first. Now, comes this Morando, this villainous Morando——"

"Crisostimo, he is no such thing," defended the señora with indignation.

"A man whom I have often fed at my own table——"

"You never did but once," again interrupting. "Other than that he has never eaten a bite in this house, except the coffee and cake sister Silvia gave him early one morning when he happened to be here."

"Well, he didn't deserve even that."

Señora Valentino came on the veranda. "Why, my dear brother, what has happened? Your face is red and perspiring, and you seem excited."

"O, Silvia, sweetheart. Crisostimo has been saying mean things about your friend Captain Morando."

"And with reason," interjected Barcelo, gruffly.

"How so?" queried the sister.

"My confidence in this Morando has been shattered to pieces."

"And how?"

"Just what I've asked him," from the Colonel's wife.

"I've just come from an interview with the English consul here. Found him closeted with that Farquharson. Well, they told me the English admiral is to take possession of Monterey to-morrow," from Barcelo.

"Why should that make you say mean things about the Captain?" asked his wife.

He puffed his cheeks and rested his palms upon his hips, in characteristic pose. "This Morando has been laying plans to capture for himself the combined office of governor and commander-in-chief of this province."

"O, Crisostimo," faintly from Señora Barcelo, "this cannot be true. You must be mistaken."

"Mistaken, wife! Mistaken! Why, that Farquharson told me himself, in cold blood, that Morando is to be given the office, and the English consul seconded the fellow."

"We all thought so much of the Captain," from his wife, nearly overcome.

"You'll see I'm right about the man," a triumphant note in the Colonel's voice.

"I know you are always right, Crisostimo, love."

"Well, poor little Clarinda, you are not to be governor's wife, nor yet wife of the commander-in-chief," he commiserated.

"We've always made the Captain so welcome when he came here, and he was such an intimate friend of you, Silvia. How could he have meditated such treason against us all?"

"Treason is just the name for it. But—England isn't here yet, and I've got something to say about her coming. I am comandante of this presidio."

"Why, of course!" his wife cheering up.

"Yes, of course! Of course," exulted the Colonel.

"Silvia," asked her sister, "haven't you something to suggest? People say you are so bright."

Señora Valentino turned away to hide her smile. "The English consul and Señor Farquharson told you that Captain Morando is to receive the honor of which you speak?" addressing Barcelo.

"Well, it was this way. You see, I forced their hand. Just pinned them down; so, yes, or no, was all they could say," with a knowing nod.