% -*- mode: tex -*- coding: utf-8 -*-
% Converted from RST master
%
\documentclass[a5paper]{book}

\usepackage{polyglossia}
\setotherlanguages{english}

\usepackage{xltxtra}

\defaultfontfeatures{Scale=MatchLowercase}
\setmainfont{Libertinus Serif}
\setsansfont{Libertinus Sans}
\setmonofont[HyphenChar=None]{DejaVu Sans Mono}

\usepackage{calc}
\usepackage{graphicx}
\usepackage{alltt}
\usepackage{float}

\usepackage{array} % longtable uses array if loaded
\usepackage{longtable}

\usepackage{booktabs} % typographical tables
\newcommand{\otoprule}{\midrule[\heavyrulewidth]}

\usepackage{lettrine} % dropcaps
\usepackage[implicit=false,colorlinks=true,linkcolor=blue]{hyperref}
\hypersetup{pdfcreator={Ebookmaker 0.12.48}}
\hypersetup{pdfauthor={Loyal

file:///public/vhost/g/gutenberg/html/files/35538/35538-rst/35538-rst.rst:2: (INFO/1) Enumerated list start value not ordinal-1: "C" (ordinal 3)}}
\hypersetup{pdftitle={The Squatter and the Don}}
\usepackage[open,openlevel=1]{bookmark}

\tolerance 10000  % dont make overfull boxes
\hbadness 1000    % warn if badness exceeds 1000

\catcode`@=11     % make 'private' LaTeX variables public
\catcode`\^^J=10  % don't let empty lines end paragraphs
\catcode`\^^M=10
\catcode`\"=12    % no electric quotes

\setlength{\textwidth} {\paperwidth  * 7 / 9}
\setlength{\textheight}{\paperheight * 7 / 9}

% round textheight to baselineskip
\small\normalsize
\advance\textheight by .5\baselineskip
\divide\textheight by \baselineskip
\multiply\textheight by \baselineskip
\advance\textheight by \topskip

\setlength{\topmargin}     {\paperheight / 9 - \topskip - \headsep - \headheight - 1in}

\setlength{\evensidemargin}{\paperwidth / 9 - 1in}
\setlength{\oddsidemargin} {\paperwidth / 9 - 1in}

% \setlength{\fboxsep}{0pt} % fbox used for debugging

\let\par=\endgraf % elude macro parameter protection

\begin{document}

\newcommand{\parindentamount}{24pt}
\setlength{\parindent}{\parindentamount}
\setlength{\parskip}{0pt}
\setlength{\parsep}{0pt}
% \setlength{\topsep}{0pt plus6pt}
\setlength{\footnotesep}{0pt}

% relax float restrictions
\renewcommand{\topfraction}{.85}
\renewcommand{\bottomfraction}{.7}
\renewcommand{\textfraction}{.15}
\renewcommand{\floatpagefraction}{.66}
\renewcommand{\dbltopfraction}{.66}
\renewcommand{\dblfloatpagefraction}{.66}
\setcounter{topnumber}{9}
\setcounter{bottomnumber}{9}
\setcounter{totalnumber}{20}
\setcounter{dbltopnumber}{9}

\setcounter{LTchunksize}{10000} % process tables in one chunk

% latex always wants a numeric parameter to \footnotemark and \footnotetext
% hack to get latex to accept any string as footnote label
\def\@xfootnotemark[#1]{%
   \begingroup
      \unrestored@protected@xdef\@thefnmark{#1}%
   \endgroup
   \@footnotemark}

\def\@xfootnotenext[#1]{%
  \begingroup
     \unrestored@protected@xdef\@thefnmark{#1}%
  \endgroup
  \@footnotetext}


% headers

% HACK! to avoid a page break between labels and section title
% standard secpenalty is -300
\@secpenalty = 0

\setcounter{secnumdepth}{-1} % no automatic section numbering
% \setcounter{tocdepth}{1} we don't use auto toc at present

% \def\pgpageno#1{\marginpar[\hfill\fbox{#1}]{\fbox{#1}}}

% \def\pglineno#1{\@mparswitchfalse\marginparsep-24pt\marginpar{#1}}

\def\sd{\dp\strutbox}

\def\pgpageno#1{\strut\vadjust{\kern-\sd\vtop to \sd{\baselineskip\sd\vss\vbox{\hbox to 0pt{\hss\footnotesize(#1)\kern 18pt}\null}}}}

\def\pglineno#1{\strut\vadjust{\kern-\sd\vtop to \sd{\baselineskip\sd\vss\vbox{\hbox to \hsize{\hfill #1\kern 24pt}\null}}}}

\floatstyle{boxed}
\newfloat{topic}{tbp}{loc}
\newfloat{sidebar}{tbp}{los}

\long\def\centerleft#1{%
  {\sbox\@tempboxa{#1}%
  \ifdim \wd\@tempboxa >\hsize
    #1\par
  \else
    {\centering #1\par}
  \fi}}

\setlength{\belowcaptionskip}{\smallskipamount}

\def\raggedright{%
  \let\\\@centercr
  \advance\rightskip\@flushglue
  \parindent\z@}

\def\centering{%
  \let\\\@centercr
  \advance\rightskip\@flushglue\advance\leftskip\@flushglue
  \parindent\z@\parfillskip\z@skip}

\def\raggedleft{%
  \let\\\@centercr
  \advance\leftskip\@flushglue
  \parindent\z@\parfillskip\z@skip}

\renewenvironment{verse}{\parindent\z@}{}

% insert vertical spacing
\def\vs#1{\vspace{#1\baselineskip}}

% one line of verse
\def\vl{\advance\leftskip48pt\hskip-48pt}

% define environments for most of the
% standard building blocks of a book

\def\startenv{%
  \thispagestyle{empty}%
}
\def\endenv{%
}

\newenvironment{container}{}{\par}

\newenvironment{coverpage_env}{\startenv}{\endenv}
\newenvironment{frontispiece_env}{\startenv}{\endenv}
\newenvironment{titlepage_env}{\startenv}{\endenv}
\newenvironment{verso_env}{\startenv}{\endenv}
\newenvironment{dedication_env}{\startenv}{\endenv}
\newenvironment{plainpage_env}{\startenv}{\endenv}
\newenvironment{contents_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{foreword_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{preface_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{introduction_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{prologue_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{epilogue_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{glossary_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{bibliography_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{index_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{colophon_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{pgfooter_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{pgheader_env}{}{}
\newenvironment{appendix_env}{}{}

\newdimen{\tablewidth} % helper

% \tracingpages=1

\frontmatter

\thispagestyle{empty}

{\noindent}
{\centering
{\LARGE\strut{The Squatter and the Don}}
\endgraf}
\par

% this is the default PG-RST stylesheet

% figure and image styles for non-image formats

% default transition

% default attribution

% -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-
\label{pg-header}%
\hypertarget{pg-header}{}%
{}

\begin{container}
\begin{pgheader_env}
\vs{2}
{\noindent}
\noindent
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the \hyperlink{project-gutenberg-license}{Project Gutenberg License}
included with this eBook or online at
{https://www.gutenberg.org/license}.
\par

\label{pg-machine-header}%
\hypertarget{pg-machine-header}{}%
{}

\begin{container}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
\noindent
Title: The Squatter and the Don
\par

\noindent
Author: C. Loyal
\par

\noindent
Release Date: March 09, 2011 {[}EBook \#35538{]}
\par

\noindent
Language: English
\par

\noindent
Character set encoding: UTF-8
\par

\label{pg-start-line}%
\hypertarget{pg-start-line}{}%
{}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
\noindent
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUATTER AND THE DON ***
\par
\end{container}

\label{pg-produced-by}%
\hypertarget{pg-produced-by}{}%
{}

\begin{container}
\vs{4}
{\noindent}
\noindent
Produced by David Edwards, Katherine Ward, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at {http://www.pgdp.net}.
\par


\vs{1}
{\noindent}
\noindent
This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.
\par
\end{container}
\end{pgheader_env}
\end{container}

\begin{container}
\begin{titlepage_env}
\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}

{\centering
{\Large\strut{THE SQUATTER AND THE DON}}
\endgraf}
\par}
\end{verse}

\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}

{\centering
{\footnotesize{A NOVEL DESCRIPTIVE OF CONTEMPORARY OCCURRENCES IN CALIFORNIA.}}
\endgraf}
\par}
\end{verse}

\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}

{\centering
BY
\endgraf}
\par}
{\vl 
{\centering
C. LOYAL.
\endgraf}
\par}
\end{verse}

\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
\endgraf}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\footnotesize{SAN FRANCISCO:}}
\endgraf}
\par}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\footnotesize{1885.}}
\endgraf}
\par}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
\endgraf}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
\endgraf}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\itshape{{\footnotesize{Copyright, 1885.}}}}
\endgraf}
\par}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\footnotesize{C. LOYAL.}}
\endgraf}
\par}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\scshape{{\footnotesize{San Francisco, Cal.}}}}
\endgraf}
\par}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
\endgraf}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\itshape{{\footnotesize{All Rights Reserved.}}}}
\endgraf}
\par}
\end{verse}
\end{titlepage_env}
\end{container}

\vs{1}
\penalty-300%
\label{section-1}%
\hypertarget{section-1}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
{\noindent}
TABLE OF CONTENTS.}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

\begin{container}
\begin{contents_env}
\begin{itemize}
\item[] {\noindent}
\hyperlink{chapter-i-squatter-darrell-reviews-the-past}{I. Squatter Darrell Reviews the Past.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-ii-the-don-s-view-of-the-treaty-of-guadalupe-hidalgo}{II. The Don's View of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-iii-pre-empting-under-the-law}{III. Pre-empting under the Law.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-iv-efforts-to-right-the-wrong}{IV. Efforts to Right the Wrong.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-v-the-don-in-his-broad-acres}{V. The Don in his Broad Acres.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-vi-naughty-dog-milord-an-important-factor}{VI. Naughty Dog Milord an Important Factor.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-vii-from-alameda-to-san-diego}{VII. From Alameda to San Diego.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-viii-victoriano-and-his-sister}{VIII. Victoriano and His Sister.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-ix-clarence-is-the-bearer-of-joyful-news}{IX. Clarence is the Bearer of Joyful News.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-x-but-clarence-must-not-be-encouraged}{X. But Clarence Must Not be Encouraged.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xi-george-is-a-christian-gentleman}{XI. George is a Christian Gentleman.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xii-why-the-appeal-was-not-dismissed}{XII. Why the Appeal was Not Dismissed.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xiii-at-san-francisco}{XIII. At San Francisco.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xiv-of-miscellaneous-incidents}{XIV. Of Miscellaneous Incidents.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xv-journeying-overland}{XV. Journeying Overland.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xvi-spanish-land-grants-viewed-retrospectively}{XVI. Spanish Land Grants Viewed Retrospectively.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xvii-dona-josefa-at-home}{XVII. Doña Josefa at Home.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xviii-at-newport}{XVIII. At Newport.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xix-in-new-york}{XIX. In New York.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xx-at-the-capitol}{XX. At the Capitol.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxi-looking-at-the-receding-dome}{XXI. Looking at the Receding Dome.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxii-perplexities-at-alamar}{XXII. Perplexities at Alamar.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxiii-home-again}{XXIII. Home Again.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxiv-the-brewers-of-mischief}{XXIV. The Brewers of Mischief.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxv-the-squatter-and-the-don}{XXV. The Squatter and the Don.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxvi-mrs-darrell-s-view-of-our-land-laws}{XXVI. Mrs. Darrell's View of Our Land Laws.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxvii-darrell-astonishes-himself}{XXVII. Darrell Astonishes Himself.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxviii-shall-it-be-forever}{XXVIII. Shall it be Forever?}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxix-hasty-decisions-repented-leisurely}{XXIX. Hasty Decisions Repented Leisurely.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxx-effect-of-bad-precept-and-worse-example}{XXX. Effect of Bad Precept and Worse Example.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxi-a-snow-storm}{XXXI. A Snow Storm.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxii-a-false-friend-sent-to-deceive-the-southerners}{XXXII. A False Friend Sent to Deceive the Southerners.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxiii-san-diego-s-sentence-is-irrevocable}{XXXIII. San Diego's Sentence is Irrevocable.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxiv-the-sins-of-our-legislators}{XXXIV. The Sins of Our Legislators!}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxv-the-fashion-of-justice-in-san-diego}{XXXV. The Fashion of Justice in San Diego.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxvi-clarence-and-george-with-the-hod-carrier}{XXXVI. Clarence and George with the Hod-carrier.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{chapter-xxxvii-reunited-at-last}{XXXVII. Reunited at Last.}\par

\item[] \hyperlink{conclusion-out-with-the-invader}{CONCLUSION.—Out with the Invader.}\par
\end{itemize}
\end{contents_env}
\end{container}

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-i-squatter-darrell-reviews-the-past}%
\hypertarget{chapter-i-squatter-darrell-reviews-the-past}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
{\noindent}
CHAPTER I.—{\scshape{Squatter Darrell Reviews the Past.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“To be guided by good advice, is to profit by the wisdom
of others; to be guided by experience, is to profit by wisdom
of our own,” said Mrs. Darrell to her husband, in her own
sweet, winning way, as they sat alone in the sitting room of
their Alameda farm house, having their last talk that evening,
while she darned his stockings and sewed buttons on his
shirts. The children (so-called, though the majority were
grown up) had all retired for the night. Mr. and Mrs. Darrell
sat up later, having much to talk about, as he would leave
next day for Southern California, intending to locate—somewhere
in a desirable neighborhood—a homestead claim.\par

“Therefore,” continued Mrs. Darrell, seeing that her husband
smoked his pipe in silence, adding no observations to
her own, “let us this time be guided by our own past history,
William—our experience. In other words, let us be wise,
my husband.”\par

“By way of variety, you mean,” said he smiling. “That is,
as far as I am concerned, because I own, frankly, that had I
been guided by your advice—your wisdom—we would be
much better off to-day. You have a right to reproach me.”\par

“I do not wish to do anything of the kind. I think reproaches
seldom do good.”\par

“No use in crying over spilt milk, eh?”\par

“That is not my idea, either. On the contrary, if by
‘{\itshape{milk}}’ it is meant all or any earthly good whatever, it is the
‘{\itshape{spilt milk}}’ that we should lament. There is no reason to
cry for the milk that has not been wasted, the good that is
not lost. So let us cry for the {\itshape{spilt milk}}, by all means, if by
doing so we learn how to avoid spilling any more. Let us
cry for the {\itshape{spilt milk}}, and remember how, and where, and
when, and why, we spilt it. Much wisdom is learnt through
tears, but none by forgetting our lessons.”\par

“But how can a man learn when he is born a fool?”\par

“Only an idiot is, truly speaking, a born fool; a fool to
such a degree that he cannot act wisely if he will. It is only
when {\itshape{perversity}} is added to foolishness, that a being—not an
idiot—is utterly a fool. To persist in acting wrongfully, that
is the real folly. To reject good counsel, either of one's own
good thoughts or the good thoughts of others. But to act
foolishly by deciding hastily, by lack of mature reflection,
that I should only call a foolish mistake. So, then, if we
have been foolish, let us at least utilize our foolishness by
drawing from it lessons of wisdom for the future. We cannot
conscientiously plead that we are born fools when we see our
errors.”\par

Mr. Darrell smilingly bowed, and with a voice much softer
than his usual stentorian tones, said:\par

“I understand, little wife, but I fear that my streak of perversity
is a broad one, and has solely been the bane of my
life; it has a fatality accompanying it. I have often seen the
right way to act, and yet I have gone with my eyes wide open
to do the wrong thing. And this, too, not meaning to do
harm to any one, nor wishing to be malicious or mean. I don't
know what power impelled me. But if you will forgive my
past wickedness, I'll try to do better.”\par

“Don't say that. Don't speak of your wickedness, for real
wickedness is perversity. You have acted wrongly at times,
when you have misapplied your rights and the rights of others,
but you have not intentionally done wrong. You are not perverse;
don't say that.”\par

“In a few days it will be twenty-four years since we crossed
the plains with our three babies, in our caravan of four wagons,
followed by our fine horses and choice Durham cows. I firmly
believed then, that with my fine stock and my good bank account,
and broad government lands, free to all Americans, I
should have given you a nice home before I was five years
older; that I would have saved money and would be getting
more to make us rich before I was old. But see, at the end
of twenty-four years, where and how do I find myself? I am
still poor, all I have earned is the name of ‘{\itshape{Squatter}}.’ That
pretty name (which I hate because you despise it) is what I
have earned.”\par

“Don't say that either, William. We will only recommence
one of numerous fruitless discussions. We are not poor, because
we have enough to live in comfort, and I do not despise
the name of Squatter, for it is harmless enough, but I do certainly
disapprove of acts done by men because they are squatters,
or to become squatters. They have caused much trouble
to people who never harmed them.”\par

“They, too, the poor squatters, have suffered as much distress
as they have caused, the poor hard-worked toilers.”\par

“That is very true, but I am afraid I shall never be able to
see the necessity of any one being a squatter in this blessed
country of plentiful broad acres, which a most liberal government
gives away for the asking.”\par

“That's exactly it. We aren't squatters. We are ‘{\itshape{settlers}}.’
We take up land that belongs to us, American citizens, by paying
the government price for it.”\par

“Whenever you take up government land, yes, you are ‘settlers,’
but not when you locate claims on land belonging to any
one else. In that case, you must accept the epithet of
‘{\itshape{Squatter}}.’”\par

Darrell set his teeth so tightly, that he bit a little chip
off his pipe. Mrs. Darrell went on as if she had not observed
her husband's flash of irritation.\par

“But I hope we will never more deserve such name; I trust
that before you locate any homestead claim in Southern California,
you will first inform yourself, very carefully, whether
any one has a previous claim. And more specially, I beg of you,
do not go on a Mexican grant unless you buy the land from
the owner. This I beg of you specially, and must {\itshape{insist upon
it}}.”\par

“And how am I to know who is the owner of a rancho that
has been rejected, for instance?”\par

“If the rancho is still in litigation, don't buy land in it, or
if you do, buy title from the original grantee, on fair conditions
and clear understanding.”\par

“I don't know whether that can be done in the Alamar
rancho, which I am going to see, and I know it has been rejected.
But of one thing you can rest assured, that I shall
not forget our sad experience in Napa and Sonoma valleys,
where—after years of hard toil—I had to abandon our home
and lose the earnings of years and years of hard work.”\par

“That is all I ask, William. To remember our experience
in Napa and Sonoma. To remember, also, that we are no
longer young. We cannot afford to throw away another twenty
years of our life; and really and truly, if you again go into a
Mexican grant, William, I shall not follow you there willingly.
Do not expect it of me; I shall only go if you compel me.”\par

“Compel you!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Compel you,
when you know I have obeyed you all my life.”\par

“Oh! no, William, not all your life, for you were well grown
before I ever saw you.”\par

“I mean ever since I went to Washington with my mind
made up to jump off the train coming back, if you didn't agree
to come North to be my commandant.”\par

“I don't think I have been a very strict disciplinarian,” she
said, smiling. “I think the subaltern has had pretty much his
own way.”\par

“Yes, when he thinks he might. But when the commandant
pulls the string, by looking sad or offended, then good-by
to the spirit and independence of the subaltern.”\par

“One thing I must not forget to ask you;” she said, going
back to the point of their digression, “and it is, not to believe
what those men have been telling you about the Alamar rancho
having been finally rejected. You know John Gasbang could
never speak the truth, and years have not made him more reliable.
As for Miller, Hughes and Mathews, they are dishonest
enough, and though not so brazen as Gasbang, they will misrepresent
facts to induce you to go with them, for they want
you with them.”\par

“I know they do; I see through all that. But I see, too,
that San Diego is sure to have a railroad direct to the Eastern
States. Lands will increase in value immediately; so I think,
myself, I had better take time by the forelock and get a good
lot of land in the Alamar grant, which is quite near town.”\par

“But, are you sure it is finally rejected?”\par

“I saw the book, where the fact is recorded. Isn't that
enough?”\par

“Yes, if there has been no error.”\par

“Always the same cautious Mary Moreneau, who tortured
me with her doubts and would not have me until Father White
took compassion on me,” said he, smiling, looking at her
fondly, for his thoughts reverted back to those days when Miss
Mary was {\itshape{afraid}} to marry him; but, after all, he won her
and brought her all the way from Washington to his New
England home.\par

William Darrell was already a well-to-do young farmer in
those days, a bachelor twenty-eight to thirty years of age, sole
heir to a flourishing New England farm, and with a good account
in a Boston bank, when Miss Mary Moreneau came to
New England from Washington to visit her aunt, Mrs. Newton.
As Mrs. Newton's husband was William Darrell's uncle, nothing
was more natural than for Mary to meet him at his uncle's
house. Nobody expected that William would fall in love with
her, as he seemed to be proof against Cupid's darts. The
marriageable maidens of William's neighborhood had in vain
tried to attract the obdurate young farmer, who seemed to
enjoy no other society than that of his uncle Newton and his
wife.\par

But Mary came and William surrendered at once. She,
however, gave him no encouragement. Her coldness seemed
only to inflame his love the more, until Miss Moreneau thought
it was best to shorten her visit and return home about the
middle of September.\par

“Why are you to return home so early?” Darrell asked
Mary, after Mrs. Newton had informed him of Mary's intention
of going.\par

“Because I think it is best,” she answered.\par

“Why is it best?”\par

“For several reasons.”\par

“May I be permitted to ask what are those reasons?”\par

“Certainly. One reason is, that as I came to see my aunt
and at the same time to rest and improve my health, and all
those objects have been accomplished, I might as well go home.
Then, my other aunt, with whom I reside, is not feeling well.
She went to spend the summer in Virginia, but writes that her
health has not improved much, and she will soon come back
to Washington. Then some of my pupils will want to recommence
their lessons soon, and I want to have some little time
to myself before I begin to work. You know, Mr. Darrell, I
teach to support myself.”\par

“Yes, only because you have a notion to do it.”\par

“A notion! Do you think I am rich?”\par

“No, but there is no need of your working.”\par

“It is a need to me to feel independent. I don't want
to be supported by my aunts, while I know how to earn my
own living.”\par

“Miss Mary, please, I beg of you, let me have the happiness
of taking care of you. Be my wife, I am not a rich man,
but I have enough to provide for you.”\par

“Mr. Darrell, you surprise me. I thank you for the compliment
you pay me with your honorable offer, but I have no
wish to get married.”\par

“Do you reject me, Miss Mary? Tell me one thing; tell
me truly, do you care for any one else?”\par

“No, I care for nobody. I don't want to marry.”\par

“But you will marry some time. If you knew how very
miserable you make me, I think you would not have the heart
to refuse me.”\par

“You will get over it. I am going soon. Forget me.”\par

Darrell made no answer. He staggered out of the room
and did not return until the following week, when Mary had
left for Washington, accompanied by Letitia, her colored
servant (called Tisha), who was devotedly attached to her.\par

Darrell had become rather taciturn and less sociable than
ever, Mrs. Newton noticed, and since Mary left he seemed to
lose flesh and all his spirits, and passed the winter as if life
were a burden to him. But when spring came, he brightened
up a little, though he felt far from happy. About that time
Mrs. Newton had a letter from Mary, saying that she was going
to spend vacation in Maryland with her other aunt, and Tisha
for her escort.\par

“She don't come here, because she fears I shall pester her
life with my visits. As she knows I can't keep away from her,
she keeps away from you. She hates me. I suppose you, too,
will take to hating me, by and by,” said Darrell, when he heard
that Mary was not coming that summer.\par

“No danger of that, William,” Mrs. Newton replied.\par

“Yes, there is. You ought to hate me for driving her away.
I hate myself worse than I hate the devil.”\par

“William, you mustn't feel so. It isn't right.”\par

“I know it. But when did I ever do anything right, I'd
like to know? I wish I could hate her as I hate myself, or as
she hates me.”\par

“William, she does not hate you.”\par

“How do you know she don't?”\par

“Because she would have told me. She is very truthful.”\par

“I know it. She gave me my walking papers in a jiffy. I
wish I could hate her.”\par

“William, do you promise not to get angry, if I tell you why
Mary declined your offer?”\par

“Say on. You couldn't well make a burning furnace any
hotter. I am too mad already.”\par

“Well, I'll tell you. She likes you, but is afraid of you.”\par

“Afraid? afraid?” said he, aghast—“why! that is awful!
I, an object of fear, when I worship the ground she treads on!
But, how? What have I done? When did I frighten her?”\par

“At no particular time; but often you gave her the impression
that you have a high temper, and she told me, ‘If I loved
Mr. Darrell better than my life, I wouldn't marry him, for I
could never be happy with a man of a violent temper.’ Then
she spoke, too, of her being a Roman Catholic and you a
Protestant.”\par

“But you are a Catholic and uncle is Protestant.”\par

“Certainly, I think the barrier is not insuperable.”\par

“So, my temper frightened her! It is awful!” He mused in
silence for a few minutes and then left the room.\par

About an hour after, he returned dressed for traveling, carrying
a satchel in one hand and a tin box under his arm. He
put the box on the table, saying:\par

“Aunt Newton, I am going away for a few days. Please
take care of this box until I return or you hear from me.
Good-by!” and he hurried away, for he had only barely time
to catch the train going to New York.\par

Darrell was in New York for a few hours. He bought a
finer suit of clothes, a very elegant light overcoat, hat and boots,
and gloves to match, and thus equipped so elegantly that he
hardly recognized himself, as he surveyed his figure in a large
mirror of the furnishing store, where he was so metamorphosed,
he took the night train for Washington.\par

It was early on a Sunday morning that Darrell arrived at
Washington. He went to a hotel, entered his name, took a
room, a bath and a breakfast, and then called a hack to go in
search of Mary. He knew that was not an hour for calling,
but he had {\itshape{business}} with Mary. His was no friendly visit; it
was a matter of life and death with him.\par

He rang the bell, and presently he heard Tisha's flapping
steps coming. “Lud a massa!” she exclaimed, stepping back.
But recovering herself, said with true heartiness—\par

“Come in the parlor, please. It is true glad Miss Mary will
be to see ye.”\par

“Do you think so, Tisha?” he asked.\par

“I know it; no thinking about it, neither. She is going to
mass; but she'll see you for a little while, anyway.”\par

Opening the parlor door for Darrell to walk in, Tisha ran
up stairs to Mary's room.\par

“Oh Miss Mary!” said she, “guess who is down stairs.”\par

“I couldn't, Tish, being so early and on Sunday, but I heard
a man's voice. Is it a gentleman?”\par

“You bet; ah! please excuse me, I mean sure as I live it is,
and no other than Mr. Darrell, from New England.”\par

“Ah!” said Miss Mary, affecting indifference, but her hands
trembled as she tied her bonnet strings.\par

Darrell knew he must appear self-contained and not in the
least impetuous, but when he saw those beautiful dark eyes of
Mary's he forgot all his pretended calmness.\par

“Is my aunt well?” Mary began as she came in.\par

“Yes, yes, everybody is well; don't be alarmed at my coming,
I know it must seem strange to you. Two days ago I had
no idea of coming to Washington, but Miss Moreneau, your
aunt told me you were not coming North this summer, and this
news nearly drove me crazy.”\par

“Oh, Mr. Darrell!”\par

“Wait, don't drive me off yet. Your aunt told me that you
refused me because you believe I have a violent temper. Now,
I am not going to deny that, but this I am going to say—That
I have never violated my word, and never shall, and I
make a most solemn oath to you, that if you will marry me
you shall never have occasion to be made unhappy or displeased
by my quick anger, because you will only have to remind
me of this pledge, and I shall curb my temper, if it kills
me.”\par

“Mr. Darrell, I believe you are perfectly sincere in what you
say, but a strong trait of character is not controlled easily. It
is more apt to be uncontrollable.”\par

“For God's sake don't refuse me, I feel I must kill myself
if you spurn me. I don't want life without you.”\par

“Don't say that,” Mary said, trying to keep calm, but she
felt as if being carried away in spite of herself, by the torrent
of his impetuosity. She was afraid of him, but she liked him
and she liked to be loved in that passionate rebellious way of
his; she smiled, adding, “we must postpone this conversation
for I must go to church, and it is quite a long walk there.”\par

“The carriage that brought me is at the door, take it, and
don't walk, it is quite warm out.”\par

“Will you go with me to church? You see, that is another
obstacle; the difference of religions.”\par

“Indeed, that is no obstacle; your religion tells you to pity me.”\par

“We will talk to Father White about that.”\par

“Then Mary, my beloved, will you give me hope?”\par

“And will you really try to control your anger when you feel
it is getting the mastery over you?”\par

“I will, so help me God,” said he, lifting his hand.\par

“Take care, that is an oath.”\par

“I know it, and mean it,” said he, much moved.\par

They went to church together. After church, Mary had a
few moments conversation with her pastor. She explained
everything to him. “Do you love him, my child,” asked the
good father, knowing the human heart only too well. Mary
blushed and said—\par

“Yes, father, I believe I do.”\par

“Very well, send him to see me to-morrow morning.”\par

Darrell had a long talk with Father White, and promised
solemnly not to coerce or influence his wife to change her religion,
and that should their union be blessed with children,
they should be baptized and brought up Catholics.\par

And his union was blessed. Mary made his New England
home a paradise, and eight children, sharing largely their
mother's fine qualities, filled to overflowing his cup of happiness.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-ii-the-don-s-view-of-the-treaty-of-guadalupe-hidalgo}%
\hypertarget{chapter-ii-the-don-s-view-of-the-treaty-of-guadalupe-hidalgo}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER II.—{\scshape{The Don's View of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
If there had been such a thing as communicating by telephone
in the days of '72, and there had been those magic wires
spanning the distance between William Darrell's house in
Alameda County and that of Don Mariano Alamar in San
Diego County, with power to transmit the human voice for five
hundred miles, a listener at either end would have heard
various discussions upon the same subject, differentiated only
by circumstances. No magic wires crossed San Francisco bay
to bring the sound of voices to San Diego, but the law of necessity
made the Squatter and the Don, distant as they were—distant
in every way, without reckoning the miles between
them—talk quite warmly of the same matter. The point of
view was of course different, for how could it be otherwise?
Darrell thought himself justified, and {\itshape{authorized}}, to “take up
lands,” as he had done before. He had had more than half
of California's population on his side, and though the “{\itshape{Squatter's
Sovereignty}}” was now rather on the wane, and the “{\itshape{squatter
vote}}” was no longer the power, still, the squatters would not
abdicate, having yet much to say about election times.\par

But Darrell was no longer the active squatter that he had
been. He controlled many votes yet, but in his heart he felt
the weight which his wife's sad eyes invariably put there when
the talk was of litigating against a Mexican land title.\par

This time, however, Darrell honestly meant to take no land
but what belonged to the United States. His promise to his
wife was sincere, yet his coming to Southern California had
already brought trouble to the Alamar rancho.\par

Don Mariano Alamar was silently walking up and down the
front piazza of his house at the rancho; his hands listlessly
clasped behind and his head slightly bent forward in deep
thought. He had pushed away to one side the many arm-chairs
and wicker rockers with which the piazza was furnished.
He wanted a long space to walk. That his meditations were
far from agreeable, could easily be seen by the compressed lips,
slight frown, and sad gaze of his mild and beautiful blue eyes.
Sounds of laughter, music and dancing came from the parlor;
the young people were entertaining friends from town with
their usual gay hospitality, and enjoying themselves heartily.
Don Mariano, though already in his fiftieth year, was as fond
of dancing as his sons and daughters, and not to see him come
in and join the quadrille was so singular that his wife thought
she must come out and inquire what could detain him. He
was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear her voice
calling him—\par

“What keeps you away? Lizzie has been looking for you;
she wants you for a partner in the lancers,” said Doña Josefa,
putting her arm under that of her husband, bending her head
forward and turning it up to look into his eyes.\par

“What is the matter?” she asked, stopping short, thus
making her husband come to a sudden halt. “I am sure
something has happened. Tell me.”\par

“Nothing, dear wife. Nothing has happened. That is to
say, nothing new.”\par

“More squatters?” she asked. Señor Alamar bent his head
slightly, in affirmative reply.\par

“More coming, you mean?”\par

“Yes, wife; more. Those two friends of squatters Mathews
and Hager, who were here last year to locate claims and went
away, did not abandon their claims, but only went away to
bring proselytes and their families, and a large invoice of them
will arrive on to-morrow's steamer. The worst of it all is,
that among the new comers is that terrible and most dangerous
squatter William Darrell, who some years ago gave so much
trouble to the Spanish people in Napa and Sonoma Counties,
by locating claims there. John Gasbang wrote to Hogsden
that besides Darrell, there will be six or seven other men
bringing their families, so that there will be more rifles for my
cattle.”\par

“But, didn't we hear that Darrell was no longer a squatter,
that he is rich and living quietly in Alameda?”\par

“Yes, we heard that, and it is true. He is quite well off,
but Gasbang and Miller and Mathews went and told him that
my rancho had been rejected, and that it is near enough to
town to become valuable, as soon as we have a railroad. Darrell
believed it, and is coming to locate here.”\par

“Strange that Darrell should believe such men; I suppose
he does not know how low they are.”\par

“He ought to know them, for they were his teamsters when
he crossed the plains in '48. That is, Miller, Mathews, Hughes
and Hager, were his teamsters, and Gasbang was their cook—the
cook for the hired men. Mrs. Darrell had a colored
woman who cooked for the Darrell family; she despised Gasbang's
cooking as we despise his character, I suppose.”\par

Doña Josefa was silent, and holding to her husband's arm,
took a turn with him up and down the piazza.\par

“Is it possible that there is no law to protect us; to protect
our property; what does your lawyer say about obtaining redress
or protection; is there no hope?” she asked, with a sigh.\par

“Protection for our land, or for our cattle, you mean?”\par

“For both, as we get it for neither,” she said.\par

“In the matter of our land, we have to await for the attorney
general, at Washington, to decide.”\par

“Lizzie was telling Elvira, yesterday, that her uncle Lawrence
is a friend of several influential people in Washington,
and that George can get him to interest himself in having
your title decided.”\par

“But, as George is to marry my daughter, he would be the
last man from whom I would ask a favor.”\par

“What is that I hear about not asking a favor from me?”
said George Mechlin, coming out on the piazza with Elvira on
his arm, having just finished a waltz—“I am interested to
know why you would not ask it.”\par

“You know why, my dear boy. It isn't exactly the thing to
bother you with my disagreeable business.”\par

“And why not? And who has a better right? And why
should it be a bother to me to help you in any way I can? My
father spoke to me about a dismissal of an appeal, and I made
a note of it. Let me see, I think I have it in my pocket
now,”—said George, feeling in his breast pocket for his memorandum
book,—“yes, here it is,—‘For uncle to write to the
attorney general about dismissing the appeal taken by the
squatters in the Alamar grant, against Don Mariano's title,
which was approved.’ Is that the correct idea? I only made
this note to ask you for further particulars.”\par

“You have it exactly. When I give you the number of the
case, it is all that you need say to your uncle. What I want
is to have the appeal dismissed, of course, but if the attorney
general does not see fit to do so, he can, at least, remand back
the case for a new trial. Anything rather than this killing
suspense. Killing literally, for while we are waiting to have
my title settled, the {\itshape{settlers}} (I don't mean to make puns), are
killing my cattle by the hundred head, and I cannot stop
them.”\par

“But are there no laws to protect property in California?”
George asked.\par

“Yes, some sort of laws, which in my case seem more intended
to help the law-breakers than to protect the law-abiding,”
Don Mariano replied.\par

“How so? Is there no law to punish the thieves who kill
your cattle?”\par

“There are some enactments so obviously intended to favor
one class of citizens against another class, that to call them
laws is an insult to law, but such as they are, we must submit
to them. By those laws any man can come to my land, for
instance, plant ten acres of grain, without any fence, and then
catch my cattle which, seeing the green grass without a fence,
will go to eat it. Then he puts them in a ‘{\itshape{corral}}’ and makes
me pay damages and so much per head for keeping them, and
costs of legal proceedings and many other trumped up expenses,
until for such little fields of grain I may be obliged to pay thousands
of dollars. Or, if the grain fields are large enough to
bring more money by keeping the cattle away, then the settler
shoots the cattle at any time without the least hesitation,
only taking care that no one sees him in the act of firing
upon the cattle. He might stand behind a bush or tree and
fire, but then he is not seen. No one can swear that they
saw him actually kill the cattle, and no jury can convict him,
for although the dead animals may be there, lying on the ground
shot, still no one saw the settler kill them. And so it is all
the time. I must pay damages and expenses of litigation, or
my cattle get killed almost every day.”\par

“But this is infamous. Haven't you—the cattle owners—tried
to have some law enacted that will protect your property?”
George asked. “It seems to me that could be done.”\par

“It could be done, perhaps, if our positions were reversed,
and the Spanish people—‘{\itshape{the natives}}’—were the planters of
the grain fields, and the Americans were the owners of the cattle.
But as we, the Spaniards, are the owners of the Spanish—or
Mexican—land grants and also the owners of the cattle
ranchos, our State legislators will not make any law to protect
cattle. They make laws ‘{\itshape{to protect agriculture}}’ (they say
proudly), which means to drive to the wall all owners of cattle
ranchos. I am told that at this session of the legislature a law
more strict yet will be passed, which will be ostensibly ‘to protect
agriculture,’ but in reality to destroy cattle and ruin the
native Californians. The agriculture of this State does not require
legislative protection. Such pretext is absurd.”\par

“I thought that the rights of the Spanish people were protected
by our treaty with Mexico,” George said.\par

“Mexico did not pay much attention to the future welfare
of the children she left to their fate in the hands of a nation
which had no sympathies for us,” said Doña Josefa, feelingly.\par

“I remember,” calmly said Don Mariano, “that when I
first read the text of the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, I felt a
bitter resentment against my people; against Mexico, the
mother country, who abandoned us—her children—with so
slight a provision of obligatory stipulations for protection.
But afterwards, upon mature reflection, I saw that Mexico
did as much as could have been reasonably expected at the
time. In the very preamble of the treaty the spirit of peace
and friendship, which animated both nations, was carefully
made manifest. That spirit was to be the {\itshape{foundation}} of the
relations between the conqueror and conquered. How could
Mexico have foreseen then that when scarcely half a dozen years
should have elapsed the trusted conquerors would, ‘{\itshape{In Congress
Assembled}},’ pass laws which were to be retroactive upon
the defenceless, helpless, conquered people, in order to despoil
them? The treaty said that our rights would be the same as
those enjoyed by all other American citizens. But, you see,
Congress takes very good care not to enact retroactive laws for
Americans; laws to take away from American citizens the
property which they hold {\itshape{now}}, already, with a recognized legal
title. No, indeed. But they do so quickly enough with us—with
us, the Spano-Americans, who were to enjoy equal rights,
mind you, according to the treaty of peace. This is what seems
to me a breach of faith, which Mexico could neither presuppose
nor prevent.”\par

“It is nothing else, I am sorry and ashamed to say,” George
said. “I never knew much about the treaty with Mexico, but
I never imagined we had acted so badly.”\par

“I think but few Americans know or believe to what extent
we have been wronged by Congressional action. And truly, I
believe that Congress itself did not anticipate the effect of its
laws upon us, and how we would be despoiled, we, the conquered
people,” said Don Mariano, sadly.\par

“It is the duty of law-givers to foresee the effect of the laws
they impose upon people,” said Doña Josefa.\par

“That I don't deny, but I fear that the conquered have
always but a weak voice, which nobody hears,” said Don Mariano.
“We have had no one to speak for us. By the treaty
of Guadalupe Hidalgo the American nation pledged its honor
to respect our land titles just the same as Mexico would have
done. Unfortunately, however, the discovery of gold brought
to California the riff-raff of the world, and with it a horde of
land-sharks, all possessing the privilege of voting, and most
of them coveting our lands, for which they very quickly began
to clamor. There was, and still is, plenty of good government
land, which any one can take. But no. The forbidden
fruit is the sweetest. They do not want government land.
They want the land of the Spanish people, because we ‘have
too much,’ they say. So, to win their votes, the votes of the
squatters, our representatives in Congress helped to pass laws
declaring all lands in California open to pre-emption, as in
Louisiana, for instance. Then, as a coating of whitewash to
the stain on the nation's honor, a ‘land commission’ was established
to examine land titles. Because, having pledged the
national word to respect our rights, it would be an act of despoliation,
besides an open violation of pledged honor, to take
the lands without some pretext of a legal process. So then,
we became obliged to present our titles before the said land
commission to be examined and approved or rejected. While
these legal proceedings are going on, the squatters locate their
claims and raise crops on our lands, which they convert into
money to fight our titles. But don't let me, with my disagreeable
subject spoil your dance. Go back to your lancers,
and tell Lizzie to excuse me,” said Don Mariano.\par

Lizzie would not excuse him. With the privilege of a future
daughter-in-law, she insisted that Don Mariano should be her
partner in the lancers, which would be a far pleasanter occupation
than to be walking up and down the porch thinking about
squatters.\par

Don Mariano therefore followed Lizzie to their place in the
dance. Mercedes sat at the piano to play for them. The
other couples took their respective positions.\par

The well-balanced mind and kindly spirit of Don Mariano
soon yielded to the genial influences surrounding him. He
would not bring his trouble to mar the pleasure of others. He
danced with his children as gaily as the gayest. He insisted
that Mr. Mechlin, too, should dance, and this gentleman graciously
yielded and led Elvira through a quadrille, protesting
that he had not danced for twenty years.\par

“You have not danced because you were sick, but now you
are well. Don't be lazy,” said Mrs. Mechlin.\par

“You would be paying to San Diego climate a very poor
compliment by refusing to dance now,” George added.\par

“That is so, papa. Show us how well you feel,” Lizzie said.\par

“I shall have to dance a hornpipe to do that,” Mr. Mechlin
answered, laughing.\par

To understand this remark better, the reader must know
that Mr. James Mechlin had come to San Diego, four years
previously, a living skeleton, not expected to last another winter.
He had lost his health by a too close application to business,
and when he sought rest and relaxation his constitution
seemed permanently undermined. He tried the climate of
Florida. He spent several years in Italy and in the south of
France, but he felt no better. At last, believing his malady
incurable, he returned to his New York home to die. In New
York a friend, who also had been an invalid, but whose health
had been restored in Southern California, advised him to try
the salubrious air of San Diego. With but little hope, and
only to please his family, Mr. Mechlin came to San Diego, and
his health improved so rapidly that he made up his mind to
buy a country place and make San Diego his home. William
Mathews heard of this, and offered to sell his place on what
Mr. Mechlin thought very moderate terms. A lawyer was
employed to pass upon the title, and on his recommendation
the purchase was made. Mr. Mechlin had the Mathews house
moved back near the barn, and a new and much larger one
built. When this was finished the Mechlins moved into it,
and Mr. Mechlin devoted himself to cultivating trees and
flowers, and his health was bettered every day. This was the
compensation to his wife and two daughters for exiling themselves
from New York; for it was exile to Caroline and Lizzie
to give up their fine house in New York City to come and live
on a California rancho.\par

Soon, however, these two young ladies passed their time
more pleasantly, after making the acquaintance of the Alamar
family, and soon their acquaintance ripened into friendship, to
be made closer by the intended marriage of Gabriel—Don
Mariano's eldest son—to Lizzie. Shortly after, George—Mr.
Mechlin's only son—came on a visit, and when he returned to
New York he was already engaged to Elvira, third daughter of
Señor Alamar.\par

Now, George Mechlin was making his second visit to his
family. He had found New York so very dull and stupid on
his return from California that when Christmas was approaching
he told his uncle and aunt—with whom he lived—that he
wanted to go and spend Christmas and New Year's Day with
his family in California.\par

“Very well; I wish I could go with you. Give my love to
James, and tell him I am delighted at his getting so well,” Mr.
Lawrence Mechlin said, and George had his leave of absence.
Mr. Lawrence Mechlin was president of the bank of which
George was cashier, so it was not difficult for him to get the
assistant cashier to attend to his duties when he was away,
particularly as the assistant cashier himself was George's most
devoted friend. George could have only twelve days in California,
but to see Elvira for even so short a time he would have
traveled a much longer distance.\par

Mr. James Mechlin affirmed repeatedly that he owed his
improved health to the genial society of the Alamar family as
much as to the genial climate of San Diego County. Mr.
Mechlin, however, was not the only one who had paid the
same tribute to that most delightful family, the most charming
of which—the majority vote said—was Don Mariano himself.
His nobility of character and great kindness of heart were well
known to everybody.\par

The Alamar family was quite patriarchal in size, if the collateral
branches be taken into account, for there were many
brothers, nephews and nieces. These, however, lived in the
adjoining rancho, and yet another branch in Lower California,
in Mexico. Don Mariano's own immediate family was composed
of his wife and six children, two sons and four daughters.\par

All of these, as we have seen, were having a dance. The
music was furnished by the young ladies themselves, taking
their turn at the piano, assisted by Madam Halier (Mercedes'
French governess), who was always ready to play for the girls
to dance. Besides the Mechlins, there were three or four young
gentlemen from town, but there were so many Alamares (brothers,
nieces and nephews, besides) that the room seemed quite
well filled. Such family gatherings were frequent, making the
Alamar house very gay and pleasant.\par

George Mechlin would have liked to prolong his visit, but
he could not. He consoled himself looking forward to the
ninth of June, when he would come again to make a visit of
two months' duration. On his return East, before renewing
his duties at the bank, he went to Washington to see about the
dismissal of the appeal. Unfortunately, the attorney general
had to absent himself about that time, and the matter being
left with the solicitor general, nothing was done. George
explained to Don Mariano how the matter was delayed, and
his case remained undecided yet for another year longer.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-iii-pre-empting-under-the-law}%
\hypertarget{chapter-iii-pre-empting-under-the-law}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER III.—{\scshape{Pre-empting under the Law.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“All aboard for San Diego!” shouted a voice from a wagon,
as it rumbled past Darrell, who walked leisurely with a satchel
in his hand, swinging it unconsciously, lost in thought. He
looked up and saw that the wagon whence the voice came carried
ten or twelve men, sitting on trunks and packages and
carpet-bags. These men Mathews and Gasbang had presented
to him, saying that they were settlers already residing at the
Alamar rancho, and others who were going down to take up
claims, at the same time that he would locate his. Darrell
looked at his future neighbors with feelings of anything but
pleasure. The broad, vulgar face of Gasbang, with its square
jaws, gray beard, closely clipped, but never shaved, his compressed,
thin, bloodless lips, his small, pale, restless eyes and
flat nose, Darrell soon recognized, though the wagon was going
rapidly. Mathews' visage was equally noticeable for its ugliness,
though of a different type; for his face was long and
shaved; his nose was pinched and peaked and red; his cheeks
were flabby; and his long, oily, dusty, hair dragged over his
neck in matted, meshy locks, while a constant frown settled on
his brow. As he was broad-shouldered and rather tall, his
face seemed made for some other man much weaker than himself.
His face looked mean and discontented, while his body
seemed strong and self-reliant.\par

The wagon had arrived and gone away, and the men had
walked aboard the boat, when Darrell, still swinging his satchel
abstractedly, stood on the wharf looking at the steamer as if
not quite resolved to go. He felt no sympathy, no liking, for
any of those men with whom he was now associated.\par

It was different to have Gasbang as his hired man, as
before, but now he was not under orders, and was much older.
Years, moreover, had not improved his low nature. Darrell
had no higher opinion of the others. He was sure these were
not the sort of people whom his wife would like to have for
neighbors. He felt self-accused and irresolute. A shout from
Gasbang, who was observing him from the steamer's deck,
made Darrell look up quickly, ashamed of having betrayed his
irresolution. “I can return immediately, if things don't suit
me,” he thought, walking towards the gang-plank.\par

“Come on. Your luggage is all aboard, I took care of it,”
Gasbang said, coming to meet him. He snatched Darrell's
satchel, in friendly obsequiousness, to carry it for him. “Come
along; you'll be left,” said he, and Darrell followed him, half-disgusted
at his vulgar officiousness. “I got your berth for
you. The steamer is so crowded, that men have to be crammed
into rooms by the bunch, so you and I and Mathews must
room together.”\par

“That is all right,” said Darrell, with a shiver of disgust,
and went to take a seat on deck where he could be alone.\par

The bustle and hurry of getting off was over at last, and the
steamer was furrowing her way through the spacious bay of San
Francisco towards the Golden Gate. Groups of passengers
stood here and there, admiring the beautiful harbor and its
surrounding country. Darrell sat alone, fixing his gaze upon
the receding verdure of Alameda County. Above that green,
undulating line of diminishing hills, which seemed to fly from
him, Darrell could see plainly one face, one form, beautiful to
him as none other could be, the face and form of his wife, his
beloved Mary. This was the first time he had ever left her for
any longer time than a two days' absence, since they were
married. Now he might be absent several months, for if he
decided to locate in San Diego County, he would first build a
house before he sent for his family. He would first send for
Clarence—his eldest son—and then, when a comfortable home
was prepared, the family would come.\par

The voyage down the coast was made safely. Darrell had
managed to keep away from his fellow-travelers, to think of
home unmolested.\par

It was a bright morning of January, 1872, when he stood
far forward, watching the course of the steamer Orizaba, as she
made her way around Point Loma, then between Ballast Point
and the sandy peninsula, and passing by La Playa, came in
sight of San Diego city.\par

“Here we are,” said John Gasbang; “how do you like the
looks of our little city, Mr. Darrell?”\par

“Very well; it is larger than I supposed, and the site of it
seems very pleasant.”\par

“Pleasant! I should say it was. A perfect slope, sir, as
gentle and regular as if made to order. The best drained city
in the world, sir, when we put in sewers. Too poor for that,
yet, sir, but we are coming to it, sir, growing, growing, sir.”\par

“When we get the railroad,” added Mathews, with a mouth
full of tobacco, spitting profusely on the deck.\par

“Exactly, and we'll soon have that. Our news from Washington
is very encouraging. Tom Scott will visit us this
summer,” Gasbang said.\par

“I like a town with plenty of trees,” said Darrell, with his
gaze fixed on the approaching panorama, thinking that his wife
would be pleased with the place, she being so fond of trees.
“I had no idea you had so many trees about you. Many are
small, yet, but all seem healthy.”\par

“And health-giving trees, they are, too. Most of them are
eucalyptus and pepper trees, the healthiest in the world. You
never hear of any malarial fevers in San Diego, sir, never.
Our perfect climate, the fine sloping ground of our town site,
our eucalyptus trees, sea breezes and mountain air, make San
Diego a most healthy little city,” said Gasbang.\par

“That is an excellent recommendation, as life is not worth
having without health,” Darrell observed.\par

“We have it here,” Hughes said. “A man has to be very
imprudent not to keep well in our climate, sir. All we want
now is a little stimulus of business prosperity, and the railroad
is sure to bring us that. Then San Diego will be the best place
on the coast for a residence.”\par

The loud report of a cannon, close by, made Darrell jump
and look around quickly, not knowing what that explosion
could mean.\par

“That is our visiting card to the people of San Diego, to
announce our coming,” said the captain, laughingly. “I am
sorry it startled you.”\par

“That is nothing. I didn't know I had nerves. I believe
that is what women call it. I was not expecting such a military
salute,” Darrell said.\par

“O yes, we always give it. The San Diego people are very
military. At least, I should say the settlers on Señor Alamar's
rancho are, as I hear they practice rifle shooting there all the
time,” the captain said, looking at Mathews and Gasbang.\par

“That is a shot at us,” Gasbang answered, laughing.\par

“But it is a blank cartridge, meant not to hurt,” the captain
replied.\par

“The rifle practice is in dark nights,” said a young Spaniard,
who had been listening at what was said by the others.\par

“Or in the daytime, if the cattle deserve it,” Mathews said.\par

“That is very creditable and brave, to shoot tame cows,” the
Spaniard rejoined.\par

“Perhaps you had better come and try it,” Mathews returned.\par

“Thank you. It is the mischievous brutes I would like to
shoot, not the good, useful cattle;” so saying, the Spaniard
walked away, followed by the scowls of the settlers.\par

“That is impudence for you,” Gasbang exclaimed.\par

“Those greasers ain't half crushed yet. We have to tame
them like they do their mustangs, or shoot them, as we shoot
their cattle,” said Mathews.\par

“O, no. No such violent means are necessary. All we have
to do is to take their lands, and finish their cattle,” said
Hughes, sneeringly, looking at Darrell for approval. But he
did not get it. Darrell did not care for the Spanish population
of California, but he did not approve of shooting cattle in the
way which the foregoing conversation indicated. To do this,
was useless cruelty and useless waste of valuable property, no
matter to whom it might belong. To destroy it was a loss to
the State. It was folly.\par

“Why must cattle be shot? Can't they be kept off, away
from your crops without shooting them?” he asked.\par

“Not always. At first, that is, for the first three years after
we located our claims,” Gasbang said; “we had to shoot them
all the time. Now the Don has sold a good many, or sent
them to the mountains, so that few have been killed.”\par

“I suppose fencing would be too expensive.”\par

“Phew! It would be ruinous, impossible,” Mathews said.\par

“Mr. Mechlin is the only one who has attempted to put up
any fences,” Romeo said, who had been listening in silence.\par

“He did so, because he is an old hypocrite,” Mathews said.\par

“Because his daughter Lizzie is going to marry Gabriel
Alamar, and of course, they have to be on friendly terms,”
said Hughes.\par

“That ain't the reason. He fenced a hundred acres the
first year, and he never sows outside, so that he's not at all
troubled by the Don's cattle,” said Romeo.\par

“But Gabriel is going to marry Lizzie all the same, and the
two families are as thick as can be. Old Mechlin has gone
back on us. I wish he would go away,” Mathews said.\par

“Why should he go? He paid a very good price for his
farm, and has made many improvements,” said Romeo.\par

“Who did he buy from?” asked Darrell.\par

“From me. I sold him that claim, and took up another a
mile up the valley,” said Mathews.\par

“And a good bargain it was, too,” Romeo observed.\par

Mathews gave him a black look, but made no answer.\par

The steamer had now reached the wharf. The deck was
filled with passengers and their baggage ready for shore. Pittikin,
with wife and daughters blonde and freckled, and Hughes,
with his wife and daughters dark and gypsy-looking, were all
there, ready for their drive to Alamar.\par

There were several wagons, light and heavy, waiting to convey
the newly-arrived and their luggage to the Alamar rancho.
Darrell, having his choice of conveyances, preferred to go in a
light wagon with Romeo Hancock, but Gasbang and Mathews
joined him. Miller and Hager had come to meet their prodigal
sons, who had been in San Francisco for several months, when
they had permission to remain only a few weeks. But they
had fallen into Peter Roper's company, and that individual had
represented the fascinations of whiskey most alluringly to
them, advising them to have a good time now that they had
the opportunity. They yielded to the tempter, and now had
returned home like repentant prodigals.\par

In a few hours Darrell was driving by Don Mariano Alamar's
house, a one-story mansion on a low hill, with a broad piazza in
front, and in the interior a court formed by two wings, and a row
of rooms variously occupied at its back. That the house was
commodious, Darrell could see. There was a flower garden in
front. At the back there were several “{\itshape{corrales}}” for cattle
and horses. At the foot of the hill, on the left, there was an
orchard, and some grain fields enclosed with good fences.\par

Darrell took notice of all these particulars. He also noticed
that there were females on the front piazza. He was
taken to see the best unoccupied lands to make his selection.
He ran his practiced eye over the valley from the highest point
on the hill. He then came to the next bench; he stopped
there, also, and finally came to the broad slope of the foothills.\par

“I think I'll locate here,” said he, “if no one else has already
filed a claim to this land.”\par

This he said to his fellow-settlers, all being present, addressing
all.\par

“I am sure I have no objection,” said Hughes.\par

“Nor I, neither,” said Gasbang. “What do you say, Pittikin
and Mathews? Do you know {\itshape{if}} this land is located, or
who done it?”\par

Mathews shook his head in the negative, and kept on chewing
his tobacco in silence.\par

Pittikin said, “I reckon nobody is located here, and if they
{\itshape{done it}}, why don't they leave stakes? They leave no stakes,
no notice to settlers; they can't make any row if somebody else
takes the land.”\par

“Well, I want to respect everybody's right; so I want you all
to bear witness, that I found no stakes or notices of anybody.
I don't want to jump anybody's claim; I want a fair deal. I
shall locate two claims here—one in my own name and one for
my oldest son, Clarence,” said Darrell.\par

“You'll take 320 acres?” asked Hughes.\par

“Yes, 320 acres,—according to law,” replied Darrell.\par

“All right. Let us measure them now,” said Gasbang. “We
have time to mark the limits and put the corner stakes. I have
a cord here in my wagon, which is a chain's length. That will
do the business.”\par

“That will do temporarily, I suppose; but I'll have the
two claims properly surveyed afterwards according to law,”
Darrell said.\par

“Of course, you will. We all know you will do the fair
thing by everybody, and follow the law strictly,” said Hughes.
In which opinion all concurred.\par

“Have you all made your selections?” Darrell asked Hughes.\par

“Yes; Pittikin and I will locate near Hancock. We like
that valley; it is further off, but better soil,” said Hughes. “My
oldest boy will put a claim near me, and Miller's two boys
have staked theirs also. I think we'll like that location better.”\par

“I am glad you like it. I think this is good enough soil for
me,” Darrell said.\par

“It is good enough for anybody. The whole rancho is all
good soil. Let us put the stakes now,” said Gasbang; and
assisted by Mathews, Romeo Hancock and Sumner Pittikin,
Darrell proceeded by making a rough guess to measure 320
acres (more or less), and put the corner stakes.\par

“This is what I call business,” said Gasbang, carrying cheerfully
one end of the rope used for measurement; “and all
inside of the law. That is the beauty of it—all perfectly
lawful.”\par

And so it was.\par

The stakes having been placed, Darrell felt satisfied. Next
day he would have the claim properly filed, and in due time
a surveyor would measure them. All would be done “according
to law,” and in this easy way more land was taken from its
legitimate owner.\par

This certainly was a more simple way of appropriating the
property of “{\itshape{the conquered}}” than in the days of Alaric or
Hannibal.\par

There would have been bloodshed then. Now tears only
flowed; silent tears of helpless discouragement; of a presentiment
of impending desolation.\par

Sadly Doña Josefa and her daughters had witnessed from
the half-closed shutters of their bedroom windows Mr. Darrell's
performance, and fully anticipated serious trouble therefrom.\par

Don Mariano Alamar, Gabriel and Victoriano—his two
sons—had also silently witnessed Mr. Darrell's {\itshape{lawful}} appropriation
of their own property. Gabriel was pale and calm.
Victoriano was biting his lips, and his face was flushed.\par

“The government has for sale hundreds of millions of acres,
but yet these men must come and take my land, as if there was
no other,” said Don Mariano, sadly.\par

“And as we pay the taxes on the land that they will cultivate,
our taxes will double next year,” Gabriel added.\par

“Undoubtedly. That climax to injustice has been the
most fatal of all the hardships imposed upon us. George
could not believe me when I told him that we (the land-owners)
have to pay the taxes on the land cultivated by the
pre-emptors, and upon all the improvements they make and
enjoy. When he at last understood that such unfair laws
did exist, he was amazed, but understood then why the settlers
wished to prolong litigation, since it is ‘{\itshape{the natives}}’ who
must bear the burden of taxation, while the titles are in the
courts, and thus the pre-emptors hold the land free.”\par

“I wish we were squatters,” Victoriano remarked.\par

“During litigation, yes; but there have been cases where
honest men have, in good faith, taken lands as squatters, and
after all, had to give them up. No, I don't blame the squatters;
they are at times like ourselves, victims of a wrong legislation,
which unintentionally cuts both ways. They were set
loose upon us, but a law without equity recoils upon them more
cruelly. Then we are all sufferers, all victims of a defective
legislation and subverted moral principles.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-iv-efforts-to-right-the-wrong}%
\hypertarget{chapter-iv-efforts-to-right-the-wrong}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER IV.—{\scshape{Efforts to Right the Wrong.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Darrell was not the man to make any delay in putting into
practice a project, when once adopted. He therefore immediately
wrote home saying that he “had located,” and wished
Clarence to come down as soon as home matters permitted it.
All the crops must be in first, so that Everett and Webster
could take care of the farm when Clarence left. They had
two good farm hands and a man to take care of the dairy, but
still, Darrell made his boys give their personal attention to all
the work on the farm. He wrote to Clarence that he would
build a small house quickly, which afterwards could be used
for the hired men, and would wait until he came down to begin
building their dwelling house. That he would level the
ground for the house, sink a couple of wells and put up two
windmills, the running stream not being sufficient.\par

“I think I had better buy the lumber for the house up here
and charter a schooner to send it down,” Clarence said to his
mother, after reading his father's letter.\par

“Did he say anything to you about the condition of the
title?” Mrs. Darrell asked.\par

“Not a word. I suppose the land is vacant,” Clarence replied.
Mrs. Darrell shook her head, as if in doubt.\par

“I want you to see to that, before there is any house built
in which I shall be expected to reside,” she said. “The first
thing you do when you get there is to inquire whether the land
has been finally rejected and there is no litigation for it. If
there is, I want you to pay for it to the owner. And if he will
not or cannot sell, write to me at once.”\par

“Very well, mother, I shall do as you say, and I assure
you I do not wish father to take up any land claimed by any
one under a Mexican title. I think those Spanish people
ought to be allowed to keep the land that their government
gave them. We ought not to have made any laws that would
place their titles in a bad light and be questioned. We should
have accepted the legality they had before their own Mexican
government, without making some other legality requisite, to
please ourselves,” Clarence said.\par

“That has always been my opinion, but I have failed to
convince your father. However, with our combined efforts, we
might dissuade him from his present way of thinking,” said
Mrs. Darrell.\par

Clarence would not be able to leave home for a few weeks
yet. In the meantime, his father had not been idle, he had
lost no time in carrying out his plans, and shortly after making
his “location” in the manner described, he had several men
engaged in different employments at his place. When he had
already begun building the small house, of which he spoke in
his letter to Clarence, Don Mariano, accompanied by his two
sons, rode up to the place where he was then superintending
his workmen.\par

“Good morning, Mr. Darrell,” said Don Mariano.\par

“Good morning,” Darrell answered, laconically.\par

“Can I speak a few words with you?”\par

“Certainly,” he said, going a few steps nearer.\par

“I see you have taken up some land here, and I suppose
you think it is government land, but if so, you are misinformed.
This land belongs to me,” Don Mariano said.\par

“Why is it reported rejected then? I have seen the law
report, stating that your title was rejected.”\par

“Yes, I know that such is the case. For some mistake or
other the entry was made placing my title in the list of those
rejected, but I assure you that it is a mistake. My title is now
before the attorney general in Washington, because, having
been approved, the settlers took an appeal. If the attorney
general sustains the appeal, I suppose he will remand the case
for a new trial, but I have reasons to suppose he will dismiss
the appeal and affirm the decision of the District Court in my
favor.”\par

“We will see about that,” Darrell said.\par

“Undoubtedly we will; meantime I thought it was best to
undeceive you, and give you warning that you are building on
my land.”\par

“Your land if you get it,” was the answer.\par

“If you knew the condition of my title I don't think that
you would doubt that this land is mine. However, all I wish
to do is to prevent you from spending money here and then naturally
get into litigation with me to defend your property,”
said Don Mariano.\par

Darrell thought of his wife, and her earnest injunctions. He
wished to keep his promise to her. He said:\par

“If the courts say that this land rightfully belongs to you, I
shall pay you for your land or vacate.”\par

“But, Mr. Darrell, you will get me into litigation with you,
and I wish to avoid that.”\par

“No, I shall not get you into any law suit with me. I shall
buy your land or leave.”\par

“Very well, Mr. Darrell, I shall rely on your word. I shall
remember what you say; please do the same.”\par

“I am not in the habit of forgetting what I say.”\par

Don Mariano and his two sons lifted their hats, bowed
slightly, turned their horses' heads and moved off.\par

Darrell returned their bow, muttering to himself, “They take
off their hats and bow like gentlemen, anyway.”\par

While he was talking with Don Mariano, Mathews, Hughes,
Gasbang, Miller and Pittikin had come. They heard all that was
said and looked disappointed. They evidently had counted
upon Darrell to help them to fight the rightful owner.\par

“Did I understand you to say to the Don that you will not
maintain your claim, if the attorney general dismisses our appeal?”
asked Gasbang.\par

“I don't know what you understood, or what you did not
understand. What I said was that if the Don's title is decided
to be right and legal, I shall not contest it. Why should
I, if the land is his? I came here to take up government land,
believing his title was rejected. He says it is not.”\par

“He lies; it was rejected,” Gasbang said.\par

“That is why we appealed,” Mathews added.\par

“Very well; we will wait. For my part, I think that if
his title was rejected he will find it hard to get it back,” said
Darrell.\par

The fact of his going on with his building ought to have
been sufficient proof to the other settlers that he had cast his
lot with them. But it was not. They feared that at any time
he might pay the Don for his land, and cease to be one of them;
cease to be a “{\itshape{squatter}}.” These doubts, these fears, were the
perennial theme of endless discussion with the settlers of Alamar.\par

With date of February 14, 1872, the Honorable Legislature
of California passed a law “{\itshape{To protect agriculture, and to prevent
the trespassing of animals upon private property in the County
of Los Angeles, and the County of San Diego, and parts of
Monterey County}}.”\par

In the very first section it recited, that “every owner {\itshape{or
occupant}} of land, {\itshape{whether it is enclosed or not}},” could take up
cattle found in said land, etc., etc. It was not stated to be
necessary that the {\itshape{occupant}} should have a good title. All that
was required seemed to be that he should {\itshape{claim to be an occupant}}
of land, no matter who was the owner.\par

Before this law came out, Don Mariano had already had a
great deal of trouble with the squatters, who kept killing his
cattle by the hundred head at times. After this law passed,
he had the additional annoyance of having to pay money for
the release of cattle taken up by {\itshape{occupants}} who would not
fence their ten-acre crops. Thus, the alternative was, that if
cattle were not taken up, he was sure to find them shot dead
by some invisible hand. He had hoped that the Legislature
would pass a law saying that “unless {\itshape{occupants}} of land put fences
around their fields, they would not be authorized to take up
cattle.” But, instead of this, the above-mentioned law was
enacted.\par

This was, of course, ruinous to Don Mariano, as well as to
all owners of cattle ranchos where settlers had seen fit to locate
homesteads. Now any one man, by planting {\itshape{one acre}} of grain
to attract cattle to it, could make useless thousands of acres
around it of excellent grazing, because it became necessary to
drive cattle away from the vicinity of these unfenced fields.\par

In view of all this, and seeing that the new law would confirm
the right to plant fields without fencing, and take up cattle,
horses or any other animals found therein, Don Mariano
thought he would call together all the settlers in his rancho,
and make some proposition to them that would be fair to
everybody, and by which he would save his cattle from getting
killed or captured (when he must ransom them) all the
time.\par

He told his idea to Mr. Mechlin, who thought it was a good
plan, and volunteered to see some of the settlers with whom
he was acquainted, thinking that these could see others, and
in this manner a meeting be arranged. He started in the
morning on his errand, and in the evening Don Mariano called
to learn the result.\par

“These men are meaner and lower than I had supposed,”
said Mr. Mechlin, whose very fine nervous organization ill-fitted
him for the rough contact of Gasbangs. “Would you believe
it, they suspected I wanted to lay a trap in which the innocent
lambs would fall, and you—the wolf—catch them. If it had
not been that I saw Darrell, I would have been utterly discouraged.
And I suspect he would not have been half so
polite and considerate but for the influence of his son, who has
just arrived.”\par

“I heard he had. You saw him?”\par

“Yes; and a very gentlemanly, handsome young fellow he
is. He made his father promise to go with him to see the settlers
in person, and arrange for you to meet them; he will report
to me in the evening the result of their embassy.”\par

Clarence kept his word to Mr. Mechlin, and immediately
after breakfast he had his buggy and horses (a fine turnout he
had brought from San Francisco) at the door. Darrell smiled,
and good-naturedly took his seat beside his son, saying it would
be best to begin by seeing Gasbang and Mathews. Fortunately
they met these men, who were driving to see him, to
ask his opinion about agreeing to meet Don Mariano. Darrell
promptly told them that he thought no one of the settlers should
refuse a request so easy to grant.\par

“But don't you think there is a trap in it?” Mathews
asked.\par

“None whatever. We are not children,” Darrell replied.\par

“But suppose he makes us promise something?” Mathews
argued.\par

“How can he coerce any one against his will,” said Darrell.\par

“No one will be obliged to accede unwillingly,” said Clarence.
“Let us at least be courteous.”\par

“Certainly. Have you any idea what it is that he wants to
say?” asked Gasbang.\par

“He wants to make some proposition to the settlers, by
which he hopes that the interests of all concerned will be subserved,”
said Clarence.\par

“Visionary!” exclaimed Gasbang, tapping his forehead with
his forefinger; “not practical.”\par

“But his intentions are perfectly kind and fair,” Clarence
said.\par

“That is to say, Mr. Mechlin thinks they are.”\par

“Why shouldn't they be? He certainly can't coerce anybody.
Here we are on what he believes to be his land, and
we don't think it is. Well, what of that?”\par

“He certainly won't propose to fight us single-handed. We
are the majority,” said Darrell.\par

“All right. We'll see Hager and Miller, and the other
fellows in that valley. But we think Mr. Clarence will do
better with Hancock, Pittikin and Hughes. The female element
is strong there, but it will weaken in his hands, and in
that malleable condition, he can shape it to suit himself, with
one look out of his eyes at the whole troop of girls,” said
Gasbang.\par

“Goodness! You don't suppose I would go to play the
sweet fellow to those ugly old girls, and make a fool of myself,”
said Clarence, with so genuine a look of thorough disgust,
that it made John Gasbang indulge in one of his loudest
fits of hilarity. “Don't be alarmed, my young friend. There
is no harm for you there. I could turn you loose among those
girls and you would be as safe as Daniel among ‘lions’ or in
‘fiery furnace.’ You would not get a single scratch, or feel any
flames at all,” said he.\par

“What a low, vulgar fellow this is, even too low for a
squatter,” said Clarence, driving off.\par

“Phew!” ejaculated the elder Darrell, “you speak like {\itshape{a
Don}}. Your idea of {\itshape{a squatter}} is not flattering.”\par

“It is flattering thus far, that I think Gasbang is too low
for the settler, who means no wrong-doing,—the average squatter.
As for Mathews, I am sure he is a cut-throat by instinct.”\par

“That may be; but I think their idea of your seeing Pittikin
and Hughes is good. You can have more effect on them than
Gasbang or Mathews.”\par

“O, I am willing to go to speak to the old men, but why
should I see the girls?”\par

“You manage that part to suit yourself. And now stop.
I'll drop here; you needn't go out of your way. I'll walk
home. I want to see this piece of land near by. It has not
been located. I might put a claim there for Everett and another
for Webster.”\par

Clarence sighed, and silently drove on. He had passed by
the Pittikin and Hughes farms the day he arrived, as his father
had taken him to see how nicely the settlers were doing in
Southern California; all expecting their prosperity to increase
by the building of the railroad. Clarence saw the two houses
and began to feel like a mariner of old between Scylla and
Charybdis. There might be a troop of ugly old girls in each
house. If he could only see some men out in the fields. But
the fields looked deserted. Where could the men be—this
being no Sunday nor Fourth of July, that they should leave off
work? On looking about for some human being to guide him,
he saw in the distance, under a clump of dark trees, several
wagons, and horses unhitched, standing harnessed near them.\par

He was about to turn to the left, to take the road between
two fields, when he heard voices, shouting loudly. He supposed
they were calling some one. The shouts were followed
by a man on horseback galloping towards him. Clarence
stopped and waited. The rider was no other than Mr. Pittikin,
who came in person to invite him to join their picnic, in
honor of his daughter's wedding. The opportunity to see
{\itshape{the men}} together would be excellent, but the {\itshape{girls}} would be
there, too, thought Clarence, not over pleased.\par

“Please excuse me, I am not dressed to appear in company.
I came to see you on business,” said he.\par

“The girls said I must bring you.” Clarence felt a qualm.
“And even if I have to fight you I must obey; obey the ladies,
you know. There ain't many there. Only our two families—Hughes
and mine, and neighbor Hancock's and a few friends.
Indeed, we will feel slighted if you don't join us. We will feel
you think us too humble a class for you to associate with.”\par

“Nothing of the kind. If I thought so, I would not hesitate
to present myself before the ladies in this dress.”\par

“Come along, anyhow. We'll make all the allowance you
want. But you see, this is my daughter Fanny's birthday and
her wedding day. She was married to Romeo Hancock this
morning. So we wanted a room as big as all out doors to celebrate
the occasion. We thought the best thing would be to
have a picnic under those beautiful trees. Come, please. If you
ain't with us, you are against us.”\par

“I'll go home and put on other dress and come back immediately,”
said Clarence.\par

Pittikin laughed. “Just what Fanny said. I tell you she is
an awfully smart girl. She said, ‘He'll tell you he is going
home to change his clothes, but don't you let him, because
he'll only give us the slip.’ So you see, I can't let you go.
Besides, they are setting the table,—I mean to say, spreading
the eatables,—so you have no time to go home now.”\par

“But, look here, Mr. Pittikin, what is to become of my
mission? I came to see you and Mr. Hughes on business,
and not on a picnic.”\par

“Can't the business wait till to-morrow?”\par

“Not very well, as I promised Mr. Mechlin.”\par

“Oh! I know; Hughes told me,” interrupted Pittikin. “The
Don wants to make speeches to the settlers to fool us into a—into—some
terms of his, so that we'll kick ourselves out of our
farms.”\par

“Nothing of the kind. He is not going to make any foolish
propositions, but even if he were, you can lose nothing by
being polite and listening to him.”\par

“I don't know but what you are right. I like always to be
polite; and as for Hughes, he is the politest man going, and
no mistake. He never speaks loud, and he always listens to
you. I think it will be the best thing, perhaps, to see Hughes,
now. Then there is neighbor Hancock, and neighbor Miller
and Jackson, and the boys. Come along, we'll collar them in
a bunch.”\par

“Then, I can count upon your help?”\par

“Certainly you can; for when it is a question of politeness,
I won't be left behind, and if I give you my word, you can bet
on me.”\par

Clarence was received with loud demonstrations of pleasure.\par

“Here he is,” said Pittikin, on arriving at the picnic ground;
“I got him; but as he has some business to talk to us about, I
promised him we would attend to that too, and mix business
with pleasure, as it were. So, you talk to them girls, Mr.
Darrell, while we old men see what can be done and how, and
we'll let you know.”\par

Clarence was presented by Mr. Pittikin to Mrs. Pittikin, and
this lady presented him to the company, saying that he must
make himself at home, which Clarence did not see well how he
could do.\par

But the young ladies could not boast of having often the
good fortune to entertain a young gentleman as elegant, handsome
and rich as Clarence, and they made good use of their
golden opportunity. Sweet glances and complimentary expressions
of pleasure, because the Darrell family were to be
their neighbors, showered upon him, until he was ready to
laugh outright. But he was too kind to have done anything
so discourteous, and took it all in good part, thinking it was
all meant in kindness.\par

“Come, let us show to Mr. Darrell our ice fountain; it is, I
think, a great natural curiosity,” said Mrs. Romeo Hancock,
the heroine of the day, being the lady in whose honor the hymeneal
festivities took place. “Come girls and boys,” said
she, and accompanied by Clarence, and followed by eight or
ten others, she guided them to a little cave under a large oak,
from which a muffled sound of tiny bells that seemed to tinkle
and sigh and whisper, came forth. It seemed to Clarence as if
the little fountain was in sympathy with the dispossessed owners,
but did not dare to raise its timid voice in behalf of the vanquished,
who no longer had rights in their patrimony, and
must henceforth wander off disinherited, despoiled, forgotten.\par

“This is a lovely place,” said Clarence.\par

“Yes, and Mathews wanted to kill me for it,” said Romeo.\par

“Why so?” asked Clarence.\par

“Because he had just sold his place to Mr. Mechlin, intending
to locate here. So when he went to town to sign his conveyance,
I put some boards in a wagon and came here, and in
two hours my father and myself had put up my cabin. Then
we put up this fence around one acre, and by nightfall we had
placed my boundary stakes. That night I brought my blankets
and my rifle, to sleep in my cabin. Mother sent father to keep
me company, and we slept soundly, in splendid style. I wasn't
afraid of Mathews. Next morning, at daybreak, we heard the
rumbling of a wagon, and soon after we spied old Mathews sitting
on the top of his boards. He came smack against my fence.\par

“What the devil is this?” said he, and began to swear a
perfect blue streak. Then he took a hammer from his wagon,
and began hammering.\par

I jumped up, took my rifle and hallooed to him, as if I
didn't know him, “Who is there, hammering my fence?”\par

“Your fence?” said he; “your fence?”\par

“Yes, sir, mine. I located here yesterday.”\par

“You! you! Get a beard first,” said he, and with another
streak of oaths, began hammering again.\par

I came up nearer, holding my rifle in good position. I said,
“Look here, Mr. Mathews, leave my fence alone, or you will
get into trouble.” I leveled my rifle at him. “Will you stop?
I give you just two minutes.”\par

He stopped.\par

“You have no right to locate—you are a minor,” said he,
livid with rage.\par

“You just inform yourself better, by asking a polite question
or two of my parents. They will tell you that I am just
twenty-one years and two days old, and I can prove it by our
family Bible and certificate of baptism. I am a Christian, I
am, though you don't seem to be, judging by your cursing,—and
as for my beard, you be patient, and you'll see it, for it is
coming as fast as your gray hairs.”\par

“Why didn't you say you wanted this place?” he growled.\par

“What a question!” I answered. “You ask it because you
don't see my beard, but I feel it pushing ahead with all its
might. I didn't tell you, because we ain't exactly bosom
friends, and because that is not the style in which we settlers
do business. I kept dark, hoping that you would hold on a
while longer, trying to get a bigger price for your place from
Mr. Mechlin. I watched you, and when you let Saturday
pass I knew this sweet little spot was mine,—for on Saturday
I was twenty-one, and you couldn't sign your conveyance to
Mr. Mechlin until Monday. To-day is Tuesday, Mr. Mathews,
I shall be twenty-one years and three days old at 11 o'clock
A.M. this day, if I live five hours longer.”\par

“I don't believe a word. You ain't twenty-one. 'Tis a
lie!”\par

“No, it ain't,” my father said, coming from the cabin.\par

“Then he is a jumper. He's jumped my claim.”\par

“No, he ain't. Look here, Mathews,” said father, dragging
his rifle along as if it was a dead cat, “you know well it is
yourself who is lying when you say that. You had no right to
this claim while you held the other.”\par

“But I put up my notice that I was going to locate here.”\par

“Now, don't be silly,” said father, leaning on his rifle. “It
is painful to my feelings to hear a grey-headed man talk like a
child. You might have put twenty notices—what of that? The
law don't allow any circus performances like that, and if it did,
you ain't a good enough performer to ride two horses at once.”\par

“I think it is a mean performance on your part, too, coming
here to steal a march on me.”\par

“A mean performance, you say? Do you remember how I
had my notices up and my stakes on the ground, six years
ago, and when I went to town to bring my lumber, you
jumped my claim? My boy has just barely returned the compliment.”\par

“I'll be even with you yet,” said he, climbing into his
wagon, and beginning to whip his horses, and swear at us
worse than ever.\par

“The same to you; the same to you,” father would say, as
if answering prayers, and then we both laughed heartily.\par

“That is not the worst, but that you jumped the claim of
his affections,” said Tom, whereupon all laughed, and Fanny
bashfully hung down her head.\par

Voices calling them to dinner were now heard, and they returned
to the picnic grounds.\par

No banquet of the Iliad warriors surpassed this, showing
that the settlers of Alamar had found the Don's land and the
laws of Congress very good.\par

The elder Mrs. Hancock and Mrs. Pittikin were proud
of having given a banquet which no other settler would dare
surpass in Alamar.\par

When the dessert was being served, Clarence said, “We
must drink to the bride and groom.” All agreed that it should
be done.\par

He arose and made a neat little speech, which was so
“{\itshape{sweetly pretty}},” Mr. P. said, that it brought tears to the eyes
of Mrs. Pittikin and Mrs. Hancock, the elder.\par

This put Clarence's popularity beyond doubt.\par

“Fill your glasses, for I have something to say to Mr.
Clarence Darrell, but we must first drink his health,” said Mr.
Pittikin.\par

“Here is to our friends, the Darrell family, but more particularly
to Mr. Clarence. We respect him, we like him, we
are proud of him;”—all drank—“and I now take the occasion to
say to Mr. Darrell, in the presence of our friends here, that I
fulfilled my promise to him, and have spoken to our friends
here, the heads of families, and they will speak to those who
are not present, and we will meet to hear what the Don has to
say.”\par

“But we don't promise to accept any proposition, if it don't
suit each one, no matter what anybody votes,” said old Hughes.\par

“That is understood; we want to be polite, that's all,” explained
Mr. Pittikin.\par

“And that is all I have requested,” Clarence said. “I do
not ask any one to accept any proposition against his will.”\par

“That is fair enough,” said old Hancock.\par

“And little enough, considering we are in possession of land
that the Don believes to be his own,” said Romeo.\par

“But it ain't,” said old Hager.\par

“It has been for more than fifty years,” Romeo asserted.\par

“But he lost it by not complying with the law,” said Hughes.\par

“Yes, if he had not neglected his rights, his title would not
have been rejected; he went to sleep for eight years, and his
right was outlawed,” said Miller.\par

“That was the fault of his lawyers, perhaps,” Clarence said.\par

“Of course it was, but he should have watched his lawyers.
The trouble is, that you can't teach ‘an old dog new tricks.’
Those old Spaniards never will be business men,” said Pittikin,
sententiously.\par

It was finally agreed that Clarence would call on Mr.
Mechlin that evening, to notify him that the settlers would
meet the Don on Monday afternoon at 2 o'clock on the porch
of Gasbang's house.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-v-the-don-in-his-broad-acres}%
\hypertarget{chapter-v-the-don-in-his-broad-acres}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER V.—{\scshape{The Don in his Broad Acres.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“The one great principle of English law,”—Charles Dickens
says, “is to make business for itself. There is no other principle
distinctly, certainly and consistently maintained through
all its narrow turnings. Viewed by this light, it becomes a coherent
scheme, and not the monstrous maze the laity are apt to
think it. Let them but once clearly perceive that its grand
principle is to make business for itself at their expense, and
surely they will cease to grumble.”\par

The one great principle of American law is very much the
same; our law-givers keep giving us laws and then enacting
others to explain them. The lawyers find plenty of occupation,
but what becomes of the laity?\par

“No. 189. {\itshape{An Act to ascertain and settle the private land
claims in the State of California}},” says the book.\par

And by a sad subversion of purposes, all the private land
titles became {\itshape{unsettled}}. It ought to have been said, “An Act
to {\itshape{unsettle}} land titles, and to upset the rights of the Spanish
population of the State of California.”\par

It thus became not only necessary for the Spanish people to
present their titles for revision, and litigate to maintain them
(in case of any one contesting their validity, should the least irregularity
be discovered, and others covet their possession), but
to maintain them against the government before several tribunals;
for the government, besides making its own laws,
{\itshape{appeals to itself}} as against the land-owners, after their titles might
have been {\itshape{approved}}. But this benign Act says (in “Sec. 11”),
“That the Commissioners, the District and Supreme Courts,
in deciding on the validity of any claim, shall be governed by
the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo; the law of nations; the
laws, usages, and customs of the government {\itshape{from which the
claim is derived}}; the principles of equity, and the decisions of
the Supreme Court of the United States, etc., etc.”\par

Thus the government washes its hands clean, liberally providing
plenty of tribunals, plenty of crooked turnings through
which to scourge the wretched land-owners.\par

Don Mariano had been for some years under the lash of the
maternal government, whom he had found a cruel stepmother,
indeed.\par

As it was arranged with Clarence, the meeting would take
place that day on the broad piazza of John Gasbang's house,
this being the most central point in the rancho.\par

The heads of families all came—the male heads, be it understood—as
the squatters did not make any pretence to regard
female opinion, with any more respect than other men.\par

All the benches and chairs that the house contained, with the
exception of Mrs. Gasbang's sewing rocker, had been brought
to the porch, which was quite roomy and airy.\par

At ten minutes before two, all the settlers were there, that is
to say, all the old men, with their elder sons.\par

Clarence, Romeo, Tom and Jack, sat together in a corner,
conversing in low tones, while Gasbang was entertaining his
guests with some broad anecdotes, which brought forth peals
of laughter.\par

At five minutes to two, Señor Alamar, accompanied by Mr.
Mechlin, arrived in a buggy; his two sons followed on horseback.\par

Clarence had time to look at them leisurely, while they dismounted,
and tied their horses to a hitching post.\par

“They are gentlemen, no doubt,” observed Clarence.\par

“You bet they are,” Romeo coincided. Evidently he admired
and liked them.\par

“How much the boys look like the old man,” Tom said.\par

“They look like Englishmen,” was Clarence's next observation.\par

“Yes, particularly Victoriano; he is so light he looks more
like a German, I think,” said Romeo.\par

“I think Gabriel is very handsome,” Tom said, “only of late
he seems always so sad or thoughtful.”\par

“That won't do for a man who is to marry soon,” said Romeo.
“I think he has always been rather reserved. He has only a
cold salutation to give, while Victoriano will be laughing and
talking to everybody. But, perhaps, you are right, and he is
changed. I think he is less reconciled than the others, to have
us, settlers, helping ourselves to what they consider their land.
He certainly was far more talkative four or five years ago. I used
to work with them in ploughing and harvesting time, and both
boys, and the Don, were always very kind to me, and I can't
help liking them.”\par

“The ladies, though, ain't so affable. They are very proud,”
said Tom; “they walk like queens.”\par

“They didn't seem proud to me, but I never spoke to them,”
said Romeo.\par

Gasbang went forward to meet his guests, and all came into
the porch.\par

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” said Don Mariano to the settlers,
lifting his hat and bowing. His sons and Mr. Mechlin
did the same. Clarence arose, and so did the other young men
with him, returning their salutation. The elder Darrell, Pittikin
and Hughes followed this example; the other settlers
nodded only, and remained sitting with their hats on, looking
with affected indifference at the trees beyond.\par

“I thank you for your courtesy in complying with my request
to have this meeting,” he said. Some nodded, others
grinned and winked, others smiled silently.\par

“Take this chair, Señor, and you, Mr. Mechlin, take this
one. They are the best in my establishment,” said Gasbang.
“The young gentlemen will find seats somewhere on the
benches.”\par

Clarence came forward and offered three chairs. Mr.
Mechlin took his arm and presented him to the Alamars.\par

“I take pleasure in making your acquaintance, and I hope
to have the opportunity to thank you for your kind co-operation
more appropriately afterward,” said Don Mariano. His
sons shook hands with Clarence cordially, and accepted the
proffered chairs.\par

Don Mariano excused himself for not speaking English more
fluently.\par

“If you don't understand me I will repeat my words until I
make my meaning clear, but I hope you will ask me to repeat
them; or, perhaps, some one of these young gentlemen will do
me the kindness to be my interpreter,” said he.\par

“Romeo talks Spanish; he can interpret for you,” said Victoriano.\par

“You talk English better,” Romeo proudly replied, thinking
he could tell his wife that the Don had asked him to be his
interpreter.\par

“Perhaps Mr. Clarence Darrell would do me the favor,” said
Don Mariano.\par

“You speak very good English, señor. We understand you
perfectly. You do not require an interpreter,” Clarence said.\par

“That is so; you speak very well,” said Mr. Mechlin.\par

Gasbang and Pittikin added: “Certainly, we understand him
very well.”\par

“Of course we do,” said Darrell and others.\par

“You are very kind,” said the Don, smiling, “and I will try to
be brief, and not detain you long.”\par

“We have all the afternoon,” said Hughes.\par

“That's so, we ain't in a hurry,” said several.\par

“Only let us out in time to bring the milch cows home, before
night comes on,” said old Miller, dryly.\par

“Exactly, we want to look after our cows, too,” said the Don,
laughing.\par

All saw the fine irony of the rejoinder, and laughed heartily.
Miller scratched his ear, as if he had felt the retort there, knowing
well, that with the exception of Mathews and Gasbang, he
had killed and “{\itshape{corraled}}” more of the Don's cattle than any
other settler.\par

“Speaking about cows, brings us at once to the object of
this meeting,”—Don Mariano, still smiling, went on, saying:
“You know that I have lost many, and that it is natural I
should wish to save those I have left. To do this, and yet not
ask that you give up your claims, I have one or two propositions
to make to you. The reason why you have taken up land here
is because you want homes. You want to make money. Isn't
that the reason? Money! money!”\par

“That's it, exactly,” said many voices, and all laughed.\par

“Well, I can show you how you may keep your homes and
make more money than you can by your present methods,
while at the same time, I also save my cattle. That little point,
you know, I must keep in view.”\par

All laughed again.\par

“To fence your fields, you have said, is too expensive, particularly
as the rainy seasons are too uncertain to base upon
them any calculations for getting crops to pay for fencing. I
believe this is what most of you say; is it not?”\par

“We could have raised better crops if your cattle hadn't
damaged them,” said Mathews.\par

“I beg to differ; but supposing that you are right, do you
think you could be sure of good crops if you killed all my
stock, or if I took them all away to the mountains? No,
most assuredly. The rainy season would still be irregular and
unreliable, I think. Yes, I may say, I feel sure, it is a mistake
to try to make San Diego County a grain-producing
county. It is not so, and I feel certain it never will be, to any
great extent. This county is, and has been, and will be always,
a good grazing county—one of the best counties for
cattle-raising on this coast, and the very best for fruit-raising
on the face of the earth. God intended it should be. Why,
then, not devote your time, your labor and your money to raising
vineyards, fruits and cattle, instead of trusting to the uncertain
rains to give you grain crops?”\par

“It takes a long time to get fruit trees to bearing. What
are we to do for a living in the meantime?” asked Miller.\par

“Begin raising cattle—that will support you,” the Don replied.\par

“Where is the capital to buy cattle with?” Gasbang asked.\par

“You don't require any more capital than you already have.
I can let each of you have a number of cows to begin with,
and give you four or five years' time to pay me. So you see,
it will be with the increase of these cattle you will pay, for I
shall charge you no interest.”\par

“What do you expect us to do in return? To give back to
you our homesteads?” asked Hughes.\par

“No, sir; I have said, and repeat again, you will retain your
homesteads.”\par

“And will you stop contesting our claims?” asked Mathews.\par

“I will, and will give each one a quit-claim deed.”\par

“You will not fight our claims, but you don't want us to plant
grain on our land,” said Gasbang.\par

“You can plant grain, if you like, but to do so you must
fence your land; so, as you all say, that fencing is expensive, I
suggest your fencing orchards and vineyards only, but not grain
fields—I mean large fields.”\par

“Pshaw! I knew there was to be something behind all that
display of generosity,” muttered Mathews.\par

Don Mariano reddened with a thrill of annoyance, but quietly
answered:\par

“You are too good business men to suppose that I should
not reserve some slight advantage for myself, when I am willing
you should have many more yourselves. All I want to
do is to save the few cattle I have left. I am willing to quit-claim
to you the land you have taken, and give you cattle to
begin the stock business, and all I ask you in return is to put a
fence around whatever land you wish to cultivate, so that my
cattle cannot go in there. So I say, plant vineyards, plant
olives, figs, oranges; makes wines and oil and raisins; export
olives and dried and canned fruits. I had some very fine
California canned fruit sent to me from San Francisco. Why
could we not can fruits as well, or better? Our olives are
splendid—the same our figs, oranges, apricots, and truly all
semi-tropical fruits are of a superior quality. When this fact
becomes generally known, I feel very sure that San Diego
County will be selected for fruit and grape-growing. In two
years grape vines begin to bear; the same with figs, peaches
and other fruits. At three years old they bear quite well, and
all without irrigation. So you would not have to wait so very
long to begin getting a return from your labor and capital.
Moreover, an orchard of forty acres or vineyard of twenty will
pay better after three years' growth than one hundred and
sixty acres of wheat or barley in good seasons, and more than
three hundred acres of any grain in moderately good seasons,
or one thousand acres in bad seasons. You can
easily fence twenty or forty or sixty acres for a vineyard or
orchard, but not so easily fence a field of one hundred and
sixty, and the grain crop would be uncertain, depending on the
rains, but not so the trees, for you can irrigate them, and after
the trees are rooted that is not required.”\par

“Where is the water to irrigate?” asked Miller.\par

“The water is in the sea now, for there we let it go every
year; but if we were sensible, judicious men, we would not let
it go to waste—we would save it. This rancho has many deep
ravines which bring water from hills and sierras. These ravines
all open into the valleys, and run like so many little
rivers in the rainy season. By converting these ravines into
reservoirs we could have more water than would be needed for
irrigating the fruit trees on the foothills. In the low valleys no
irrigation would be needed. If we all join forces to put up
dams across the most convenient of these ravines, we will have
splendid reservoirs. I will defray half the expense if you will
get together and stand the other half. Believe me, it will be a
great God-send to have a thriving, fruit-growing business in our
county. To have the cultivated land well fenced, and the remainder
left out for grazing. Then there would not be so
many thousands upon thousands of useless acres as now have
to be. For every ten acres of cultivated land (not fenced)
there are ten thousand, yes, twenty thousand, entirely idle,
useless. Why? Because those ten acres of growing grain
must be protected, and the cattle which don't know the
‘{\itshape{no fence}}’ law, follow their inclination to go and eat the green
grass. Then they are ‘{\itshape{corralled}}’ or killed. Is it not a pity to
kill the poor dumb brutes, because we can't make them understand
the law, and see the wisdom of our Sacramento legislators
who enacted it? And is it not a pity to impoverish our county
by making the bulk of its land useless? The foolishness of
letting all of the rainfall go to waste, is an old time folly with us.
Still, in old times, we had, at least, the good excuse that we
raised all the fruits we needed for our use, and there was no
market for any more. But we were not then, as now, guilty of
the folly of making the land useless. We raised cattle and
sold hides and tallow every year, and made money. When
gold was discovered, we drove our stock north, got a good price
for it, and made money. But now no money will be made by
anybody out of cattle, if they are to be destroyed, and no
money made out of land, for the grazing will be useless, when
there will be no stock left to eat it. Thus, the county will
have no cattle, and the crops be always uncertain. Believe
me, in years to come, you will see that the county was
impoverished by the ‘no fence law,’ unless we try to save our
county, in spite of foolish legislation. If our wise legislators
could enact a law obliging rain to come, so that we could have
better chances to raise grain, then there would be some show of
excuse for the ‘{\itshape{no fence law}},’ {\itshape{perhaps}}. I say {\bfseries{PERHAPS}}, because,
in my humble opinion, we ought to prefer cattle raising and
fruit growing for our county. We should make these our specialty.”\par

“I think it would be much more foolish to trust to a few
cows to make out a living while trees grow,” said Miller, “than
to the seasons to give us grain crops.”\par

“No, sir; because cattle are sure to increase, if they are not
killed, and you could make cheese and butter, and sell your
steers every year, while trees grow. You have been seven
years a settler on this rancho. In these seven years you have
raised two good crops; three poor, or only middling, and two,
no crops at all.”\par

“Yes, because your cattle destroyed them,” said Mathews.\par

“No, sir; my cattle were not all over California; but the bad
seasons were, and only in few places, moderately good crops
were harvested; in the southern counties none at all. We had
rains enough to get sufficiently good grazing, but not to raise
grain.”\par

“I think you are right about the uncertainty of our seasons,
and I think a good dairy always pays well, also a good orchard
and vineyard,” said Darrell. “But the question is, whether we
can adopt some feasible plan to put your idea into practice.”\par

“Yes, how many cows will you let us have?” asked Hager.\par

“I will divide with you. Next week I shall have my ‘{\itshape{rodeo}}.’
We can see then the number of cattle I have left. We shall count
them. I shall take half, the other half you divide pro rata;
each head of a family taking a proportionate number of cattle.”\par

“That is fair,” Darrell said.\par

“I don't want any cattle. I ain't no ‘{\itshape{vaquero}}’ to go ‘{\itshape{busquering}}’
around and {\itshape{lassooing}} cattle. I'll lasso myself; what
do I know about whirling a {\itshape{lariat}}?” said Mathews.\par

“Then, don't take cattle. You can raise fruit trees and
vineyards,” said Darrell.\par

“Yes, and starve meantime,” Mathews replied.\par

“You will not have to be a vaquero. I don't go ‘{\itshape{busquering}}’
around {\itshape{lassooing}}, unless I wish to do so,” said the Don.
“You can hire an Indian boy to do that part. They know how
to handle {\itshape{la reata}} and {\itshape{echar el lazo}} to perfection. You will not
starve, either, for if you wish, you can make butter and cheese
enough to help to pay expenses. I think this State ought to
make and export as good cheese as it now imports, and some
day people will see it, and do it, too. Thus, with the produce
of your dairies, at first, and afterward with your fruits, you
will do far better than with grain crops, and not work as hard.
Let the northern counties raise grain, while we raise fruits and
make wine, butter and cheese. You must not forget, either,
that every year you can sell a number of cattle, besides keeping
as many milch cows as you need.”\par

“Where can we sell our cattle?” asked Hancock.\par

“Cattle-buyers will come to buy from you. But if you prefer
it, you can drive your stock north yourselves, and make a good
profit. Since 1850, I have sent nine times droves of cattle to
the northern counties, and made a handsome profit every time.
The first time we took stock north, was in '50; I took nearly
six thousand head—three thousand were mine—and the others
belonged to my brothers. We lost very few, and sold at a
good price—all the way from eighteen to twenty-five dollars
per head. About five hundred of mine I sold as high as
thirty dollars per head. I made sixty thousand dollars by this
operation. Then out of the next lot I made twenty-seven
thousand dollars. Then I made twenty-two thousand, and so
on, until my tame cows began to disappear, as you all know.
In four years after my cows began to get shot, my cattle decreased
more than half. Now I don't think I have many more
than three thousand head. So you cannot blame me for wishing
to save these few. But believe me, the plan I propose will
be as beneficial to you as to me, and also to the entire county,
for as soon as it is shown that we can make a success of the
industries I propose, others will follow our example.”\par

“If you have only three thousand head, you can't spare
many to us, and it will hardly be worth while to stop planting
crops to get a few cows,” said Gasbang.\par

“I think I will be able to spare five or six hundred cows. I
don't know how many I have left.”\par

“We will buy from somebody else, if we want more,” said
Darrell. “We won't want many to begin with; it will be something
of an experiment for some of us.”\par

“For all of us here. Perhaps you understand {\itshape{vaquering}};
we don't,” said Hancock; all laughed.\par

“Then fence your claim and plant grain,” Darrell retorted.\par

“I am not so big a fool as to spend money in fences. The
‘{\itshape{no fence}}’ law is better than all the best fences,” Mathews said.\par

“But what if you make more money by following other laws
that are more just, more rational?” said the Don.\par

“The ‘no fence’ law is rational enough for me,” said Miller.\par

“And so say I,” said Mathews.\par

“And I,” said Gasbang.\par

Hughes nodded approvingly, but he was too much of a
hypocrite to commit himself in words.\par

“We did not come to discuss the ‘no fence’ law, but only to
propose something that will put more money in your pockets
than killing dumb beasts,” said Mr. Mechlin.\par

“Then propose something practicable,” said Mathews.\par

“I think what has been proposed is practicable enough,”
Darrell said.\par

“Certainly it is,” Mr. Mechlin added.\par

“I don't see it,” said Mathews.\par

“Nor I, either,” added Gasbang.\par

“Nor I, neither,” said Hughes.\par

“Well, gentlemen,” said Don Mariano, rising, “I shall leave
you now; you know my views, and you perhaps prefer to discuss
them, and discuss your own among yourselves, and not in
my presence. Take your time, and when you come to a final
decision let me know. Perhaps I can advance the money to
those of you who do not have it ready to purchase fencing
lumber. I shall charge no interest, and give you plenty of
time to pay.”\par

“I will do that, Señor Alamar,” Clarence said; “if the settlers
agree to fence their lands, I will advance the money to
them to put up their fences.”\par

“Yes, and if our crops fail, we will be in debt to the ears,
with a chain around our necks,” Mathews growled.\par

“I thought you said that if it were not for my cattle, your
crops would not have failed,” said Don Mariano, smiling.\par

“I said so, and it is so. But you see, that was before we
had the ‘{\itshape{no fence}}’ law,” answered he, grinning.\par

Don Mariano shook hands with Clarence, whom he invited
to call at his house—this invitation Clarence accepted with
warm thanks—and followed by his sons and his friend Mr.
Mechlin, Don Mariano took his leave, bowing to the settlers,
who nodded and grinned in return.\par

“I suppose you, too, think the ‘{\itshape{no fence}}’ law iniquitous, as
you appear to favor the aristocracy,” said Gasbang to Clarence.\par

“It is worse than that, it is stupid. Now it kills the cattle,
afterwards it will kill the county,” Clarence answered.\par

“Shall we plant no wheat, because the Spaniards want to
raise cattle?” Mathews asked.\par

“Plant wheat, if you can do so without killing cattle. But
do not destroy the larger industry with the smaller. If, as the
Don very properly says, this is a grazing county, no legislation
can change it. So it would be wiser to make laws to suit the
county, and not expect that the county will change its character
to suit absurd laws,” Clarence replied.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-vi-naughty-dog-milord-an-important-factor}%
\hypertarget{chapter-vi-naughty-dog-milord-an-important-factor}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER VI.—{\scshape{Naughty Dog Milord an Important Factor.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Three large wagons, each drawn by six horses, were
hauling the lumber for Mr. Darrell's house, which was already
commenced.\par

Victoriano, riding across the valley, had to stop to let
the heavily loaded wagons pass. This gave Clarence time to
overtake him.\par

“Good morning,” said he, “I am glad to catch up with you,
Don Victoriano. I have been wanting to speak to you.”\par

Victoriano bowed, saying, “Will you go to my house?”\par

“No, I'd rather not. I am not dressed to be seen by ladies.
I would rather speak to you here.”\par

“You are going to build a large house, Mr. Darrell?” said
Victoriano, turning his horse so as to ride beside Clarence;
“judging by the amount of lumber being hauled.”\par

“Yes; rather. We are a large family, and require a good
deal of room. But before we do any more work I want to
speak with your father. I want to ask him—ask him as a
favor—and yet, as a business proposition”—he hesitated; he
was evidently embarrassed; but Victoriano, not guessing the
drift of his words, remained waiting silently, offering no assistance.
“Well,” he continued, “I mean this: I don't like this
fashion of taking people's lands, and I would like to pay to
Señor Alamar for what has been located by us, but at the same
time I do not wish my father to know that I have paid for
the land, as I am sure he would take my action as a reproach—as
a disclaimer of his own action, and I don't wish to hurt his
feelings, or seem to be disrespectful or censorious.”\par

“I understand, and I think my father will be willing to sell
the land. He is at home now. Let us go up to see him.”\par

“Had you not better speak to him, and make an appointment
for me to see him to-morrow, or some other time? I'd
rather not risk being seen by the ladies in this blue flannel
shirt and heavy boots. I look too rough—like a smuggler or
a squatter, sure.”\par

“I can call my father to speak to you outside, so that the
ladies need not see you. But if they should, that needn't disturb
you. They have too much sense not to know that you
would not be working in white kid gloves. Come on. The
front veranda is empty. Mother and three of my sisters are
at the Mechlin's. Mercedes is the only one at home, and she
is too busy with her embroidery in Madam Halier's room to
come near you. I'll bring father to the front veranda.”\par

Clarence and Victoriano tied their horses by the garden gate
and walked to the piazza. The hall door was ajar. Clarence
saw no ladies about and felt reassured.\par

There were three steps leading from the walk through the
garden up to the front veranda. These steps were exactly
opposite to the hall door.\par

Victoriano took the path to the right, saying: “Go up
and sit down. I'll bring my father here.”\par

“Do not disturb him if he is taking his {\itshape{siesta}}.”\par

“The {\itshape{siesta}} hour is past, I'll find him at the office,” said he,
going round the corner, leaving Clarence to walk up the front
step. As he did so, he heard a tinkling of little bells and
rushing of feet, as if somebody was running. Then a laughing
voice, the timbre of which was sweetly pleasing, saying:\par

“Stop, Milord! you bad dog! Milord! Milord!”\par

At the same moment, through the narrow opening of the
door, out darted a little white dog, dragging after him a large
and much entangled skein of bright-colored silk. Clarence
was nearly stepping on the little runaway, when the door was
flung open, and a girl rushed out, coming against him before
she could check herself. In her effort to do so she turned her
foot and staggered forward, but before she realized she was in
any one's presence, she felt two strong arms holding her.\par

“Oh!” she exclaimed, as a sharp, hot pain darted through
her ankle. She saw that the two arms which held her were
none of her father or brothers', and that they were covered
with blue flannel.\par

Looking up to see the face above them, their eyes met.
Hers expressed surprise, his merriment. But a change in
their expression flashed instantaneously, and both felt each other
tremble, thrilled with the bliss of their proximity. Her face was
suffused with burning blushes. She was bewildered, and
without daring to meet his eyes again, stammered an apology;
extending her hand, to reach some chair or table to hold
herself, but they all were crowded at both ends of the piazza.\par

“You are hurt. I am afraid you are hurt,” said he, with
pale lips, reflecting the pallor he saw come to her face, succeeding
her crimson blush. “I know you are suffering. What can
I do? I am so sorry!”\par

“O no, I only turned my foot a little,” she answered, venturing
to look at him for an instant. “I shall be all right in a
minute.”\par

“If you turned your foot, don't put any weight upon it. Do
not try to walk, let me carry you to a chair.”\par

“O no, no! I am not so much hurt as to require giving all
that trouble.”\par

“{\itshape{Please}} let me. It will be no trouble; only a great pleasure.”
He was in earnest and spoke quite seriously. “Are you
afraid I could not carry you?”\par

“No, not that, but it is not necessary,” and she tried to
walk. A quick, sharp, burning pain through her ankle admonished
her that she was more hurt than she had believed. A
slight contraction of her brows betrayed her pain.\par

“There! You will hurt yourself worse,” said he, and before
she knew what he was going to do, he stooped a little and
lifted her as easily as if she had been a little child. She had
no time to think whether to be grateful or offended, for he
quickly walked to the further end of the piazza and carefully
placed her in a roomy arm chair. Then bending a knee before
her, said:\par

“Forgive my lifting you without your permission. I knew
you would not give it, and I knew also that you were suffering.
Will you forgive me?” His voice was soft, caressing, pleading,
but his eyes seemed to her to emit rays full of attractive, earnest
force which she felt had great power. They dazzled her, and
yet those eyes were so mild, so kind. She looked down, making
no answer. “When Don Victoriano comes he can carry
you to bed, and—please—take my advice, stay there until the
pain has entirely left your foot.”\par

She ventured to look at his eyes again. Who could this
strong young man be, so bold, and yet so gentle, so courteous
and yet waiting for no permission to take so positively hold of
her, to carry her bodily half the length of the piazza. And
now so respectfully asking on his knees to be forgiven? Asking
with tones of tender humility in his voice, while his eyes
she knew could emanate subduing magnetic beams.\par

“How do you know Victoriano is coming? He went out
riding,” she said, evading the question of forgiveness, and for
the sake of making some reply that would hide her confusion.\par

“Yes, but I met him and he returned with me. He has gone
to look for Señor Alamar, I came to see him on business,” said
the respectful young man, still on his knees.\par

“Do you know my father?”\par

“Only very slightly.” They were silent. He added: “I
met him a few days ago when he had that meeting with the
squatters.”\par

“Were you at the meeting?” said she, avoiding his gaze.\par

“Yes,” he said, watching her beautiful face. What would
she think of him, believing him a {\itshape{Squatter}}, one who came to
take land that did not belong to him? How he wished that
she would look up, that he might see her lovely eyes again, for
if to her his eyes seemed so glorious, to him hers fascinated,
conquered, with a power that he never thought could exist in
any human being. Trembling, he felt that he was madly in love
with her. Yes, already in love. Love at first sight, surely. But
if it killed him, no matter, he would love her to the last instant
of his life.\par

Voices were heard approaching through the hall. He stood
up and walked towards the door. Señor Alamar came forward
and shook hands with him. Victoriano explained the reason
of his delay being, that he had to look for his father all over
the house, and at last found him in the furthest “{\itshape{corral}}” looking
at some new colts just brought in.\par

“I am glad that Mercedes came to converse with you,” said
Victoriano.\par

“I did not come to converse. I did not know that the gentleman
was here. I came by accident,” she hastened to reply.
“I was trying to catch Milord when I stumbled and would
have fallen, had not this gentleman prevented it.” So saying,
she blushed anew; her blushes being immediately reflected on
Clarence's forehead, made them both look like a couple of
culprits.\par

“I fear the lady's foot is hurt,” said he.\par

“Is it?” exclaimed Don Mariano, going towards Mercedes.
“Does it pain you baby?”\par

“Yes papa, a little. It burns me. Do you think it would
be bad for me to walk to my room?”\par

“Of course it would,” Clarence said, and blushed redder yet
at his temerity.\par

“Can you stand on your foot?” Victoriano asked.\par

“I don't know.”\par

“Don't try. I'll carry you to your room,” said her father.\par

“Women have no business to have such small feet. They
are always stumbling and can't walk worth a cent,” said Victoriano,
going to look at his sister's foot. “See here. No wonder
they stumble. Look at the little slipper. Why don't they
wear good broad boots?” So saying he took off the little slipper,
which seemed made for a Cinderella.\par

“You are too absurd,” said Mercedes, blushing again, to see
her slipper brandished aloft, in the face of a stranger.\par

“I ain't. It's women's feet that are absurd.”\par

“When we want the ladies to be infantry soldiers, then
we will ask them to cultivate big feet,” said Don Mariano,
laughing.\par

“But not until then, please,” said Clarence, smiling.\par

“Aha! I see you cherish the general male weakness,”
said Victoriano, kneeling before his sister to put on the little
slipper. “I am the only strong-minded man, I know. Come,
pussy, I'll carry you to your room.”\par

“No, no. You take me, papa, Tano might drop me.”\par

“Nonsense; as if I couldn't carry a kitten like you.”\par

“Papa, you take me, but not to bed. Put me on the lounge
in mamma's room, and call Madam Halier to me.”\par

“All right; anything to please the children,” said Don Mariano,
stooping to lift her.\par

She put her arms around his neck, and whispered: “Papa,
who is this young man? I never saw him.”\par

“That is a fact,” said Don Mariano, taking her up, and
turning toward Clarence, said: “Mr. Darrell, permit me to
present you to my daughter, Mercedes, ‘our baby.’” So saying,
he dandled her a little in his arms.\par

“Oh, papa, you make me ridiculous! How can I bow like
a lady, when you are rocking me like an infant!” she said,
laughing, but blushing again like a rose.\par

“Shake hands with the gentleman, that's a dear,” said Victoriano,
talking baby talk to her.\par

“Oh, papa, make Tano hush. Mr. Darrell, I am afraid that
I shall always seem ridiculous to you.”\par

“Not at all; I don't see why,” Clarence replied, “but I fear
that your hurt might be serious.”\par

“That's it. You might be ridiculous, but your hurt might
be serious,” said Victoriano.\par

It was Clarence's turn to blush now, but he smiled good
naturedly.\par

“You won't be serious, though. I wish you were, and polite,
too,” said Mercedes. “I don't know what Mr. Darrell will
think of us.”\par

“Mr. Darrell will see us often, I hope, and think better
of Tano,” said Don Mariano, carrying away his precious
burden.\par

“My opinion is all that you could wish, Miss Mercedes,”
said Clarence, and their eyes met, transmitting that strange
thrill to both.\par

Don Mariano placed Mercedes tenderly on her mamma's
lounge, called Madam Halier to attend to the sprained ankle,
and returned to the veranda.\par

Clarence made no delay in stating the object of his visit.
He said:\par

“Since the meeting I have had several talks with the settlers,
and the result has been my conviction, that they will not accept
your generous offer. They, no doubt, wish to take up
more land, and think it cannot be done if they bind themselves
to put up fences by accepting your proposition. How
short-sighted they are time alone will show, for at present they
will not listen to reason.”\par

“I am very sorry. There is no alternative for me but to sell
all my cattle as soon as possible, and in the meantime drive all
I can to the mountains.”\par

“But that will be ruinous, father. How can we herd them
in the mountains? They will all become wild and run away,”
said Victoriano.\par

“I am afraid they will. I am sure of it, in fact. But there
is no other way to save any at all.”\par

“I think this ‘no fence’ law the most scandalous, bare-faced
outrage upon the rights of citizens that I ever heard of,” said
Clarence, warmly. “It is like setting irresponsible trespassers
loose upon a peaceable people, and then rewarding their outrage.
To let any one take up your lands right before your eyes is
outrage enough, but to cap the climax by authorizing people
to plant crops without fences and then {\itshape{corral}} your cattle,
which must be attracted to the green grass, I call positively
disgraceful, in a community which is not of vandals. It is
shameful to the American name. I am utterly disgusted with
the whole business, and the only thing that will make matters
a little tolerable to me will be for you to do me the favor of
permitting me to pay for the land we have located.”\par

“Does your father wish to pay?”\par

“I do not know whether he would or not. I fear he would
not. My father is a blind worshiper of the Congress of these
United States, and consequently it is difficult to persuade him
that our legislators might possibly do wrong. He believes that
Congress has the right to declare {\itshape{all}} California open to pre-emption,
and all American citizens free to choose any land not
already patented. Thus, he thinks he has the right to locate
on your land (according to law, mind you), because he believes
your title has been rejected. But as my faith in our law-givers
is not so blind, my belief is that Congress had no more
right to pass any law which could give an excuse to trespass
upon your property, than to pass a law inviting people to your
table. I feel a sort of impatience to think that in our country
could exist a law which is so outrageously unjust. My pride
as an American is somewhat different from that of my father.
He thinks it is a want of patriotism to criticise our legislation.
Whereas, I think our theory of government is so lofty, so grand
and exalted, that we must watch jealously that Congress may
not misinterpret it; misrepresent the sentiments, the aspirations
of the American people, and thus make a caricature of
our beautiful ideal. It is our duty and privilege to criticise
our laws, and criticise severely. As long as you, the native
Californians, were to be despoiled of your lands, I think it
would have been better to have passed a law of confiscation.
Then we would have stood before the world with the responsibility
of that barbarous act upon own shoulders. That would
have been a national shame, but not so great as that of guaranteeing,
by treaty, a protection which was not only withheld, but
which was denied,—snatched away, treacherously,—making its
denial legal by enactments of retroactive laws. This I call
disgraceful to the American name. Therefore, in my humble
way and limited sphere, if I cannot repeal, I will at least evade
such unjust laws to the best of my ability, and make them ineffective
as far as I am individually concerned. I only wish I
could wipe out those stains on our national honor, by repealing
at once laws so discreditable to us. Yes, the more so, as
they bear directly upon the most defenseless, the most powerless
of our citizens—the orphaned Spano-Americans. So,
then, I hope you will help me to avoid this American
shame, by permitting me to pay for our land whatever price
you think just.”\par

“Very well,” said Don Mariano, pleased with Clarence's
honest warmth, and to hear him express opinions and sentiments
so very similar to his own. “You can pay whatever you
wish, or we can make an agreement that I will sell to you when
I get my patent. Such is my understanding with Mr. Mechlin
and also with your father.”\par

“That is rather vague. I would prefer to pay to you now so
much per acre. With the understanding that my father (or
any one else) is not to know I have made this purchase. I
mean not for the present.”\par

“Would your father object to it?”\par

“Perhaps not. And yet he might see in it a disclaimer from
my part—a criticism. He is a settler—a ‘{\itshape{Squatter}}’—you
know, and consequently very sensitive about (what they call)
‘{\itshape{rights of settlers under the law}}.’ He knows my sentiments,
but one thing is my expressing them to him, and another is to
pay money for land he thinks he has lawfully appropriated. It
might seem to him, I imply that his locating perhaps was not
altogether as honorable a transaction in my eyes, as it may be
lawful in the eyes of the lawmakers.”\par

“You are certainly very honorable, and I am willing to abide
by your wishes in the matter,” said Don Mariano. “You view
this question exactly as I do.”\par

Clarence blushed with pleasure and bowed, saying:\par

“You are very kind, and that you, who are so generous,
should be made to suffer as you have, it is, I assure you, so revolting
to me (as an American and a civilized being) that I have
felt great desire to go away rather than to live among these
short-sighted and unappreciative people that have unfortunately
fallen upon you.”\par

Don Mariano laughed and said, “No don't go away. Let
me have one friend at least, among so many opponents. Pay
whatever you wish, and take as much land as you desire to
have, but don't go.”\par

“I thank you, indeed, but will you not name the price? I
don't think it is right for me to put a price upon your
property.”\par

“My dear sir, that would be so if my property was not going
into—smoke of sulphur—but as it is, and growing fast so
‘beautifully less’ that I suppose even the \$1.25 of government
price ought to be a handsome figure to my weary eyes. So
name any price you wish.”\par

It was agreed that Clarence would pay \$10.00 per acre, and
take up 640 acres where his father had already located. It was
also understood that the purchase should not be mentioned to
any one. Don Mariano excepted only his son Gabriel. Clarence
said he would except his mother, inasmuch as she had told him
to pay for the land or else she would not come to reside upon
it.\par

Don Mariano said that he would like to mention it to his
family and the Mechlins, but feared that if only some allusion
was overheard by the servants, it would be repeated.\par

“I have no objection to Mr. Mechlin knowing it,” Clarence
said.\par

“No, but they have for servants Hogsden and his wife, and
they are very dishonorable. They would repeat it if by accident
they heard it.”\par

“It is a pity that Mrs. Mechlin don't send those two thieves
away,” Victoriano said.\par

“Yes, I hear that the woman Hogsden repeats things she
hears at the Mechlins,” Clarence said.\par

“Of course she does, and steals too, and yet Mrs. Mechlin
keeps them,” Victoriano said, impatiently.\par

“Perhaps it would be best to say nothing, and I will watch
my chance to tell my father myself, that I paid for the land,”
Clarence said. He then rose to go.\par

As he went down the veranda steps he met Milord returning,
still dragging the skein of silk. But this was no longer
of bright variegated hues, it was black with mud and sadly
masticated by Milord's sharp teeth, which proudly held it as if
challenging any one to take it.\par

“You wicked Milord. See what you have done with your
poor mistress' silk. She will be distressed,” said Victoriano.\par

On hearing himself thus apostrophised, Milord ran off again
with his plunder, and it was with difficulty that by the combined
efforts of Victoriano and Clarence he was at last captured,
but the bright colors of the silk had all disappeared, a
blackened skein resembling a piece of wet rope was pulled
from Milord's sharp teeth.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-vii-from-alameda-to-san-diego}%
\hypertarget{chapter-vii-from-alameda-to-san-diego}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER VII.—{\scshape{From Alameda to San Diego.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The Darrell house was now finished, the furniture had
arrived, been unpacked and distributed in the rooms, but
the house seemed to old Darrell entirely too sumptuous for
the plain folks, that his family ought to be. That was a
truth.\par

“Look here, Clarence, haven't you been too extravagant in
buying such expensive carpets, such fine furniture? For
gracious sake, how big is the bill for all this grandeur?”\par

“I don't know yet the price of every item, but don't be
alarmed, I am sure they would not go beyond the limit I
gave Hubert (Hubert made the purchases), and I assure you,
it will all be paid with our volunteer crop.”\par

“Don't be sure of that.”\par

“O, but I am sure—only not too much so—which is the
right way of being sure,” he replied.\par

Clarence was now a regular caller at the Alamar and the
Mechlin houses. He felt that in both places the welcome he
received was sincere, for even the silent Gabriel was always
ready to talk to him. As for Victoriano, his attachment to
Clarence was now an acknowledged and accepted fact,—not
rejected by Señor Alamar, to judge by appearances,—and certainly
fully and sincerely reciprocated by Clarence. Both
found great pleasure in each other's society, and saw each other
every day.\par

It was now time for Clarence to go to Alameda to bring
down the family. He and Victoriano talked about it walking
towards the Alamar house from the Darrells, discussing the
probable time of his return.\par

“Clarence has come to bid us good-by,” said Victoriano,
walking into the parlor, followed by Clarence.\par

“Why! Where is he going?” said Mercedes, rising, dropping
the book she was reading.\par

“Don't be alarmed, he is only going to bring his mother and
sisters down,” added Victoriano, maliciously, causing the blood
to rush to her forehead.\par

“Oh!” she exclaimed, sitting down, with a resentful look
toward her brother, and a half appealing, half deprecating one
to Clarence, who was contemplating her in ecstatic silence.\par

“I think the Holman girls will be coming about the same
time. I was telling Clarence to look after them a little, if
convenient, and if they are not sea-sick,” said Victoriano.\par

“They will require my services more if they are sick,” said
Clarence, laughing.\par

“If you are a good nurse,” Victoriano observed; adding,
“Imagine Corina Holman nursed by a strange young gentleman;
that would kill her sure.”\par

“I would try and prevent that,” said Clarence.\par

“Thank you, for my friends. I do not think they will be
very ill; but I am sure it will be pleasant for them to have so
good an escort,” said Mercedes.\par

Clarence promised, therefore, to look after the Misses Holman,
and let them know which steamer would be best to take
coming to San Diego.\par

Mercedes said she would write notifying them of this arrangement.\par

There was a great {\itshape{something}} in Clarence's mind that he
wished to say to Mercedes before leaving, but he had neither
courage nor opportunity to say it, so he left, carrying with him
the burden of his thoughts untold.\par

His voyage was accomplished in safety, the steamer arriving
at San Francisco at the regular time. Hubert Haverly came
to meet him, and together they went to a restaurant for breakfast.\par

“Give us the most secluded room and the nicest breakfast
your establishment can produce, for this gentleman is very particular,
and I am very hungry,” said Hubert.\par

The waiter smiled, showed them to the best room in the
house, and retired.\par

“Now let us talk,” said Hubert, “I am dying to tell you how
rich you are, and scold you for not letting me keep your stock
longer and making you richer. Why were you so anxious to
sell? The stock kept rising steadily. I was a ‘bull’ all the
time. There was a slight break once—only once. Some fellows
wanted to pull the stock down, and got a few ‘bears’ to
work with them. It lowered a little, but only a few of the
heavy holders had any fear, and it soon recovered, shooting up
higher than ever. I got your order to sell about that time,
and did so, but I assure you my heart ached when I did
it.”\par

“I wrote you immediately after that, it was only the first
hundred shares I wanted sold.”\par

“Yes, but that letter I got three days after I had sold all.
I almost cried like a girl, with disappointment, when you wrote
that I was to send you only \$6000. Now, you could have made
a whole million with your thousand shares.”\par

“A whole million?”\par

“Most assuredly. Look at yesterday's quotations, and the
stock is still rising.”\par

“Truly,” said Clarence, reading the stock report; “the last
paper I saw was dated six days ago. But even then ‘Crown
Point’ was still very high.”\par

“And so it was, but it is very disappointing to get one-half
of a million when you might as well get a whole million. I
shall never cease scolding you for it.”\par

“Well, I'll bear the scolding patiently, considering that it was
to avoid scoldings that I gave you the order to sell.”\par

“To avoid scolding? How so? From whom?”\par

“From my father. He is terribly down on mining stocks.
He would consider me next to a thief if he thought I bought
stocks.”\par

“That is absurd. You needn't tell him how much money
you have. Here is my statement of all I made; my commission
and moneys paid for you. I sold your stock at a fraction
over \$800 per share. Oh, Clarence, why did you make me
sell? Look at this. After buying the government bonds as
ordered you have left \$260,000, when you might have had half
a million over.”\par

“Never mind. I made enough. I'd rather let some one else
make the balance than to sell when things begin to tumble
down. Did you say \$260,000?”\par

“Yes, \$260,000, when it ought to be \$400,000 at least.”\par

Clarence laughed at Hubert's rueful face.\par

The waiter brought in their breakfast.\par

“Broiled oysters on toast! Oysters baked in the shell!
Broiled chicken. Let us discuss them in preference to stock,”
said Clarence.\par

Having helped his friend and then himself, Hubert said:\par

“What are you going to do with your \$260,000 now since
you are not to buy stock?”\par

“I have not thought about it, but I guess the best thing
would be to invest all in government bonds.”\par

“Which is the same as burying your cash.”\par

“I'll tell you what I'd like to do. I would like to make a
safe investment that would give me about \$30,000 a year, and
then I could afford to let you gamble with the balance, if there
was any balance left,” Clarence said.\par

“I'll see to-day what government bonds are selling for, and
report to you this evening.”\par

“That can't be, as I am to take the two o'clock boat for
Alameda.”\par

“When will you be back?”\par

“To-morrow evening if you want me, but if not I shall wait
until the family comes down.”\par

“What a lucky fellow he is,” said Hubert, walking towards
the Stock Exchange, after promising Clarence to see him to the
boat at two o'clock. “In two years he has made a fortune with
a capital of \$2000.”\par

Hubert was right. Clarence had been a lucky investor.
With the sum of \$2000 bequeathed to him by Mrs. Darrell's
Aunt Newton, when he was only five years old, and which sum
she ordered should be put at interest until he was twenty-one
years of age, Clarence speculated, and now he was worth close
on to a million dollars.\par

Everything was ready for the journey when Clarence arrived
at his Alameda home.\par

“Don't you know that it pulls my heart string to tear you away
from this place?” Clarence said, looking towards the nice
orchard and field beyond.\par

“You'll make us cry if you talk like that,” said Mrs. Darrell.
“Alice has nearly cried her eyes out already.”\par

“Never mind, our lease of this place won't be out for two
years yet, and we can come back if the other don't suit,” said
Clarence encouragingly.\par

Two days after, the Darrells left Alameda on their way to
San Diego, stopping for a couple of days only at San Francisco.
On board the steamer Clarence met Mr. Alfred Holman,
who had accompanied his daughters and now placed
them under Clarence's care—“According to instructions from
Miss Mercedes”—Mr. Holman added, making Clarence's
blood rush to his head, as it always did whenever that sweetest
of all names was mentioned in his presence. “Tell the Alamares
I shall be down soon. I am only waiting for Tom Scott
to escort me.” So saying, Mr. Holman laughed and hurriedly
kissing his daughters, ran down the gang plank.\par

Clarence lost no time in presenting the Misses Holman to
his mother, sisters and brothers, all of whom received them
with politeness, though with different degrees of warmth, according
to the natural share of affability or that diffidence
which half of Darrell's children inherited from him, especially
the two eldest daughters. The amiability of Alice and her
mother's gentle, winning ways, however, soon dispelled the
damp chill that Jane and Lucy's reserve generally managed to
throw over strangers, thus before the steamer got under way,
all were conversing and laughing like old friends, discussing
things in general and people in particular.\par

“I think you have made a conquest,” said Amelia Holman
to Alice. “Or perhaps two, for I saw a little yellow haired man
with a very red neck, come this way and look at you. Then
a loose jointed fellow who walks as if his feet are too heavy to
lift and just drags them, follows, and he too looks at you beseechingly.”\par

“Mercy! I don't want to be so fascinating as all that might
indicate,” said Alice, laughing, and a little man gesticulating,
and a big man with shuffling gait and hands in the pockets of
his pantaloons, listening wearily, were seen coming.\par

“I know who they are,” said Clarence. “The little one is
married, so Alice can rest her hopes on the big footed one
only.”\par

“Gracious, how very repulsive the small one is,” Corina exclaimed.\par

“Who are they?” Mrs. Darrell asked when they had turned
to go back.\par

“The large fellow is Dick Mason, brother-in-law of the little
red-skinned one, who told me his name is Peter Roper, and
he is a lawyer bound for San Diego to practice law there (no
matter by what means), he says. He gave me this information
himself when I went to check our baggage. He introduced
himself and his brother Dick on the strength of his being acquainted
with father. He also asked permission to present
his wife, to my mother and sisters.”\par

“Did you give that permission?” asked Jane, sternly.\par

“I did, of course; but if his skin is not so thick as it is red
he will never avail himself of it. I noticed he had been drinking,
so I told him that at present my mother and sisters wished
to converse alone with the Misses Holman, of whom we are
the escort, but that before we reached San Diego I thought
there might be an opportunity to present his wife, perhaps.”\par

“What did he say to that?” Alice asked.\par

“He grinned and said: ‘Pretty large escort, ain't it? About
a dozen people.’ Yes, I said, but the young ladies are very
nice, and require a great deal of attention. ‘Do they?’ said
he, and his yellow eyes leered, and sticking his tongue to one
side of his mouth, made his cheek bulge out; he then raised
his shoulders and lifted his elbows, as if he would have flown
aloft had his arms been wings.”\par

“How impertinent and vulgar,” Jane exclaimed.\par

“He is of the genus {\itshape{hoodlum}}. A bird aboriginal of the
San Francisco sand dunes, resembling the peacock,” said Corina
Holman.\par

“What did you do when he made those grimaces?” Alice
asked.\par

“Nothing. I looked at him as if I expected nothing else,
considering that it must be natural to him to act like a monkey.
My impassibility rather disconcerted him, as evidently
he expected me to consider him very funny, and laugh at his
droll antics. He added, ‘Any time will do, as my wife is not
over-anxious to make acquaintances generally.’ So saying, he
threw back the lappels of his coat, putting his thumbs in the
arm-holes of his vest, and strutted off, leaving me to guess
whether he was making fun of his wife's exclusiveness or ours.
He turned back soon, though, and said, ‘We'll call it square,
if you come and take a drink.’ When I declined that also,
he went off again, and this time angry in good earnest.”\par

“I hope he will remain so, and not come near you again,”
said Jane.\par

Vain wish! When the boat stopped at Santa Barbara, Roper
took that opportunity to present his wife to Mrs. Darrell on
the strength of his acquaintance with her husband. He
grinned and suppressed a giggle, thinking it was very funny to
claim friendly relations with Darrell, whom he had never seen.
It was a matter of perfect indifference to him that Mrs. Darrell
would find out his falsehood afterward. All that he wanted
now was to become acquainted with the Darrell and Holman
ladies. In this he succeeded, and what is more, succeeded
according to his principles, in utter disregard of truth or self-respect.
He trusted to his inventive genius to explain how he
came to imagine he was acquainted with Mr. Darrell.\par

When the boat arrived at San Diego, Gabriel and Elvira
came to the wharf to meet the Misses Holman. They thanked
Clarence for the excellent care he had taken of them, and Elvira
asked him to present her to his mother and sisters. This
was done with pleasure, and he was glad to see that Elvira and
Gabriel seemed pleased with his family.\par

The Holmans would remain in town for a couple of days
at a friend's house, after that they would go to the Alamar
rancho to make their visit there. Elvira and Gabriel would remain
with them to be their escort. Such was Elvira's message
home sent with Clarence.\par

Mr. Darrell came on board to meet his family, but Mr.
Peter Roper was too intently occupied with his baggage to renew
his acquaintance; in fact, he rather hurried off the boat
to avoid him.\par

The Darrells arrived at the hotel about the same time, but
Peter was then particularly engaged making important inquiries
from one of the hotel clerks.\par

He was saying: “So, you think there is no lawyer of any
prominence; not one that might be called a leading lawyer?”\par

“I didn't say that; I only said I don't know of any.”\par

“Exactly. You hear, though, who has the largest practice?”\par

“If you call a large practice to get people into trouble by
spying about people's business and getting commercial agencies
(I believe that is what he calls to spy and pry into people's
affairs), then old Hornblower is the leading lawyer, for he
leads people into long law suits always, and bleeds them and
makes money.”\par

“That's the man for me,” said Roper, showing his purple
gums in a broad grin, and the orange and green of his eyes expanding
with feline instincts.\par

Romeo Hancock had been engaged by Clarence before
leaving, to take charge of hauling their effects to the rancho.
Romeo, therefore, was there with three large wagons, and two
vaqueros to convey Mrs. Darrell's pretty Jersey cows. But
Clarence had to see that everything started in good order before
he joined his family at the hotel.\par

“I brought the Concord wagon for the women folks and the
light spring wagon for the boys and Tisha,” said Mr. Darrell.
“The Concord holds six people well, and at a pinch, eight.
The light wagon the same; so you don't have to have any extra
conveyances.”\par

“No, father, I have not hired any,” Clarence replied, and
exchanging a look with his brothers, said that everything was
ready to start, and all walked down stairs.\par

In front of the ladies' entrance was a very handsome carriage
which Mrs. Darrell and her daughters had admired very
much on board the steamer; next to it was a pretty phæton
which they also had admired, and behind the phæton was Mr.
Darrell's Concord. He frowned and said:\par

“There was no use in hiring those carriages, Clarence.”\par

“Count noses, father,” said Clarence, going about busily
carrying parcels to the carriages assisted by his brothers, allowing
no time for discussion—“Let us see. Mother and father
in the back seat; Jane and Lucy in the front, Clementina
with Everett, the driver. In the phæton I will take Alice, her
lap dog and our two satchels, and last but not least, Webster
will take ‘the Concord’ with Willie in the front seat and Tisha
in the back in state, with the cockatoos and canaries and parcels,”
said Clarence, patting Tisha on the back.\par

All laughed, approving the disposition of forces.\par

“Are these carriages ours, Clary?” asked Clementine.\par

“It looks like it,” said Clarence, lifting her to her place,
“and you shall see how soon the phæton distances the big
carriage.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-viii-victoriano-and-his-sister}%
\hypertarget{chapter-viii-victoriano-and-his-sister}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER VIII.—{\scshape{Victoriano and His Sister.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The golden rays of a setting sun were vanishing in the
west, and a silvered moon was rising serenely over the eastern
hills, when the phæton, having distanced the other carriages
by a full half hour, reached the foot of the low hill where the
Alamar house stood. The French windows opening upon the
front veranda, sent broad streams of light across the garden
and far over the hill. Sounds of music greeted Alice and
Clarence on their arrival. He checked his horses saying:\par

“You see there are two roads here; one goes directly to our
house, while the upper one passes close to the gate of the Alamares.
I can take the upper road if you would like to hear
the music.”\par

“I would, indeed, unless it might seem intrusive.”\par

“They are too kind hearted to think that, besides, I have a
message of Doña Elvira to deliver,” he said, guiding his horses
to the left, slowly climbing the hill to approach the gate
silently. The phæton stood in the penumbra between the
lights of two windows, and it had not been heard. The singing
had ceased, the prelude of a Spanish song was begun and
interrupted. The lady at the piano arose and selected another
piece of music, and began the accompaniment of the old and
well known “Don't you Remember Sweet Alice, Ben Bolt?”\par

“Who is that lady?” asked Alice in a whisper.\par

“She is Miss Mercedes,” whispered Clarence, glad of the
excuse to whisper, and with a preparatory checking of breath
and swallowing of something that seemed to fill his throat always,
when her name was mentioned.\par

“I hope she will sing,” said Alice.\par

“Perhaps,” was the laconic reply, and both waited in
silence. Clarence could distinctly hear his heart throbs.\par

A man's voice, a fine tenor, began the song. He sang the
first stanza so correctly and with so much feeling that it seemed
to Clarence that he could not have listened to the simple melody
before now attentively enough to appreciate its pathos, for
it sounded most sweetly touching to him. Only one verse was
sung.\par

“I never thought that song capable of so much expression,
or Tano capable of giving it so well.”\par

The reason why Victoriano interrupted this song was because
Mercedes had said, “Sing something else, Tano, that
song is too sad. It will give me the blues.”\par

“Me too. Those American songs always speak of death or
dying. Ugh! You sing something lively.” Then he added,
“I wonder why the Darrells haven't come? I suppose they
are going to remain in town until to-morrow.” So saying he
walked to the window. His eyes were too well trained to distinguish
objects in the darkness not to have quickly perceived
the phæton, though it could not be seen very distinctly. He
saw it, but thought it must be Gabriel and Elvira returning unexpectedly.
He ran to the gate, exclaiming:\par

“Hallo! What made you return? Didn't the Holmans
come? What has happened?”\par

“Nothing,” Clarence answered. “The Holmans came all
safe and sound, and I delivered them into the hands of Don
Gabriel, who, accompanied by Doña Elvira, came to meet them.
Doña Elvira requested me to say that they will remain in town
a couple of days and then come home.”\par

“And where is your family?” asked Tano, coming to the
phæton.\par

“They are coming, and here is a small part and parcel of
the same—called our sister Alice. Don Victoriano permit me
to present Miss Alice Darrell.”\par

“Miss Alice, your humble servant,” said Victoriano, bowing.
“Allow me to go to the other side of the phæton to try a more
graceful bow a little nearer, and the honor of shaking hands, {\itshape{a
la Americana}}”.\par

Mercedes came now, tripping down in the path, also thinking
that their carriage had returned, because some accident had
happened to somebody.\par

“Is that you, Gabriel?” said she.\par

“You come and see,” said Victoriano.\par

She came close to the phæton, right between the wheels,
but still thinking she saw Gabriel, said: “What has happened?
Ah! it is Mr. Darrell,” she added, with a tremor in
her voice, that made Clarence think she was alarmed.\par

He hastened to reply: “Nothing has happened. Your
friends are all safe and well.”\par

“This is Miss Alice Darrell. Can you bow to her in the
dark, and shake hands?” asked Victoriano.\par

“I think I can, but she might not see my bow,” said Mercedes,
laughing, and extended her hand, saying: “I am glad to
make your acquaintance, Miss Darrell.”\par

Clarence took her hand, as Alice had not seen it.\par

“See here, that hand was for me,” Alice said, laughing.\par

“Certainly,” said Clarence, putting Mercedes' hand in
hers.\par

“Will you not shake hands with Clarence?” said Victoriano.
“I declare, solemnly, girls are very ungrateful. Here
Clarence has been so sorry, because you hurt your foot,
and you have never thanked him for his kind sympathy.”\par

“Mr. Darrell has never expressed his kind sympathy to me,
how was I to presume he felt it?”\par

“The presumption would have been mine had I expressed
all I felt,” said he, taking off his glove, which action she
rightly understood to mean that he wished to shake hands
with her.\par

She extended her hand, and he clasped it in his. That ineffable
thrill which he felt for the first time in his life when he
lifted her in his arms was now felt again. It coursed through
his veins with the warm blood that rushed to his heart.\par

Neither one took any notice of what Victoriano and Alice
were saying until they heard him say:\par

“That's all right. He is going to be married soon, then he'll
be on the shelf. That's a comfort.”\par

“Who will be on the shelf?” Mercedes asked.\par

“Gabriel, of course; and I am glad of it, as Miss Alice
has just coolly told me that he is the handsomest man she ever
saw, forgetting that Clarence is here, and poor me, too.”\par

“Present company is always excepted,” Alice argued; “and
the rule, I suppose, applies now, though I cannot well see
whether it does or not, you being in the dark.”\par

“That is so. Come out of the shadow.” Clarence suggested.\par

“I can't now. I feel too abashed,” Victoriano replied.\par

“He will soon recover. His fits of diffidence don't last
long,” said Mercedes.\par

“So he is diffident now?” asked Alice, laughing.\par

“Yes; that is why I don't want you to tell me that Gabriel
is handsome; it abashes me too much.”\par

“He is a good reasoner, too, you see that, Miss Darrell;
though by moonlight his logic shines but dimly. Come, we
must not keep Miss Darrell longer, since they will not come
in,” said Mercedes.\par

“I think you might stop and take supper with us,” said
Victoriano.\par

“O, no, thank you,” Clarence answered. “We came in advance
to light the lamps, and attracted by the music, took the
liberty of coming over the road.”\par

“I am sorry. Then you must have heard me sing. Bah!
Mercedes, it is your fault,” said Victoriano.\par

“Don't say that. You sing very well, only the song is very
plaintive, and the better it is sung, the sadder is its melody,”
Clarence said.\par

“It must have seemed like a lugubrious welcome to Miss
Alice. I shall never sing that song again,” said Victoriano,
emphatically. “See if I do.”\par

“I am glad to hear you say that, for you are constantly singing
it,” Mercedes said.\par

“I hope it will not be a prophetic coincidence that you
should sing it as I came,” said Alice, and as she spoke the
supper bell rang.\par

“That is the prophecy I meant,” said Victoriano, and all
laughed, glad of the timely turn thus given to the conversation.\par

“With this assurance we must go home comforted,” said
Clarence, and all bade each other good night.\par

The lamps were lighted, and the windows and doors opened.
The Darrell house looked as if there was an illumination for a
national celebration.\par

“Let us go and see how the house looks from the front outside,
all lighted up,” said Clarence.\par

They went out to look at it from the garden.\par

“How could you build such a nice house, Clary, and how
could papa allow it?” Alice said.\par

“Hush! You must never speak about the cost of this
house or its furniture. I have made lots of money in stocks,
and can afford it, but father thinks stock gambling is next to
robbery.”\par

Mercedes and Victoriano remained for a few moments standing
by the gate, watching the phæton.\par

“By Jove! but isn't she sweet! She has just left me deaf
and dumb!” said Victoriano, as the phæton disappeared down
the hill.\par

“Perhaps you are deaf, since you don't hear the supper bell
ringing again, but as for being dumb I am sure the greatest beauty
on earth couldn't produce that effect.”\par

“But I tell you I am, and I will go to see her and tell
her so to-morrow,” said he, following his sister to the supper
room.\par

“You will do nothing of the kind. The idea!”\par

“Why not, pray? Clarence told me to call soon.”\par

“Yes, but he supposed you would have the good taste to
wait at least two or three days.”\par

“Three days! Three days! Not if I am alive!”\par

“What is that about being alive?” asked Rosario.\par

“Let him tell you,” Mercedes replied.\par

“That I am going to see that sweet little Alice Darrell to-morrow,
dead or alive,” explained Victoriano.\par

“Who will be dead or alive?” asked Carlota.\par

“I, of course! What a question?” Victoriano exclaimed.\par

“As you could not go there if you were dead, I thought you
meant that you were to go and see her in that insensible state,”
said Carlota.\par

Victoriano looked at his sister reproachfully, saying:\par

“How mean to talk so about that sweet girl.”\par

“It was to correct you from expressing yourself in that style
of yours, mixing up things and ideas so incongruously. You
ought to take care not to confuse things so absurdly,” Doña
Josefa said.\par

“Why don't you talk like Gabriel? He always uses good
language—in Spanish or in English,” Carlota added.\par

“Bother Gabriel, and Gabriel, and Gabriel! Everybody
throws him at my teeth,” said Victoriano, beginning to eat with
very good appetite.\par

“The operation don't hurt your teeth, though,” said Rosario,
“to judge by the very effective manner in which you use
them.”\par

“Of course, I do, because I am an amiable good fellow,
who bears nobody ill-will, even towards his harassing sisters,
and much praised elder brother, who is hoisted up to the skies
a million times a day for my special edification and good example.
It is a good thing, I tell you, ladies and gentlemen, a
very fortunate thing, that I am so amiable, and Gabriel so good
a fellow, or else I would have punched his head into calf's
head-jelly, twice a day, many times.”\par

“There is your confusion of ideas again. You are thinking
that yours might have been the calf's head made into
jelly,” said Rosario.\par

“No, miss. I meant what I said.”\par

“Gabriel is very strong and a good boxer,” Don Mariano
said.\par

“There it is again! Sweet Alice says he is the handsomest
man she ever saw; Lote says he uses beautiful language, and
now father implies that the fellow could whip me! Give me
some more of that chicken {\itshape{pipian}} to console myself with. Say,
mother, why is this delicious chicken stew called ‘{\itshape{pipian}}?’
Because it makes a fellow ‘{\itshape{pio}}’ ‘{\itshape{pio}}’ for more? or because the
chicken themselves would cry ‘{\itshape{pio}},’ ‘{\itshape{pio}}’, if they were to see
their persons cooked in this way?” Without waiting for an
answer to his question, he added: “I say, mother, arn't you and
the girls going to call on the Darrells?”\par

“No,” laconically answered Doña Josefa.\par

“Why should we?” queried Carlota.\par

“Because they are neighbors like the Mechlins,” Victoriano
replied.\par

“Old Mathews is our neighbor, too,” said Rosario.\par

“But he is a thief,” replied Victoriano.\par

“Isn't to steal land robbery?” asked Carlota.\par

“The Darrells occupy the land they selected, with my consent,
so I hope no one in my family will do them the injustice
to say that they have stolen our land, or that they are squatters,”
said Don Mariano firmly. Then added: “But I do not
desire any one of you to speak of this matter with anybody.
Only remember, the Darrells are not squatters.”\par

“What shall we say, for instance, if the Holmans should
notice that we are very friendly to the Darrells, but not so towards
the squatters?” Rosario asked.\par

“I think the Holmans will be too well-bred to ask questions,”
said Doña Josefa.\par

“They are well-bred, but they are very intimate friends,”
Rosario said\par

“And very inquisitive ones, too,” added Victoriano.\par

“Refer them to me,” Don Mariano said; “I'll give them
quite a satisfactory answer.”\par

“Meantime, are we not to visit them?” Victoriano asked.\par

“Visit whom?” Carlota asked.\par

“The Darrells, of course,” Victoriano answered.\par

“I thought you meant the Holmans, as we spoke of them
last.”\par

“Bother, with your grammar, you had better keep school,”
Victoriano said.\par

“You had better go to one,” Carlota retorted.\par

“I have enough of it here. The question now is the visit
to the Darrells. Is this family to visit them or not?”\par

“Why, you are to do so to-morrow, dead or alive,” Rosario
said.\par

“Bother! You will call, Mercita, won't you?”\par

“With pleasure, if mamma will permit me,” Mercedes replied.\par

“You are a sweet pussy always, and the best of sisters.
Can't she go, mother?”\par

“Certainly, if her father does not object.”\par

“I not only do not object, but I shall be pleased to have
Mercedes and her mamma and sisters all call, for I think Clarence's
mother must be a lady.”\par

“Hurrah for father, he is a man after my own heart,” said
Victoriano, clapping his hands.\par

“Papa feels proud of your approval,” Carlota said.\par

“I would suggest that Tano make a {\itshape{reconnoitering}} visit before
Mercedes goes, as a leader of a forlorn hope,” said Rosario.\par

“Goodness, how military your terms, but how little your
courage,” said Victoriano, derisively.\par

“I admit that I always dread to face squatters,” said Rosario.\par

“I think I said that the Darrells are not to be considered
squatters nor called so by any Alamar, and I repeat that such
is my wish. Moreover, not every settler is necessarily a squatter,”
said Don Mariano.\par

“I beg pardon. I forgot that,” said Rosario.\par

“Don't do it again, Rosy Posy, don't,” said Victoriano, rising
from the table, stroking his sister's back as if to pacify a
fractious colt. Then going to a window, said: “Mercedes
come here. Look at that; isn't that fountain lovely?”\par

In the front garden of the Darrell house, opposite to the
front door and surrounded by flowers and choice plants, Clarence
had erected a fountain which was to emit its numerous
jets of chrystaline water for the first time, when his mother
should drive up to the door. She had done so, and the fountain
was sending upwards its jets of diamonds under the rays
of the reflectors at the front door. The effect was pretty and
brilliant. Clarence's filial love was sweetly expressed in the
music of the fountain.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-ix-clarence-is-the-bearer-of-joyful-news}%
\hypertarget{chapter-ix-clarence-is-the-bearer-of-joyful-news}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER IX.—{\scshape{Clarence is the Bearer of Joyful News.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The Darrell family had been the happy dwellers of their
fine house on the Alamar rancho for nearly two months, and
the three Misses Holman had been the guests of the Alamar
family for the same length of time, and now the month of September,
1872, had arrived.\par

The awnings at the east and south side of the front veranda
were down, and in that deliciously cool place, the favorite resort
of the Alamar ladies, they now sat with their guests—the
Holmans—engaged in different kinds of fancy work, the greater
portion of which was intended to be wedding presents for Elvira
and Lizzie Mechlin, who were to be married in a few
months.\par

Mercedes was the only one not at work. She was reclining
on a hammock, reading.\par

“Arn't you going to work anything for the girls, Mercedes?”
Rosario inquired.\par

“Which girls?” Mercedes asked, with her eyes fixed on
her book.\par

“Lizzie and Elvira, of course,” Rosario answered.\par

“I will when the wedding day is fixed.”\par

“It will soon be, when George arrives,” Doña Josefa said.\par

“That will be time enough for my work,” said Mercedes,
looking from her book down the valley, towards the Darrell
house, as if casually observing from under the awning the green
meadows below.\par

“What made you come here? The back veranda is entirely
shaded, and much cooler. I have been waiting for
you there. Pshaw!” said Victoriano, coming forward and
stretching open a hammock to throw himself into it.\par

“Had we known that, we would all have rushed there,” said
Corina Holman.\par

“In a perfect stampede,” added Rosario.\par

“I thought you had gone with your father,” Doña Josefa
said.\par

“No, he said he might stay to lunch at aunt's. It is too hot
a day to be riding about in the sun.”\par

“Certainly, after having been in the moon for two months
the change of temperature might hurt you,” said Amelia
Holman.\par

“That's a fact; I have been in the moon ever since {\itshape{you}} came,”
assented Victoriano.\par

“Your moon stays in the valley, it doesn't rise to this level,”
said Amelia.\par

“It is a lovely moon wherever it may shine. I say, Baby,
won't you go with me to the Darrells this evening?” asked he,
addressing Mercedes, who had made no reply, for the reason that
she had just seen Clarence coming on horseback, and, as
usual, when any one spoke of him, or she unexpectedly
saw him, she found it necessary to take a little time, in order
to steady her voice, which otherwise might betray her heart's
tumult.\par

“Mercedes' French novel must be very interesting,” Carlota
said.\par

“It is not a novel—it is French History,” said Madam
Halier.\par

“Mercedes, Tano wants you to escort him this evening,”
said Rosario. “Will you take him?”\par

“Where?” Mercedes asked, without moving.\par

“To the moon,” said Corina.\par

“She means to the third heaven,” rejoined Victoriano.\par

“I declare, the God of Love is truly miraculous. I think it
could even poetize the Pittikin girls, or the Hughes, in Tano's
opinion,” said Carlota.\par

“Talk of the angels, and you hear the clatter of their hoofs,”
said Rosario; “there he is at the gate.”\par

“This awning is too low—we don't see people until they are
upon us,” said Carlota.\par

“I am off. I suppose he will stay to lunch, that will give
me all I want of his charming society,” said Rosario, rising to
go as Clarence dismounted at the gate.\par

“Stay, he has seen us all; it would be discourteous to leave
now,” said Doña Josefa, and Rosario remained.\par

Victoriano jumped out of the hammock to meet Clarence.\par

“Hallo, yourself and welcome! Any news?”\par

“Yes, {\itshape{big}} news,” Clarence replied, blushing crimson,—not
at the news he brought, as one might have supposed,—but because
he had just seen two little feet, in a tiny pair of slippers,
with blue rosettes, which he well knew. These little blue rosettes
had set his heart to beating, sending more than the normal
amount of blood to his head.\par

On leaving her hammock to take a chair Mercedes had
shown those tantalizing tip ends of her slippers, half hidden in a
mass of lace ruffles. That was all, and yet poor Clarence was
disconcerted, and became more and more so, on perceiving
that there were not less than nine ladies on that veranda; nine
pairs of eyes which had undoubtedly observed his own, devouring
the blue rosettes.\par

“What is the news, pray? Don't kill us with suspense,”
pleaded Miss Corina Holman.\par

“The news is that Colonel Scott has arrived at San Francisco,
and will be in San Diego next week.”\par

“Hurrah,” shouted Victoriano, “now we'll all be rich.”\par

“How do you make that out?” Rosario asked.\par

“Never mind how, we'll not go into particulars.”\par

“No, better not,” Rosario advised.\par

“Papa will be so glad to hear this news,” said Mercedes,
“and Mr. Holman, also. He'll come down now, will he
not?”\par

“Yes, father will come down with Col. Scott, and may be
build us a house right away,” said Amelia.\par

“There is papa now; I am so glad,” Mercedes exclaimed.\par

“I must run with the news to him,” said Victoriano, rushing
madly through the hall, to the {\itshape{patio}}, or court, where Don Mariano
had just dismounted.\par

The news was so gladdening to Don Mariano, that he came
immediately to propose to the young ladies to have a dance
that evening.\par

“But where are the gentlemen? There are plenty of ladies,
but unless you invite squatters”—Rosario began, but Doña
Josefa stopped her with a look.\par

“Let us see,” said Don Mariano, counting on his fingers,
“there are three or four Darrells, and six or eight Alamares, if
my brothers and half of my nephews come. That ought to be
enough, I think.”\par

“Plenty. I'll send a vaquero to aunt's to call the boys,
and you bring your brothers and sisters, Clarence,” said Victoriano.\par

“With pleasure,” was Clarence's reply.\par

“There will surely be some fellows from town this evening,
and we'll make them stay,” added Victoriano.\par

The dance took place and was followed by many others.
The Alamar family were very hospitable, and had many visitors,
who were only too glad to spend their evenings, dancing
with charming and refined young ladies, whose society was certainly
most attractive.\par

There were several young gentlemen from the Eastern States
stopping at the principal hotel in San Diego, and they came to
Alamar almost daily, to have a dance, or picnic, or musicale,
or a card party.\par

These gayeties were not confined to the Alamar and Mechlin
and Darrell families, nor was the Alamar rancho only made
happy because Tom Scott was coming. The entire county of
San Diego was buoyed up with hopes of prosperity, which now
seemed founded upon a solid basis.\par

As for the town of San Diego itself, the dwarfed and stunted
little city, she went crazy with joy. Her joy, however, was not
of the boisterous, uproarious kind, it was of a mild character,
which smiles at everybody, and takes all that comes in good
part, ready always to join in the laugh on herself, provided
everybody enjoys it. She was happy, seeing a broad vista of
coming prosperity in the near future. Why not? She had
every reason and every right to expect that the Texas Pacific
would be built.\par

At last, Col. Scott arrived, and drove to the principal hotel,
where a deputation of the most prominent citizens immediately
waited on him to pay their respects, and learn his wishes as to
how his time should be occupied during his stay in San Diego.
The city desired to honor the distinguished guest with liberal
hospitality, but the business of the railroad was the main point
in view. There were speeches to be made at “Armory Hall,”
with meetings and consultations to be had at nights, besides
drives to examine the town site and surrounding country during
the day. The ladies wished to give him a ball, but the business
men said Tom Scott did not come to dance, he came to
work. There was a banquet given to him, but no ladies were
present, only men, and plenty of railroad speeches. The ladies
could only meet him at private receptions in the evening, when
he was tired out with driving. Yet, this was the best that could
be done, as his time was limited. But he was amiable, the
ladies were amiable, and the gentlemen were amiable. So the
little city of San Diego gave all she had to give; all the lands
that had belonged to the old “San Diego \& Gila R. R. Co.,”
all that had been transferred to “The Memphis \& El Paso R.
R. Co.,” all the town lands, water front and rights of way that
could by any means be obtained, all was most generously proffered,
adding more lands than those originally given to the
road under the old names of “The San Diego \& Gila Railroad”
or “The Memphis \& El Paso Railroad.”\par

Col. Scott left well satisfied with the people of San Diego,
and the people were charmed with Col. Scott. Speculation
then ran wild. Town lots were bought and sold at fancy
prices, but in the madness of the hour folly seemed wisdom.\par

Among the heaviest investors, Don Mariano Alamar, Mr.
James Mechlin, and Mr. Alfred Holman were the most prominent.
They bought block after block of building lots, and
only stopped when their money was all invested. Clarence
also bought a few blocks, and George and Gabriel risked all
they dared. Many other people followed this (which proved
to be disastrous) example, and then all sat down to wait for
the railroad to bring population and prosperity.\par

\begin{container}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
――――
\endgraf}
\par
\end{container}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
The day of the double wedding which was to tie together
(with a double loop) the Alamar and Mechlin families, was
set for the 24th of May, 1873. On that day Gabriel and
George would lead to the altar their respective sisters, Lizzie
and Elvira.\par

Don Mariano wished to celebrate that double wedding in
the same old-fashioned way in which his own had been solemnized.
He wanted at least three days of good eating and
drinking, and dancing; to have noise and boat racing; to have
a day's sailing on the bay, and a day's picnic in the woods, to
which picnic even the stubborn, hostile squatters should be
invited. But with the sole exception of Victoriano, no one of
his family approved this programme.\par

“I'm afraid my dear husband that we are too closely surrounded
by Americans for us to indulge in our old-fashioned
rejoicings,” Doña Josefa said.\par

“We would be laughed at,” Carlota added.\par

“Who cares for that?” Victoriano asked, scornfully.\par

“I don't believe that the right thinking and kind-hearted
Americans would say anything, except that such is customary
among us. But if George and Gabriel desire to run off in the
steamer, as though they were ashamed of matrimony, I say let
them have their way. But they will have a wedding that will
look like a funeral,” said the disappointed Don Mariano.\par

“George and Gabriel are willing to have their wedding celebrated
as you propose, but it is the girls that object; they
wished to run off and hide for a month in a fashionable hotel
in San Francisco; afterward they came to the conclusion that
they didn't want to go to a hotel, so Gabriel proposed that
they will take the steamer that goes to Mazatlan and Guaymas
and La Paz, thus to visit all of those places on their wedding
tour,” Victoriano said. “As George had been wishing to see
the Mexican coast, this plan suited all very well, and George
has written to have the steamer stop for them on her way
south,” Victoriano explained, half apologetically, half resentfully.\par

“That is all right; if they are satisfied I am,” said Don Mariano,
philosophically, with characteristic amiability.\par

The steamer running between San Francisco and the Mexican
ports on the Gulf of California stopped at San Diego to
take the newly married couples; a large party of friends escorted
them on board.\par

Don Mariano was kind and affable to all, but many days
passed before he became reconciled to the fact that the marriage
of his two children was not celebrated as his own had
been, in the good old times of yore.\par

The brides and grooms had been gone for some time, and
might now be coming back in a few days.\par

“I am glad we three are alone, for there is something of
which I wish to speak with you two when no one of the family
is with us,” said Doña Josefa to Carlota and Rosario, as they
sat in their favorite front veranda, sewing.\par

The girls looked up, and casting a quick glance to see
whether any one was approaching, waited to hear what their
mother had to say. The awnings being only half down no one
could come from the outside unobserved.\par

“What is it, mamma?” Carlota asked, seeing that her mother
seemed to hesitate; “anything unpleasant?”\par

“Well, no—yes. That is to say, to me it is, very. Have
you noticed Mercedes' manner lately? She seems absorbed,
silent, thoughtful, sad, and—and—you know what I fear. She
says she is not sick, then it is some mental trouble, I am sure.
So, then, I have been thinking that she had better go with Elvira
and visit New York for a while, the change will do her good.
I do not approve of young girls going from home on visits, but
as she will go with her married sister, and—and—I hope it will
be for her good.”\par

“And yet it may not,” said Carlota.\par

“Perhaps, if it is as you—as we three—fear, absence might
be worse for her,” added Rosario; “Mercedes is very gentle,
but she is very loving and constant, so it might do more
harm than good to send her away now. Remember what the
poet says about it:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}
‘La ausencia es para el amor\par}
{\vl Lo que el aire para el fuego;\par}
{\vl Si es poco, lo apaga luego,\par}
{\vl Si es grande, lo hace mayor.’\par}
\end{verse}
}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
and I fear that Mercedes is too deeply interested already.”\par

“That is so. Have you spoken to papa about it?” Carlota
asked.\par

“I mentioned it only once, knowing his partiality to Clarence,”
Doña Josefa replied.\par

“He might be partial, but when it comes to the danger of
his daughter's marrying a {\itshape{squatter}} I should think there would
be a limit to partiality,” Carlota said, warmly.\par

“I fear your father views the matter differently. The one
time I mentioned to him that Clarence seemed to be more and
more in love with Mercedes, and my fear that she also liked
him more than I care to believe. He said, ‘Has he made love
or proposed to her?’ I told him I hoped he had not been so
audacious as that. ‘Audacious!’ said he, and laughed. ‘I tell
you, wife, if all that is necessary for Clarence to propose be
courage, neither you nor I can stop him, for the boy is no coward.
I reckon that it is Mercedes herself who gives him no
encouragement; that is what deters him, but none of our {\itshape{sangre
azul}},’ and he laughed again. I said to him, you take very
coolly a matter that might be a question of our child's fate for
life, but he only appeared amused at my anxiety. He said:
‘Don't borrow trouble; Clarence is a most excellent young
fellow—bright, energetic and honorable. Don't bother them
or yourself; if they feel true love they have a right to it. Trust
him, he is all right.’”\par

“But a squatter! The idea of an Alamar marrying a squatter!
For squatters they are, though we dance with them,” Carlota
said. “I am shocked at papa's partiality. I must say yes,
mamma, send poor Mercita away.”\par

“Yes; with all due respect to papa, I fear I will not be reconciled
to the idea of Mercedes being a daughter-in-law of old
Darrell,” Rosario said, with a shudder.\par

“Neither could I,” added Carlota.\par

And thus felt and thus reasoned these proud ladies {\itshape{in those
days}}. For although the shadows of black clouds were falling
all around, they had not observed them, or suspected their
proximity; they held up their heads proudly.\par

“And has Clarence the means of supporting a wife?” Rosario
asked. “That is another question to be considered.”\par

“I don't know. I heard he had made money in stocks, but
I don't know how much,” Doña Josefa replied.\par

“I have no faith in stocks,” said Carlota.\par

“Let us not mention this to Mercedes yet. When Elvira
returns we will consult with her,” Doña Josefa said.\par

Nothing was said to Mercedes about her journey, but she was
never allowed to see Clarence alone.\par

Elvira returned, and the project mentioned to her. She, as
a matter of course, was delighted at the prospect of having her
favorite sister with her. The pain of leaving her home would
be lessened in her company.\par

A day or two after, when Elvira was alone in her room, Mercedes
came in, looking rather pale, and letting herself drop into
the first chair she came to, said:\par

“What is this unexpected news about my going to New York
with you?”\par

“Good news, I think. Don't you like it?”\par

“Certainly. But it is too sudden. Why hadn't mamma thought
of it before?”\par

“Because she did not think your health required any change.”\par

“I tell you what, mamma alarms herself unnecessarily, and
puts but poor reliance on me. I understand it all, but as a trip
to New York is a most delightful medicine, I am willing to
take it, and that she should consider my health in a precarious
state.”\par

“But you {\itshape{do}} look pale and thin, Mercita.”\par

“Nonsense!” Mercedes exclaimed. “I have been keeping
late hours, and dancing too much. If I go to bed early I
shall get back my good color and flesh again. However, I
am glad to play the invalid until I get on board the cars.”\par

“Very well. I'll be alarmed for you, too, until we get
off.”\par

Mercedes laughed, and went to her room singing, but once
there her gayety vanished. She locked her door, and threw
herself on the bed, burying her face in her pillow to stifle
her sobs.\par

“Can anything tear his image from my heart? No. Nothing!
nothing! They may send me away to the other end of
the world, they shall not part us, for you will still fill my heart,
my own darling, holding my very soul forever in full possession.”\par

Mercedes, being not quite seventeen, her grief at parting from
Clarence was wild, vehement and all-absorbing. But she had
been trained to obedience, and her battles with the spirit always
took place after she carefully locked her bedroom door. Then
Clarence was wildly apostrophized, and a torrent of tears relieved
the overcharged, aching heart.\par

The day of departure arrived, and she had not had one minute's
conversation alone with Clarence.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-x-but-clarence-must-not-be-encouraged}%
\hypertarget{chapter-x-but-clarence-must-not-be-encouraged}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER X.—{\scshape{But Clarence Must Not be Encouraged.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The wharf was over-crowded. The steamer was about to
leave. The last car-load of baggage had been quickly
shipped, and Clarence had not been able to say a word to
Mercedes which might not have been heard by the persons
surrounding her. He was pale and desperate. He had gone
on board the steamer just to ask her one question, but she had
never been alone for an instant. And thus they must part,—for
the embodied “{\itshape{Fuerza del destino}}” now came in the shape
of a boy clanging in deafening clatter a most discordant bell,
saying that those who were not going on the steamer must go
ashore. A hurried hand-shaking, and the troop of friends
marched down the gang-plank to turn round and look many
more tender adieus from the wharf.\par

Don Mariano had observed Clarence's deathly pallor, and
how faithfully it was reflected on Mercedes' face; he saw the
unhappy young man standing aloof from the crowd on the extreme
edge of the wharf. He went to him, and laying his hand
gently on his shoulder, said:\par

“That position is dangerous—you might lose your balance,”
and he pulled him gently away. “You are very pale. I fear,
my dear boy, that you are more troubled than you have admitted
to any one. What is it? Tell me.”\par

Clarence shook his head, but suppressing his emotion, said:\par

“I cannot express my misery. She is sent away that I may
not even have the pleasure of seeing her. No one can love her
as I do, impossible!”\par

“Why have you not spoken to me of this before?” asked
Don Mariano, kindly.\par

“Because I did not dare. I thought of doing so a thousand
times, but did not dare. I did not fear unkindness or rejection
from {\itshape{you}}, but from Doña Josefa and the young ladies I
did, and I have never had an opportunity to speak alone to
Miss Mercedes.”\par

“That was an additional reason for speaking to me. Cheer
up. ‘{\itshape{Faint heart never won fair lady.}}’”\par

“Tell me that again. Say you do not reject me, and I'll
jump aboard and follow her.”\par

“I do not reject you, and I repeat what I said, follow her if
you wish, and try your luck. I want to see you both happy,
and both of you are very unhappy.”\par

Clarence looked toward the boat. The gang-plank had
been removed.\par

“What a happy girl you are, Mercedes, to visit New
York. How I wish I, too, could go,” he heard Corina Holman
say.\par

“Come on, it is not too late yet,” George replied.\par

Clarence looked up, and met Mercedes' eyes. It seemed as
if George's words were intended for him.\par

He clasped Don Mariano's hand, saying hurriedly:\par

“If I understand you, I have your permission to go. May
I? Tell me ‘yes.’”\par

“‘{\itshape{Faint heart never won fair lady}},’” he repeated, smiling,
and returning the warm pressure of his hand, added: “Yes, go
and try your luck.”\par

Clarence turned, and without another word quickly made his
way through the crowd.\par

The steamer's wheels began to move; the captain was already
on the bridge, over the starboard wheel, and had given the
order to let go the hawsers. In another instant the steamer
would leave the wharf.\par

Clarence felt himself pulled by the arm, he turned impatiently,
and met Everett, who handed him two telegrams,
saying:\par

“I have looked for you everywhere. These telegrams followed
each other quickly.”\par

“Yes, I know,” Clarence said, taking them; adding, without
stopping his hurried walking, “Retty, I am going. Tell
them at home I got three telegrams calling me to San Francisco.”\par

“But you haven't read them,” urged Everett, trying to follow
him.\par

“But I know what they are; I have another in my pocket.”\par

Lifting his arm with the telegrams in his hand, he said to
the captain:\par

“Captain, one moment. I must go north. Please take
me.”\par

The captain did not hear him, and at the same time called
out:\par

“Let go that hawser! Do you want it to snap?”\par

The crowd ran off, giving a wide berth to the heavy rope,
which now, by its own tension, made it impossible to be
slipped off the pile, although many pairs of hands were tugging
at it manfully.\par

The stern expression of the captain's face softened as he saw
Clarence standing on the brink of the wharf.\par

“Step back, Mr. Darrell, quickly, the rope might part,” said
he; but noticing that Clarence desired to speak to him, motioned
to the first officer to take his place, and ran down to hear
what Clarence said.\par

A minute after the steamer stood still for an instant, then the
wheels began to revolve in reversed motion.\par

“There she is, Mr. Darrell; she'll be alongside in a minute,”
the captain said, pleased with the opportunity to oblige
Clarence.\par

And the steamer, propelled by one wheel, began to back
as if with the side-long motion of a highly intelligent crab who
understood the situation.\par

“Read your telegrams,” Everett repeated.\par

“All right—to please you,” said Clarence, tearing them open.
Adding, after reading a few words, “It is as I expected. I am
wanted by Hubert. Send him a dispatch to-night saying
I left, and to accept M.'s offer, and pay the money at
once.”\par

“Now, Mr. Darrell, come on,” the captain said.\par

Hurriedly Clarence shook hands with Don Mariano, Gabriel,
Everett and Victoriano.\par

“Take care, jump in on the downward swing, when about
on a level with the wharf,” said Gabriel.\par

Clarence nodded, gave him his hand, and planting his foot
firmly on the wharf, gave one spring, and wiry as a cat, alighted
on the steamer beside the captain, who hugged him, saying:\par

“Bravo, my boy, I could have done that twenty years ago.”\par

Don Mariano and Gabriel lifted their hats in congratulatory
salutation; Victoriano and Everett twirled theirs in the air hurrahing;
the ladies waved their handkerchiefs, and the steamer
giving a dip and a plunge—by way of a very low courtesy—bounded
up and started onwards, as if satisfied she had been
good natured long enough, and now must attend to business.
In a few minutes she had made up for lost time, and was
heading for Ballast Point, leaving San Diego's shore to be
merged into the blue hills of Mexico beyond, as if obeying
the immutable law which says that all things must revert to
their original source.\par

Elvira's beautiful eyes were so filled with tears that she could
see nothing. Still, she kept her gaze riveted upon that fast
receding wharf. George stood a few feet apart, prudently
thinking that the two sisters would perhaps prefer to be by
themselves while taking their last look at the dear ones standing
on the wharf. He, too, felt much moved; he would have
preferred to remain with his family at Alamar. He would
come next year—he thought—and perhaps remain in California
permanently. With this thought in his mind, almost shaped
into resolve, he came to Elvira's side, and quietly slipping his
arm round her waist, said:\par

“Don't cry, sweetest, I will bring you back next year, and
we will make our home near our parents. No matter if I
make less money, we will have more happiness.”\par

Elvira looked unutterable thanks.\par

“Do you hear him, Mercedes?” she said, and Mercedes
nodded, but moved a little further off, not yet trusting her
voice to make any reply.\par

“Look here, this won't do; this will spoil our blue eyes,”
said George, putting his other arm around Mercedes' pretty
shoulders. “I insist upon you turning your thoughts toward
New York, Long Branch, Newport and Washington; think of
all the fun we will have visiting all those places. Then we
will come back gay and happy, and our dear ones will be so
glad to see us again. Think of all that,” and thus George exerted
his eloquence to administer consolation. “I am sure all
at home will be thinking of our return by to-morrow morning,”
he added, by way of climax to his consoling rhetoric.\par

But George was mistaken. The Alamar ladies found it very
hard and difficult to reconcile themselves to be separated from
Elvira and Mercedes.\par

The fact that Clarence had gone in the same steamer, added
much bitterness to Doña Josefa's sorrow at separating from
both daughters. She did not even wish any one to mention
Clarence's name in her presence. Don Mariano's arguments
in favor of the bold young man were at first ineffectual, but
after a while she began to think that she ought to trust more
in Mercedes' pride and Elvira's vigilance.\par

In the meantime the travelers continued their voyage very
happily. Clarence rightly conjectured that Mercedes would
suppose he had followed her to declare his love, and this supposition
would redouble her shyness. Her manner at first,
fully confirmed this surmise, so, to put her at her ease, he was
very kind and attentive, but never betrayed by word or look,
his heart's devotion. His manner was exactly all that she could
wish, the behavior of a devoted brother, and in consequence
she began to be less shy. He spoke of having received three
telegrams, calling him north; this surely was a good reason for
his unexpected journey.\par

They visited Los Angeles, went ashore at Port Harford and
Santa Barbara, and as George was naturally devoted to his
bride, there seemed no alternative for Mercedes but to accept
Clarence's escort, and lean on his arm whenever that operation
became necessary.\par

The nights were lovely, with a full moon in the azure sky,
and the sea air, neither cold nor warm, but of that California
temperature, which seems to invite people to be happy, giving
to all an idea of the perfect well-being we expect to find in the
hereafter.\par

There was a great deal of freight to be landed at Santa
Barbara. The passengers going to San Francisco were already
on board. Still the steamer tarried. Some lady friends of
Elvira, who were going north had come aboard, and as they
had much to say, took her away to their staterooms.\par

“Wait for me here, I'll return in half an hour,” said she to
George; but he thought he knew how ladies measure time
when engaged in talking, so he slowly arose and said he would
go to play cribbage with the captain.\par

The steamer now shivered and trembled, as if awakening
from a nice nap. The wheels revolved lazily and then she was
off, dragging a luminous wake of myriads of evanescent diamonds.\par

“If you wish to go, Mr. Darrell, please do so; do not remain
on my account,” said Mercedes, when George rose to go.\par

“Not at all. I remain entirely on my own, as I do
not particularly desire to play cut-throat cribbage, and as it is
too early for you to retire, suppose you permit me to remain
until your sister returns.”\par

“Certainly, do so, else I'll stay,” said George, going.\par

“Have I offended you in any way?” Clarence asked.\par

“No, of course not. What a question. What makes you
ask that?”\par

“Because you must know it would be cruel punishment to
send me off.”\par

“I didn't think anything of the kind, only I didn't wish to
be selfish and keep you from going if you wished it.”\par

“How could I wish to go anywhere and leave you; I would
not go to heaven, if to do so I would have to renounce you.”\par

“Please do not talk like that, some one might hear you.”\par

“There is not a soul within hearing. Our only witness is
that lovely moon, and she will not betray.”\par

“No matter, please do not speak like that.”\par

“Like what? That I love you? I have never yet said it in
words, but you know it.”\par

“Oh! Mr. Darrell!”\par

“Yes, you know it, and to avoid me you are going away;
going from me, no matter if it killed me.”\par

“It is not my choice, I only obey,” said she, clasping her
trembling hands, now cold as ice.\par

“Is it so? Did you not wish to avoid me?”\par

“Please do not ask me, you'll make me very miserable.”\par

“I would not cause you one single pang, if to avoid it I had to
die. Believe me, all I wish to know is, whether I have been
so blind as not to see your dislike; whether it was your own
choice to go, or you were compelled to do so by your
mother?”\par

“Please don't blame mamma.”\par

“I do not blame her in the least. She has a perfect right
to object to me if she wishes, but I too, have at least, the sad
privilege of asking whether you also object to me?”\par

“I have nothing against you; I like you very much, as—as
a friend,” she said, trembling, painfully agitated.\par

Clarence laughed a hoarse, discordant laugh that made her
feel miserable.\par

“I have been told that young ladies say that always, when
they mean to let down easily a poor devil whom they pity and
perhaps despise. Thanks, Miss Mercedes, for liking me ‘as a
friend,’ thank you. Perhaps I am a presumptuous fool to love
you, but love you I must, for I can not help it.”\par

He stood up and looked down at the dark ocean in silence.
She looked up to his face and her beautiful features looked so
pleadingly sad, that he forgot his own misery and thought only
of the pain those superb eyes revealed.\par

He seated himself very near her, and took both of her hands
in his own. Surely there was something troubling her.\par

“How cold these dear little hands are. Have I caused you
pain?” he asked. She nodded but did not speak.\par

“Yes, I have pained you, when I would give my heart's
blood to make you happy. Oh! Mercedes, I cannot give you
up, it is impossible while I live. Do you command me to do
so? Do you wish it? You know that I have loved you from
the first moment I saw you; when I lifted you in my arms.
The exquisite pleasure I felt then, and the yearning I have
felt ever since, to hold you in my arms again, as my own sweet
wife, that longing tells me incessantly that I can never love
any one else; that I must win you or renounce love forever on
earth. Tell me, will you cruelly repel me?”\par

She was silent, listening with averted face, as if afraid to
meet his gaze, but she did not withdraw her hands, which he
still held in both his own, as if he would never willingly release
them again.\par

“Mercedes, say that you reject me only to obey your mother,
and I will not despair, for I know that your father does not
object to me; on the contrary, he sanctions my love, he would
accept me as his son-in-law.”\par

She turned quickly, gazed at him with an eager, inquiring
look.\par

“Yes, he gave me permission to follow you and ask you to
be my wife.”\par

“What? He? My papa did that?”\par

“Yes. When he saw me looking so wretched with the pain
of parting from you, he said to me, ‘Cheer up; faint heart
never won fair lady.’ I said to him, if you tell me that in
earnest, I'll jump aboard the steamer and follow her. He repeated
the quotation, adding: ‘Go and try your luck.’ Is not
that sufficient?”\par

“Darling papa, he is so kind,” she said, eluding Clarence's
question, but her evident gratitude toward her father spoke
volumes.\par

“Indeed he is. His heart is full of nobility. He does not
permit unjust prejudices to influence him into dislikes.”\par

“You must not blame my poor mamma. She thinks you
did some wrong act, but she is not prejudiced against you, nor
does she dislike you.”\par

“I did some wrong act? What is it? When?”\par

“That I couldn't tell you, for I do not know, and perhaps I
am wrong to have said so much. But I spoke because it was
painful to me to think that you believe my own loving, lovely
mamma prejudiced, for she is not. She might be mistaken,
but she is kindness itself.”\par

Clarence mentally demurred to this warm praise, but wisely
held his peace.\par

“Promise me you will not think mamma is prejudiced,” said
she, without the least suspicion of the tyranny, the unreasonableness
of such a request.\par

“I promise it, of course, if you desire it, but I would at
the same time, like to know what is the {\itshape{wrong}} act of which I
am accused, that has brought upon me her censure. I assure
you I have not the slightest idea; I think my record as an
honest man can well bear scrutiny. Can it be that I have
made money in mining stocks?”\par

“Oh, no. She does not know that, and if she did, she
would not think it wrong, for she knows nothing about stocks.”\par

“Then I vow I have not the remotest idea of what it is.”\par

“Think no more about it now, and when you return, you
ask papa. He will soon find out the mistake and vindicate
you.”\par

“Yes, he will do so I am sure. I would blindly trust my
life and honor in his hands,” said he, warmly, and quick as a
flash came his reward, for she pressed his hands most gratefully.
“Ah! Mercedes why did you do that?” The poor
young man was trying to make up his mind not to press his
suit until he had been vindicated, and Doña Josefa had
nothing against him. But that pressure made him ambitious,
impatient; he wished to have some promise that she would
not accept any one else's suit. She was going from him, out of
his sight. He was certain that dozens, yes hundreds, would
fall in love with her as soon as they saw her. Would she not
love some one? It would be natural to prefer to him, some
of those elegant New Yorkers, or some fascinating foreigner
whom she might meet in Washington. This thought made him
wretched.\par

“I'm so glad you appreciate papa,” said she, withdrawing
her hands, which she considered he had held long enough.
Noticing that he looked troubled, and that his hand trembled,
she added: “I fear I have been indiscreet, and have caused
you pain by what I said; if so, I am very sorry. Have I
pained you?”\par

“I have never done anything dishonorable. I can prove that
to Doña Josefa at any time. But”—he broke off, and after a
paused, added: “Oh! Mercedes! how wretched I shall be,
thinking that you might love some one else. Is not your refusal
to give me any encouragement a proof that you feel you
never can care for me?”\par

“Please don't say that. I do care for you. That is, I mean, I
ought not to tell you so, but—but”—she did not finish, for the
rash young man had again seized her little hands, and was
covering them with kisses, forgetting that any passenger
had the right to come and sit there on the same bench to
enjoy the silvery moonlight, sailing over the broad, sublime
Pacific.\par

“Oh! Mr. Darrell! Don't do that. Please let us go
now to call Elvira. She thinks George is with me,” she said,
rising.\par

“We don't want Elvira, we don't want George. Let them
be. Why do you grudge me this happiness of being alone
with you for the first and, perhaps, for the last time in my life?
Please sit down. I will behave myself. I will not kiss your
hands, I promise; but won't you reward my self-restraint by
answering one question?”\par

“What is the question?” said she, sitting down again, only
a little further off; “tell me, and then we must go to find
Elvira.”\par

“I want you to tell me—I mean, I beg and entreat you to
tell me this—if I can prove that I have never done anything
dishonorable, and your mother ceases to object to my
marrying you, will you then consent to be my wife?”\par

The question gave Mercedes exquisite pleasure, for she loved
him with all her heart. The word wife soundly so sweetly coming
from his lips, but she had promised her mother “{\itshape{not to encourage
him}}.” So she must not. It would be dishonorable to
break her word. What could she say, not to make him unhappy,
and yet not commit the sin of disobedience to her
mother's command?\par

She looked down, and her expressive features again showed
that she was troubled.\par

“Oh! I was mistaken. Your silence tells me I cannot
hope.”\par

“Do not be impatient, please. I was trying to think how I
could explain to you my position.”\par

“Your position?”\par

“Yes. How much what papa said to you might alter things.
But I cannot see how I can say anything to you, except to be
patient. Yes, let us both be patient.”\par

“Patience and despair do not travel together.”\par

“Discard despair, and trust to patience, and”—she was going
to say, “trust me,” but remembered her mother's commands,
and that to say so much even would be {\itshape{to encourage
him}}. She was silent. She could have rejected an offer of
marriage easily without taking away all hope, but as she
“{\itshape{must not encourage him}},” that was the most difficult dilemma
for the poor girl. “Trust to papa, and—and do not be blaming
me in your heart. I cannot bear that.”\par

“I shall not blame you. I shall do whatever you order
me. But at all times I do not understand you,” said he,
sadly.\par

“It is because my position is so—so difficult, so unnatural.
I wish you could understand it without my explaining it. Can't
you?”\par

“I'll try,” said he, in most dejected tones, again thinking of
the elegant New Yorkers, and fascinating Washingtonians, on
their knees before her. “But I do not understand why you
refuse me one word of encouragement.”\par

“Oh! that is just {\itshape{the word}} I cannot give,” she sighed.\par

“This is all the work of Doña Josefa,” thought he, and the
form of the handsome matron seemed to rise before him
from the billows of the Pacific, and stand with Juno's lofty
majesty in severe impassibility before his sad gaze.\par

Mercedes, too, was looking at the immense sea, as if trying
to discover in that vast expanse some consoling words that
a good, obedient daughter might speak on such an occasion.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xi-george-is-a-christian-gentleman}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xi-george-is-a-christian-gentleman}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XI.—{\scshape{George is a Christian Gentleman.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
In vain did Mercedes scan the broad bosom of the Pacific
Ocean in search of something to say that would be soothing to
Clarence's feelings, very proper for her to utter, and very acceptable
to her mamma's sentiments, had she been there to
hear it. But that vast sea was dark and mute. It did not
respond. It only made her shudder to think of its awful
silence that was so solemn, but not in the least comforting.
It was so dark, so limitless, so cold. She turned her eyes to
the luminous wake trailed by the steamer where such wealth
of diamonds was wasted. “Fitful scintillations and then all
lost in gloom,” she said, adding: “No, all is not wasted, those
bright diamonds are not as evanescent as we, they will sink,
but reappear again and remain there always to gladden or
amuse poor travelers for ages to come; yes, when our two poor
hearts have ceased forever to throb with joy or pain.”\par

“Is it not, then, wrong when life is so flitting to refuse pure
and holy happiness which God has permitted to the children
of man?”\par

“We will be talking bookish, like Corina Holman, if we sit
here alone with the silent Pacific. Let us go to find Elvira,”
said she, rising. “Ah, there she is now!”\par

Elvira was bidding good night to her two lady friends who
stood at the door of their state-room, and (as all ladies must)
had something very interesting to say at the last moment.\par

“And so I am to be patient whether there is hope or not,”
said Clarence.\par

“You said you would speak with papa. You forget how
very kind he is to everybody in general, and how partial to you
in particular.”\par

“Yes, he is most generous, almost too noble for this world.”\par

“I have often thought that, but as he is past fifty, I trust
that a kind Providence will spare him to us for many years
yet.”\par

“Of course, he will be spared to you. If no good man could
live, then the gift of life would be a brand upon man's forehead.
But a character as his, is truly very rare. He comes
nearer to my standard of excellence than any other man I ever
saw, and I revere and love him for it.”\par

“I shall treasure those words in my heart, believe me. Let
them remain there forever,” she said, her voice vibrating with
emotion.\par

“Well, well, and where is George?” said Elvira, looking
around for her missing husband.\par

“He went to the captain's room to play cribbage about two
minutes after you left,” said Mercedes.\par

“Good chaperone he is; and what have you been talking
about here like two little owls who know they musn't jump into
the water because they are not ducks?”\par

“One isn't, any way,” Clarence said, smiling.\par

“As my married experience is yet fresh and limited, I don't
know whether it would be proper or not for us three to take a
turn on deck and see whether George is enjoying himself.
What do you think, Mr. Darrell, would a husband object to
that?”\par

“I should say not. Why should he? To my way of thinking
no husband of ordinary good sense could object to his wife
showing that interest in him. Mr. Mechlin will not, I am
sure.”\par

“Let Mr. Darrell take a look first,” suggested Mercedes.\par

Clarence arose to go, Elvira said: “Only pass by, as if by
accident, and we'll go or not, according to circumstances.”\par

When Clarence had gone beyond hearing, Elvira said:
“He looks pale again, have you made him unhappy?”\par

“I have not made him happy, that is sure, and I am miserable,
but you know mamma's feelings, what can I do? Oh,
what can I do?” said she, putting her arms around her sister
and the hot tears she had been repressing flowed fast. “I am
so sorry I have to make him so unhappy.”\par

“I must say I feel sorry for him myself. I am not sure that
mamma does him justice,” Elvira observed reflectively.\par

“And to think that papa himself told him to follow me.”\par

“Is that so?”\par

“Yes; and he is disappointed, but what can I do, dear,
when mamma told me {\itshape{not to encourage}} him?”\par

“I certainly am under no pledge, and papa's authority is
entitled to as much respect as mamma's,” Elvira said significantly.\par

“That is true, but you see mamma made me promise not to
{\itshape{encourage}} him,” said Mercedes with sad insistence.\par

“Yes, and Rosa and Lota urged her to it. There is George
now.”\par

“I will go to my room; they will see by my red eyes that I
cried.”\par

“Go and bathe them. Drink some water, too, and come
back.”\par

“And I'll bring you some by way of an excuse.”\par

“Why did Mercedes run off?” George asked.\par

“She will be back in a minute; she went to take a glass of
water.”\par

“Oh! why did she not tell me to bring it to her?” said
Clarence regretfully. “I ought to have thought of bringing it.
Wouldn't she rather have a glass of wine or lemonade? and
you, too, Mrs. Mechlin? I shall take it as a favor if you will
accept. A glass of champagne with ice I think would do very
well for all of us; don't you think so Mr. Mechlin?”\par

“Yes, champagne with ice would be very nice, provided the
champagne be good,” George replied.\par

“Let us try any way,” said Clarence, going to order the wine.
George and Elvira watched him, and when out of hearing
George said:\par

“Don't you know I like that young man very much. What
is your mother's objection to him?”\par

“His family, I believe, or rather his father.”\par

“Old Darrell looks like a decent, honorable sort of a man to
me. Certainly Clarence is very gentlemanly, and (what is
equally to be considered) Mercedes likes him more than is
good for her peace of mind if she is not to have him.”\par

“My poor little sister, she is so unhappy, and, just think of
it, papa told Clarence to come, to follow Mercedes and propose
to her.”\par

“He did? That is just like him. Doubtless he thought of
the times when he would ride eighty miles to go and serenade
Doña Josefa, and his sympathies all went to Darrell. It is a
pity your mother doesn't feel as kindly.”\par

“And what makes me feel more for Mercedes is, that she
loves Clarence dearly, but in obedience to mamma's wishes
she will not even give him any encouragement at all.”\par

“Then {\itshape{we}} must, that's all. Only let us first be sure that
she loves him.”\par

“Oh, as to that, if you had only seen her beautiful eyes filled
with such sad tears because she cannot accept his love, you
would have no doubts as to her feelings.”\par

“Then my course is clear. I am a Christian gentleman and
will not see savage torture inflicted on my blue-eyed {\itshape{hermanita}}.
I think I know how to fix it up.”\par

“What will you do?”\par

“{\itshape{Quien sabe}} just this minute, but it will be {\itshape{something}}, depend
upon it. There he is now,” and Clarence came, followed
by a waiter bringing the champagne and ice. He looked disappointed
at not finding Mercedes.\par

“That little sister of ours I fear has given us the slip. I
think I'll go and fetch her bodily,” George said, rising to go.\par

“No; let me go,” said Elvira. When George was left alone
with Clarence he said:\par

“I fear that Mercedes is very unhappy, she left when she
saw us coming, Elvira says, because she feared her eyes showed
traces of tears.”\par

Clarence clenched his hands as if he would like to throttle
all bad luck in general, and this one in particular, looked haggard,
but remained silent. George continued:\par

“Spanish girls are trained to strict filial obedience, and it is
a good thing when not carried too far. Now, Mercedes made
to her mother some very foolish promise, and if her heart was
to break into little pieces she would not swerve—not she—though
she be fully aware that her happiness would be wrecked
for ever, she would not disobey her mother.”\par

“But is it alone her mother's wishes? In obeying her
mother, does she not follow her own inclination?”\par

George laughed, saying: “She must be a strange girl, indeed,
if she weeps so bitterly and is so unhappy to follow her
inclination.”\par

“Oh, if I only could think that! Are you sure?”\par

“Why did Doña Josefa wish to send her away? Only for
the hope that she might get over her love for you. Mercedes is
not yet eighteen, and, being so young, her mother thought that
by sending her away from you and yours, she might forget you.
Only such hope as that could have prevailed upon Doña Josefa
to part with her baby. Spanish mothers will never let a daughter
go out of the maternal sight until they are married; but
for the fear that Mercita's attachment to you might become
incurable if not effaced early, the mother was ready to sacrifice
her feelings. For it was a terrible sacrifice, it was like
pulling her heart strings to send her baby off.”\par

“Oh, how she must hate me then to have such strong objections
to me,” said Clarence, sadly.\par

“No, she does not hate you”—and George hesitated.\par

“Yes, I know she thinks I have done something wrong or
dishonorable, but what that is, I have not the slightest idea.”\par

“Excuse me for saying so, but I think it was a mistake not
to tell her—and Mercedes also—that you bought the land you
occupy. Doña Josefa cannot think it is honorable to take up
land as your father did. She cannot understand how any law
of Congress can authorize a man to take the property of another
against his will and without paying for it.”\par

“And she is perfectly right. I see the mistake now, and I
regret it more than words can tell. You knew why I asked
Don Mariano not to mention that I had paid him.”\par

“Yes, Gabriel told me first, and he, too, thinks it is a mistake
to let the Alamar ladies have a wrong idea of you. He
thinks you do an injustice to yourself. We were talking about
it when Don Mariano joined us, and he agreed with Gabriel
and said that he would speak to you about it very soon.
Doesn't any of your family know about it?”\par

“Yes, Everett and mother do. She would not have come
down if I had not told her I paid for the land. But she and
I thought that for the present we had better say nothing about
it to father, knowing how sensitive he is about his views of
‘{\itshape{Squatter rights}}?’ He has had so much trouble about those
same rights.”\par

“I suppose you will have to tell him soon—I mean when
the attorney general dismisses the appeal.”\par

“When will that be, do you think?”\par

“Just as soon as the Supreme Court is in session. It would
have been done last fall had not the solicitor general interfered
in the most absurd and arbitrary manner.”\par

“I heard he had, and I heard the settlers rejoicing about it,
but I never knew how it happened—I would like to hear.”\par

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” said Elvira, coming, “if my
eloquence and persuasive powers were not of the unprecedented
quality they really are, I would never have been able to persuade
the señorita to come. Would you believe it? she was
actually in bed for the night.”\par

“Ah!” Clarence exclaimed, regretfully.\par

“Yes, I told her that if she didn't come, you would take the
champagne to her room, and this so frightened her, that she
began to dress herself immediately, but the poor little thing
trembles as if she had the ague. I gave her a cashmere wrapper
and soft shawl to wrap up and not take cold.”\par

“Go and tell her we have good news for her,” suggested
George.\par

“She'll think you are jesting,” Elvira answered.\par

“Not if you tell her that we know what it is that Doña Josefa
has against Darrell, and we'll make it all right.”\par

“Oh, don't deceive the poor little thing when she seems as
if all her strength is already gone from her,” Elvira said.\par

“But we are not deceiving her,” George insisted.\par

“Hush! here she comes,” Elvira said, and Mercedes slowly
approached them. “Come, sweet Baby, these gentlemen say
they have some awful nice news for you.”\par

“News that the wine is good, I suppose, but I don't like
wine,” she said.\par

“No, it isn't the wine,” George said, rising for Mercedes to
take his place. “Sit down here between Darrell and myself
and you shall hear all about it.”\par

“What is it?” Mercedes asked, looking from one to the
other.\par

“I can't tell you, little sister, for they haven't told me,”
Elvira said.\par

“Darrell, you fill the glasses now while I tell these señoritas
what sort of a black sheep Doña Josefa thinks you
are, and so thinking, objects to you.” Clarence proceeded to
put ice into the glasses, while George continued: “The objection
is, that she believes the Darrells are ‘{\itshape{squatters}},’ like all
the others at the rancho, whereas Clarence bought their land
from Don Mariano and paid for it even before they built their
house.”\par

“Oh! I am so glad to hear that!” Elvira exclaimed with
a sigh of relief. “But why don't papa tell it to mamma? It
is an injustice to the Darrells to let her ignore it.”\par

“It is my fault, Mrs. Mechlin,” Clarence said; “my father
holds the accepted but very erroneous popular opinions about
‘{\itshape{squatter rights}},’ and I, to avoid painful discussions with him,
requested Señor Alamar not to say, for the present, that I had
paid for the land.”\par

“You see, little sister, how, after all, you have not been loving
a squatter? What a pity,” said George, putting his arm
around Mercedes, who buried her face in the lappels of his coat.
“It isn't half so romantic to love a plain gentleman as to love
a brigand, or, at least, a squatter.”\par

“Doña Josefa's objection to me is perfectly proper and correct.
I would not let a daughter of mine marry a squatter no
more than to marry a tramp. I shall, of course, request Don
Mariano to put me right in her estimation, and tell her I do
not feel authorized by Congress to steal land, though my father
and many other honest men hold different opinions about it.”\par

“There! Do you hear that? Let us have a bumper, and
drown the squatter in champagne! Exit tramp! Enter gentleman!
Here is to Baby's health,” said George.\par

All emptied their glasses, except Mercedes, whose hand
shook so violently that she spilled more wine than she drank.\par

“Don't lose your courage now,” Elvira said to her.\par

“I believe pussy is regretting she lost her squatter. Isn't
that so, pussy? You have not said one word. Are you regretting
that, after all, you cannot sacrifice to love your patrician
pride by marrying a land-shark, thus proving you are a
heroine?”\par

“Oh, what a silly boy,” she said, laughing.\par

“Really, I think our romance is spoiled. It would have been
so fine—like a dime novel—to have carried you off bodily by
order of infuriated, cruel parents, and on arriving at New York
marry you, at the point of a loaded revolver, to a bald-headed,
millionaire! Your midnight shrieks would have made the
blood of the passers-by curdle! Then Clarence would have
rushed in and stabbed the millionaire, and you, falling across
his prostrate body, said: ‘Tramp or not, I am thine!’”\par

“Oh, George, stop your nonsense,” Elvira said.\par

“Whereas now,” George went on, “the unpoetical fact comes
out that Darrell is a decent sort of a fellow, and there is no
reason why a proper girl shouldn't have him for her husband;
and our romance is stripped of its thrilling features, as the
hero will not steal, even when Congress tells him to. And that
is the {\itshape{dénouement}}, with the addition only that I am hungry.
What have you got to eat in those two little baskets that Tano
brought on board, and which smell so nice?”\par

“Ah, yes, I had forgotten. Mamma put up a nice lunch,
thinking we might want it if we felt sick, or didn't want to go to
the table. I'll go and bring it,” said Elvira, setting down her
glass, and rising.\par

“Let me go,” said George, “as I am the hungry one.”\par

“Bring both baskets. Let us see what they have. Ah, I
was forgetting, I have the three little silver plates in my
satchel; we must have those,” added Elvira, following her
husband.\par

“Can you forgive my stupidity? See what a world of anxious
thoughts we would have avoided by explaining to Doña Josefa
everything,” said Clarence to Mercedes.\par

“Yes, it was unfortunate. But you will return soon and ask
papa to tell her all, will you not?”\par

“Indeed I will, by the next steamer; and will have better
heart to await your return. My precious angel, don't ever forget
how devotedly I idolize you! Will you let me send you a
ring, if your mother allows me?”\par

“Couldn't you {\itshape{bring}} it yourself?”\par

“Oh, Mercedes, my beloved! how happy you make me!”\par

“Look here,” said George, groping in the dark; “Where are
the magic baskets? I don't smell them.”\par

“I knew you wouldn't, that is why I came to find them.”\par

“Look here! if you follow a fellow like that, you'll get
kissed,” said he, taking his wife in his arms, and covering her
face with kisses.\par

“Stop, George, some one might pass who didn't know you
are my husband.”\par

“That's so,” said he, desisting. “But the fact of the matter
is, that I want to kiss you all the time, you are so pretty and
such a sweet darling. Give me the basket, and let your hungry
husband go before he eats you up.”\par

“Here they are. I'll carry the plates and knives.”\par

“Tano said something about boned turkey, {\itshape{a la espanola}},
stuffed with mashed almonds and ‘{\itshape{ajonjoli}},’” said George, setting
the baskets on a chair before Clarence; “and something
about a ‘{\itshape{tortita de aceituna}},’ with sweet marjoram, and I think
we got them, to judge by their fragrance.”\par

“Shall I go and order more wine?” asked Clarence.\par

“Oh, no, no,” said Elvira, “this is plenty.”\par

“How strange it is that I haven't felt this wine at all,” said
Mercedes; “one-half glass only will make my face unpleasantly
warm always, for that reason I dislike wines; but see, I
drank this whole glassful, and I don't feel it any more than if
it was water.”\par

“But don't you feel warmer? You were shivering when you
came from your room,” George said.\par

“Yes, I feel better,” she said, timidly.\par

“Now eat a little and you will sleep better. Take one of
these ‘{\itshape{empanaditas de pollo}},’” said Elvira, offering one.\par

“Give me one,” George said. “I know them by experience,
and the trouble about them is that you can never have
enough, though you feel you have eaten too many. Try
them, Darrell, and when you have filled our glasses I'll satisfy
your curiosity, telling you why the Solicitor General would not
dismiss the appeal of the squatters.”\par

“Yes, I want to know all about that,” said Clarence, filling
the glasses.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xii-why-the-appeal-was-not-dismissed}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xii-why-the-appeal-was-not-dismissed}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XII.—{\scshape{Why the Appeal was Not Dismissed.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
At the time when this moonlit picnic of four took place
on the steamer's deck, as it glided northward over the glassy
surface of the immense Pacific, the people of California had
not yet heard about the disclosure of the famous {\itshape{Colton suit}}.
This suit was hidden in the mists of a distant future, and
therefore the famous “{\itshape{Huntington Letters}}” had not come forth
to educate the American mind in the fascinating, meandering,
shady ways of “{\itshape{convincing}}” or of “{\itshape{bribery and corruption}},”
as the newspapers and committee reports have harshly stigmatized
Mr. Huntington's diplomacy(!) At that time, 1872,
people yet spoke of “{\itshape{bribery}}” with a degree of shamefacedness
and timidity. It was reserved for Mr. Huntington to
familiarize the American people with the fact that an American
gentleman could go to Washington with the avowed purpose
of influencing legislation by “{\itshape{convincing}}” people with money
or other inducements, and yet no one lose caste, or lose his
high social or public position, but on the contrary, the {\itshape{convinced
and the convincer}} be treated with the most distinguished
consideration. So after drinking half of his second glass,
George said:\par

“I don't believe the stories about Washington being such a
corrupt place, where people get everything by bribing. That
is a shameful slander. I went there about that dismissal of
the Squatters' Appeal, and was treated like a gentleman, even
by the Solicitor General, who was outrageously unjust to us.
After my uncle had sent to the Attorney General Don Mariano's
letter explaining the case and stating how the transcript
had been in Washington two years, I went as Don Mariano's
attorney to look after the case. I saw the Attorney General
immediately, and he told me to return at ten o'clock next morning.
I did so, and was shown in at once. He said:\par

“‘I looked at the case again last evening, and don't see
where those settlers can find a hook on which to hang their
appeal. There isn't any. It is very singular that this case has
not been dismissed before by my predecessor. So I was just
telling the Solicitor General, as you entered, to have it dismissed
this morning. I have explained my opinion to him.
He is going now to the Supreme Court and can make the motion
and tell the clerk to enter the dismissal to-day. The
United States have no case against Señor Alamar, his title is
perfectly good,’ said he, looking at the Solicitor, who stood
by silent and motionless. ‘You have only this one case to
attend to this morning, besides the one I want continued until
I return. The others, you understand, I leave you to manage
as you think proper, and at such times as you think best.’\par

“I thanked the Attorney General, and as I took my leave I
said I did not know he was going away.\par

“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I am going this evening to Oregon to see
my constituents, but my absence will not affect your case, the
Solicitor General takes my place during my absence, and he
has only to say before the Supreme Court that I enter a dismissal,
and that ends the matter.’\par

“As I went out I said to the Solicitor, ‘I suppose then this
business is finished now?’\par

“‘Such is the supposition,’ said he, and we went out together.
I had a great mind to follow him to the Supreme
Court and see what he was going to do, but I thought he
might not like being watched. Well, sir, would you believe
it? That man went to the Supreme Court and never said {\itshape{boo}}
about our dismissal. Next morning I went to ask him if the
dismissal was entered. He sent word he was engaged,—to call
again. I called in the afternoon, and he had left the office.
Next morning I called again, and he of course was engaged.
I went to the clerk of the Supreme Court, and giving him the
number of the case, asked if it had been dismissed. He said
no, that the Solicitor General had been at the Supreme Court
every day, but had entered no dismissal. I telegraphed to
Uncle Lawrence to come, and as soon as he arrived we went
to see the President about it. I laid the whole case before
him. I told him how the squatters were destroying Don Mariano's
cattle, and how by a law of the California legislature,
any one could plant grain field without fencing, and take up
cattle that went to those fields, no matter whether there was
any title to the land or whether the field was no larger than
one acre.\par

“‘But the law does not open to settlers private property, private
lands?’\par

“‘Yes it does, because land is not considered {\itshape{private property}}
until the title to it is confirmed and patented. As the proceedings
to obtain a patent might consume years, almost a life
time, the result is that the native Californians (of Spanish descent)
who were the land owners when we took California, are
virtually despoiled of their lands and their cattle and horses.
Congress virtually took away their lands by putting them in
litigation. And the California legislature takes away their cattle,
decreeing that settlers need not fence their crops, but put
in a {\itshape{corral}} the cattle that will surely come to graze in their
fields. As the cattle don't know the law, they eat the crops
and get killed.’\par

“‘But that is very hard on those land owners.’\par

“‘Certainly. They are being impoverished with frightful rapidity.
In a few years the majority of them will have been
totally ruined, socially obliterated. I doubt if a dozen families
will escape ruin. There seems to be a settled purpose with our
law-givers to drive the natives to poverty, and crowd them out
of existence. If we don't turn them all into hardened and
most desperate criminals, it will be because they are among
the most incorruptible of the human race. But there is no
denying that our laws are doing all that can be done to drive
them into squalid hovels, and thence into the penitentiaries
or the poor houses.’\par

“‘This is certainly very sad,’ said the President, with genuine
sympathy, adding after a short pause:\par

“‘Wait for me here. I'll run across the street to the Attorney
General's office, and I'll ask the Solicitor what it all means
in this Alamar case,’ so saying he put on his hat and went
out.\par

“‘That is what endears General Grant to all his friends,’
said my uncle; ‘the idea of his going personally to see the
Solicitor, he the President, and only because he wishes to do
a kindness.’\par

“‘I wish he had sent for the proud Solicitor to come here.
This visit of the President will make him more over-bearing,’
said I. ‘I am disgusted at his most arbitrary conduct.’
‘Wait,’ said my uncle, ‘let us hear first what he has to say
to the President.’”\par

In a short time the President returned. He said: ‘Well,
gentlemen, I cannot make out why the Solicitor did not dismiss
the case, as he was ordered. He says he found that the
Attorney General had not looked into the record carefully, and
so he did not think the case should be dismissed.’\par

“‘But how could he have found out that the Attorney General
had not looked into the case carefully only by riding from
the office to the Supreme Court? He must have {\itshape{disobeyed the
instructions of the Attorney General first}}, and then to justify his
disobedience, trumps up the pretext that the case had not
been examined,’ said uncle.\par

“‘The Attorney General did not tell him to look into the case
and give his opinion. He was told that the case {\itshape{had been examined}};
that the pleadings and allegations were trivial; that
the United States had {\itshape{no case}}, and the matter should be dismissed,’
I said.\par

“‘It is clear, that without authority he took upon himself to
review and reverse the decision of the Attorney General,’ said
my uncle.\par

“‘I don't understand his motive or object,’ the President
said. ‘But I told him I presumed he could state his opinion in
writing, and he said he would. Perhaps he will give a better
reason for his action than he did verbally.’\par

“‘No, sir,’ uncle said, ‘he will give no better reason, as he
has none to give. He has some spite against the Attorney
General, and is laying in wait to catch something to hurt him.
Fortunately, he can't use this case for any such purpose, for
it is a very clear one, and the hands of the Attorney General are
very clean.’\par

“‘Of course they are,’ the President said.\par

“‘And now, sir, what do you advise us to do?’ asked
uncle.\par

“The President smiled, mused a little, and said:\par

“‘My advice would be to wait until the Attorney General returns
from Oregon. I know it is a hardship for the rightful
owner of the land to wait so long, but the question is, would
it not be longer if the Solicitor finds other reasons to take this
case into his own hands. Now he has promised me to let the
matter rest until the Attorney General comes back.’\par

“‘Yes,’ my uncle said, ‘I think what you advise is the best
thing to do. Evidently the Solicitor is beating the bush to
start some game, and will be satisfied with a ‘mare's nest,’ if
he can only entangle the Attorney General in it. But this is a
very paltry and picayunish business for a Solicitor General, Mr.
President, and it is silly, too, because he has shown his hand
to little purpose. He has plainly demonstrated how anxious
he is to find something against the Attorney General, but that
something he hasn't got yet.’\par

“The President laughed, and said: ‘You mustn't be so hard
on the Solicitor.’\par

“It was decided that my uncle would return to New York by
the four o'clock train that afternoon, and I would remain to
receive the opinion in writing which the Solicitor had promised
the President he would give.\par

“I did not have to wait until next day for that profound opinion.
As I was going to dinner at six o'clock, a messenger
handed me a closed official envelope which felt quite heavy.
But that was all the weight the thing possessed, for it was the
lightest, most vapory composition that a grown-up man, long
past boyhood, could evolve from a mature brain.\par

“It made me angry to read it. ‘The man is evidently not a
fool, but thinks we are,’ I said to myself, and made up my
mind I would go next morning and tell him to his face what I
thought of his conduct and his document.\par

“Promptly at ten o'clock next morning I presented myself at
the Attorney General's office, and was immediately ushered before
the august presence of the great Solicitor, the mighty
hunter of ‘mare's nests.’ He evidently thought I had come
to thank him for his vapory effusion, for he received me quite
smilingly, and without a trace of that hauteur which he had
at first meant should be so crushing.\par

“Taking the chair he so graciously offered me, I said: ‘Sir,
without meaning any disrespect to the Solicitor General of the
United States, I would like to inquire what is the meaning of
the document I had the honor to receive from you yesterday?’\par

“He colored up, but still smiling, answered: ‘Did you not
understand it? I thought I wrote in very plain English.’\par

“‘The English was plain enough, but I failed to catch your
idea. Will you permit me to make a few enquiries?’\par

“‘Certainly.’\par

“‘You remember I was present when the Attorney General
told you that he had examined the transcript carefully, and not
finding that the government has any case at all, ordered you
to dismiss it.’\par

“He bowed, but did not speak.\par

“I continued: ‘The Attorney General did not request you or
authorize you to review his opinion. He merely said you were
to dismiss the appeal, and have the clerk of the court enter in
the record the order of dismissal that same morning. Had
you obeyed the Attorney General's order, you could not have
had time to review his opinion, and find that it was incorrect.
Has the Solicitor General the right, and is it incumbent
upon him, to correct the Attorney General's acts and
opinions?”\par

“‘You evidently do not understand our relative positions,
and I have not the time to instruct you.’\par

“‘Whose positions do you mean?’\par

“‘Ours—mine and the Attorney General's.’\par

“‘Who is the head of the department—the Attorney General
or the Solicitor?’\par

“‘The Attorney General.’\par

“‘Then he was your chief—your superior—when he gave the
order to make the dismissal?’\par

“‘But I was not his clerk. You do not know how far
it was discretionary with me to execute the order that day
or not.’\par

“‘Ah, I see. The chief might issue an order, but the subaltern
might only execute it if he deems it proper.’\par

“‘I am not a subaltern—I have as much authority—’\par

“‘Yes, in the absence of the Attorney General.’\par

“‘Always—when absent or present’\par

“‘Then the department has two heads. That is, I suppose,
what confused things in my mind. The matter then
is to rest as it now is until the Attorney General returns?’\par

“‘Yes, I shall not remand the case, as I might have done; it
will wait.’\par

“I took my leave then, having seen that he understood I saw
through the contemptible impertinence of his conduct. That
is all the satisfaction I could have then, but next winter, as
soon as the Supreme Court convenes, the matter will be
settled.”\par

“And will the squatters have to go then?” Elvira asked.\par

“Not immediately, unless they were to be guided by honorable
motives. The rancho will be surveyed first, and then the
patent issued after the survey is approved by the Surveyor General,”
George replied.\par

“Ah! The endless red tape,” said Elvira.\par

“Poor papa, he has so much trouble,” Mercedes sighed.
“In another year all the cattle will have been killed.”\par

“And the squatters will be more murderous, when they
learn that their appeal is dismissed,” George said.\par

“Yes, I was thinking what will be the best to do to meet
the emergency. I shall speak about that to Don Mariano on
my return,” said Clarence.\par

“Yes, you help him all you can,” George said.\par

“Most undoubtedly. I will be able to do much more if I
can persuade my father to take a correct view of the matter.
But he might not, for as he has had so much trouble sustaining
the rights of squatters, he has got to feel as if he were the
champion of a misunderstood cause and much maligned
people,” Clarence said, smiling sadly.\par

“No doubt, if Mr. Darrell is to be unfriendly, papa will
have much more trouble to manage the others,” Elvira said.\par

“How singular that a man as bright and honorable as he is,
can find any reason to justify ‘{\itshape{squatterism}},’” said George.\par

“I think he began by being persuaded to take a claim in
the Suscol rancho, honestly thinking it was government land.
Afterwards the grant was confirmed, I think, but then he already
felt compelled to maintain his position to justify his
action, and so he began by a mistake which his pride will not
let him acknowledge. I was a little child then, but I know
he has had a great deal of trouble. For the last ten years we
have been leasing land, but he had been wishing to have a farm
of his own, so as not to be putting his labor and time and
money to improve some one else's land. Thus he was induced
to come south on the representations that there was plenty of
vacant government land, and that the Texas Pacific railroad
would soon be built and southern California be prosperous,”
said Clarence, anxious to extenuate his father's errors.\par

“I shall telegraph to Don Mariano when the appeal is dismissed,
so you can prepare the ground the best way you can,”
said George. “And now young ladies it is near midnight, and
is time for well regulated children to be asleep.”\par

“The moon is so lovely I could sit here for hours, watching
its flashes on the water,” said Mercedes.\par

“So could I,” Clarence exclaimed.\par

“But I could not allow it, and let you both run the risk of
being considered moon struck,” said George, laughing.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xiii-at-san-francisco}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xiii-at-san-francisco}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XIII.—{\scshape{At San Francisco.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The sun was quite high above the horizon when George
joined Clarence on deck; and both began to promenade and
talk while waiting for the ladies to come, that the four might
go to breakfast together.\par

“My private opinion is that these young ladies are going to
oversleep themselves,” George said, as they passed the door of
his room, after promenading for half an hour.\par

“No they are not,” Elvira said, coming out as fresh and
beautiful as a {\itshape{rosa de castilla}}. “Good morning, Mr. Darrell,
I hope you are well.”\par

“I thank you,” replied Clarence, “I believe I never felt
better. I am delighted to see you so bright and blooming;
you are evidently an excellent sailor.”\par

“Oh yes,” Elvira answered, “I really enjoy it; but where is
the Señorita Mercita; is she not yet up?”\par

“I think not. She has not come from her room,” was Clarence's
reply.\par

“I am going to peep through her window,” said Elvira. She
did so by turning the slats and pushing aside the curtain just
a little. She then motioned to George to come and look.\par

“By jove, Darrell, you ought to see this picture.”\par

“Hush! you will awake her by speaking so loud,” Elvira
said, still looking at her sister.\par

A tiny sunbeam played over Mercedes' forehead, making
the little curls over it look like golden threads. Her head was
thrown back a little and turned towards the window, displaying
her white throat, partially covered by the lace frills of her
night dress. Her left arm rested gracefully over her head, with
the sleeve pushed off displaying part of the forearm and the
perfect curve of her delicate wrist. The right hand rested over
the coverlet, and it looked like a child's hand, so dimpled
and white and soft. It was a perfect picture of a “sleeping
beauty.”\par

“Doesn't she look like a baby? My own sweet sister; I am
so glad she is sleeping so sweetly. She has slept very poorly
for months,” whispered Elvira. “Come away, we mustn't talk
near her window, she must have all the sleep she wants.”\par

So saying, she pulled back the curtain, shut down the window
slats, and all walked noiselessly away.\par

As they went down to breakfast, Elvira said:\par

“I hope no one will come smoking some nasty cigar by her
window, poisoning the air and making her miserable, for she
cannot bear tobacco smoke when the boat is in motion.”\par

“I thought she was not subject to sea-sickness,” George said.\par

“No, not at all, as long as there are no tobacco fumes near,
but it seems that tobacco smoke, combined with the rocking
of the sea, make her deathly sick, whereas the tobacco alone
or the rocking by itself, will not affect her.”\par

“I understand that well, for I don't like to smoke while sailing
either, if there is much motion, and I think no one ought to
be allowed to smoke on deck where ladies are,” George said.\par

“I think so too. We have too many rights, and more
than our share of privileges,” Clarence added.\par

“Wait until we have woman suffrage. We will make things
uncomfortable for inebriates and tobacco smokers,” Elvira
said, laughing.\par

Their pleasant voyage came to its end, as all things must in
this fleeting life, and the names of Mr. George Mechlin and
party, from San Diego, were duly entered in the hotel register.\par

“I put your name down, Darrell, for we want you with us
while in the city,” said George.\par

“I thank you sincerely; that is exactly what I wished.”\par

“We will be ready for dinner at six.”\par

“I shall be on hand promptly.”\par

Clarence was anxious to see his broker and afraid he would
leave the office before he got there, but it was more imperative
yet to visit his tailor. He did so, and though in haste, selected
with care the cut and style and color which he knew was most
becoming. He left a list of all the articles of clothing he desired
to be sent to his hotel by five o'clock, and then directed
his driver to take him to his broker's office.\par

“Just in time,” said Hubert Haverly, coming forward to
meet him. “As soon as the steamer was signaled at the gate,
I sent to look for our Arizona men. They are now at the back
office waiting for you.”\par

“Tell me something about the matter, to guide me. And
tell me too, how poor or how rich I am, before I make any
bargain to purchase mines.”\par

“Well, on the whole, I guess I'll call you rich. I bought
the farm as you—or rather as Everett—telegraphed. I paid—well,
how much do you think I paid for it?”\par

“Hundred and forty thousand?”\par

Hubert shook his head, saying “Try again.”\par

“Hundred and twenty?”\par

“Ninety thousand only, lucky fellow.”\par

“What? You said he asked a hundred and fifty thousand.”\par

“Yes, and you—or Everett—telegraphed to pay the money,
but you see the poor fellow lost heavily in stocks that day, and
as the bank was going to foreclose on the farm for a loan of
forty thousand, he thought the best thing he could do was to
sell out quick. He came to see me and said ‘Do you think
Clarence will buy for one hundred and twenty thousand?’ I
told him I had telegraphed to you and probably you would
come up. He said ‘If you pay me ninety thousand cash down
{\itshape{to-day}}, Clarence can have the farm for that price.’ I told him
to let me have the refusal for you, for that price, until the next
morning. I got your telegram in the evening. Next morning
he came looking very dejected, and asked if I had heard from
you. ‘Yes,’ I said. He waited, but as I said no more, he added,
‘I hope Clarence is not going to pinch me hard. The farm is
worth two hundred thousand, but as the Darrells made all the
improvements on it, I am willing he should have it cheaper
than any one else. How much does he offer?’ ‘He left it to
me to make the best bargain I can. I will let you have the
ninety thousand, of course.’ You never saw a man so relieved.
He lifted his head and said, ‘I will pay all my debts and
have thirty thousand clear, anyway, to make a beginning,’
and so the papers were drawn up and the farm is yours. I congratulate
you.”\par

“Thanks,” Clarence said, squeezing Hubert's hand. “And
now about the balance on hand and the Arizona mines.”\par

“Well, you have about one hundred thousand dollars. If
you sell all your stocks, you could have two hundred thousand,”
Hubert replied.\par

“Besides the interest on the bonds?”\par

“Certainly. I never figure on that.”\par

“What about the Arizona mines?”\par

“Well, the men say they are yet ‘{\itshape{a prospect}},’ but a very good
one. Their proposition is that you pay them five hundred
dollars down if you accept their proposal. Then you are to
send an expert to examine the mines. If on his report you
conclude to buy them at once, you can have them for ten
thousand dollars. If you prefer to bond them to prospect
further before buying, then you can have six months to prospect;
but then you must pay two thousand down, and at the
end of the six months you must pay fifty thousand dollars if
you want both mines, or twenty thousand if you only take one.
The shaft they have sunk is the dividing line between the two
mines.”\par

“Between the two prospects,” Clarence suggested.\par

“Yes, that is more proper, the shaft is only about one hundred
feet deep. But you had better talk to them. They
brought rock similar to that which they sent me last month.”\par

Rather rough looking men were the three waiting, but all
had good faces. After exchanging salutations with them, Clarence
asked:\par

“Have you had any assays made?”\par

“Yes sir,” said the oldest of the three handing to him three
slips of paper. “Here are three certificates from assayers recommended
to us as the best in San Francisco.”\par

“What! One hundred silver and one hundred and fifty
gold? And two hundred, and three hundred and fifty? But
that is enormous for surface rock.”\par

The miners laughed. The oldest said:\par

“And the ledge is so wide that it almost takes the half of
the hill. We took two claims and put our prospect shaft in
the middle.”\par

“Did you make your locations in good legal form?” was
the next question.\par

“Yes sir, we have our papers,” said the spokesman, handing
to Clarence some papers.\par

“I see you are four partners, where is the other?”\par

“He is at the mine, working at the shaft.”\par

“Well gentlemen,” Clarence said, “I have just come, an
hour ago. I don't know how soon I will find an expert, but I
think I will do so between now and to-morrow by mid-day. I
will consult with him and see how soon he can go to look at
your mines. Meantime I'll have some of the rock assayed.
From what depth was the rock assayed taken?”\par

“From fifty, seventy and ninety feet. We have some few
pieces from the last we took the day we left, at a depth of one
hundred feet.” So saying, he handed to Clarence other pieces
of rock which looked much richer, adding, “This is the ore
we have not had assayed yet. My opinion is that the rock
hasn't changed much.”\par

It was agreed that Clarence would meet them at eleven next
morning and notify them if he had found an expert. When
they had left the room Clarence asked Hubert where his
brother Fred was.\par

“He is here, he came yesterday.”\par

“And you did not mention that fact to me, when you know
I want a good, reliable expert.”\par

“I did not, because I wouldn't urge his services upon any
one—even you—and then I think he might be already engaged
to go to examine some mines in Nevada, as parties have been
looking for him for that purpose.”\par

“Please don't be so proud as to deprive me of the services
of so good a man, but tell him to come to my hotel at once.”\par

“Very well, I'll tell him, but he will not be here until five
o'clock. Shall I tell him to call on you after dinner?”\par

“Yes, at half-past seven exactly, to send his card to me to
any place I may be at the hotel. And now I'll go to have two
or three assays more of this rock. Remember, I shall be looking
for Fred at half-past seven.”\par

“I'll remember. He will be there promptly.”\par

It was very evident that the “party from San Diego” made an
impression and quite a stir among the guests of the hotel, who
were at dinner when they entered the dining-room. Preceded
by the head waiter, they had to cross the entire length of the
room, for the seats assigned to them were at the furthest corner
from the door. Everybody turned to look, to see what
everybody else was looking at, and all acknowledged that they
had never seen handsomer or more graceful people than
those two couples. Exclamations of surprise were uttered
in suppressed tones, and unqualified praises were whispered
everywhere. The head waiter was called here and there to say
who these four people were, so very handsome and {\itshape{distingué}}.\par

“They are from Southern California, on their way east. Mr.
George Mechlin and bride, her sister, and their friend Mr. Darrell,
travelling with them,” was the answer that the steward
had to give twenty times.\par

“Which is the bride, the blonde or the brunette?”\par

“The brunette.”\par

After dinner several young gentlemen remained in the corridors
to see them pass, and some four eastern tourists who
were dining at the next table, made a pretext of drinking
more wine, to remain looking at the southern beauties. One
of them especially looked at Mercedes so persistently that
Clarence began to feel angry, and when they arose from the
table he looked at the admirer with a bold stare of defiant
reproval. But that in no way checked the admiration of the
New Yorker, and he followed as near to Mercedes as he could,
and when he saw her disappear into her parlor, he looked at
the number on the door and went straight to the office to
make all the enquiries he could concerning those two beautiful
ladies. The clerk gave all the information he could, and
added laughing:\par

“I have had to answer those questions a dozen times already.”\par

Immediately after dinner a waiter came from the office and
handed to Clarence a card, with “Fred Haverly” written
on it.\par

“Say to the gentleman I shall be down immediately,” Clarence
said to the servant; and then to George, “This is the
expert I want to send to Arizona. It is lucky for me to find
him in town.”\par

“I'll go down with you,” George said. “One of the clerks
promised to get me a box at the opera, or if that can't be had,
to get the four best seats he could find disengaged. Do you
think you will have finished with your expert in half an hour?
I want the girls to see the opera bouffe; they have never
seen it.”\par

“I shall be with you in fifteen minutes,” was the reply.\par

George was talking with the clerk about the seats at the
opera, when he felt a hand laid softly on his shoulder. Looking
back, he saw his friend, Charles Gunther, of New York,
standing by him, and behind him the four gentlemen who had
dined at the next table. After shaking hands most cordially,
and congratulating him on being a married man, Gunther presented
to George his four friends, and his brother Robert, who
now came in; then he said:\par

“I heard you say you wanted a box at the opera, and that
there are ladies with you. Permit me to offer you our box,
we can take seats anywhere else. I shall be glad if you will
accept.”\par

“But there are no seats that you can have that I would offer
you in exchange,” was George's reply.\par

“Those I got for you are good seats for gentlemen,” the
clerk suggested, “and I think you can get two more.”\par

Gunther was so urgent that George, only by being very rude,
could have declined making the exchange. There was nothing
else to do but accept, order a carriage for eight o'clock,
and then go up stairs to tell the ladies that they were to get
ready for the opera.\par

“The opera! Why didn't you tell us before?” was Elvira's
exclamation.\par

“Because I was not sure I could get seats,” was George's
reply; and he then explained how he obtained their box by
casually meeting Gunther, adding: “By the by, he introduced
me to his brother Robert and those four admirers of yours,
Mercedes, who dined at the next table. They are all of the
same party. The young fellow of the little saffron whiskers, who
stared at you so persistently, making Clarence's ears red, is a
Mr. Selden, of New York; he and Robert Gunther have been
in Europe several years. His father I know is a millionaire,
and he is the only son. So he considers himself a good catch,
I suppose, Señorita Mercedes.”\par

“Bah!” ejaculated Mercedes; “who cares!”\par

“Be ready with your hats and cloaks on at five minutes
to eight. Clarence and I will come for you. I am going to
look for him now, and see Gunther for a few moments,” George
said, leaving the two sisters to go to their bedrooms to delve
for their opera cloaks and white hats in the deep recesses of
their Saratoga trunks.\par

“It is a lucky thing for me that Lizzie's aunt sent this pretty
cloak and bonnet to her. Poor Lizzie! I am to {\itshape{splurge}} in her
fine Parisian things, while she remains at the {\itshape{rancho}}, buried
alive,” said Mercedes.\par

“She is perfectly willing to have that sort of burial as long
as she has Gabriel near her.”\par

Mrs. Lawrence Mechlin had sent to Elvira and Lizzie their
wedding trousseau, which she ordered from Paris. To do this
was a pleasure to Mrs. Mechlin, which she could well afford,
being rich, and which she delighted in, being devoted to her
sister's children.\par

The theatre was filled to its utmost capacity when our four
{\itshape{San Dieguinos}} arrived and occupied their proscenium box,
which was on the left of the auditorium, very roomy and elegantly
furnished. Elvira's seat faced the stage, and Mercedes'
faced the audience, so that the perfect contour of her features
was clearly seen when she looked at the actors. Between the
sisters sat their cavaliers. The curtain rose as they took their
seats, so that not one of them gave a thought to the audience,
until the curtain fell on the first act.\par

Then they all looked at the house which was filled with a
brilliant audience. Immediately in front, in the first row of
orchestra chairs, were Mr. Gunther and the party of New
Yorkers. They were all looking at their box. Mercedes
blushed when she met the steady gaze of Mr. Selden, and his
face reproduced the blush, while his heart beat with wild throbs
of delight. Clarence's face also flushed, and then turned
pale. He had seen the two blush, and a cold feeling of undefinable
fear and savageness seized him—a desire to go and
choke Mr. Selden where he was—right there in his orchestra
chair.\par

George by this time was exchanging bows with the New
Yorkers. They spoke among themselves, and soon after all
arose and left their seats.\par

“I think Gunther is bringing his brother and friends to present
them to you, ladies,” said George.\par

“Being your friends, we shall be pleased to see them,” Elvira
answered.\par

“I hope those gentlemen will cease to stare when they are
acquainted. That young man of the red whiskers made me
blush by looking at me so steadily. I hope that that is not the
custom of New Yorkers,” said Mercedes.\par

“I am afraid it is. You had better try to get used to it, and
don't mind it,” George replied.\par

Mr. Gunther now presented himself at the door, followed
by his brother and the four others, already well known by
sight, the ceremony of introduction being performed by
George, with the ease and grace of one used to those society
duties. All took seats, there being room enough for a dozen
people in the spacious box.\par

George and Clarence had left their seats to receive the
guests, so very naturally Mr. Selden slipped by and sat next
to Mercedes.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xiv-of-miscellaneous-incidents}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xiv-of-miscellaneous-incidents}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XIV.—{\scshape{Of Miscellaneous Incidents.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“What do you think of the opera—are you enjoying it
much?” asked Mr. Selden, by way of opening conversation,
having turned his chair to face Mercedes.\par

“I am enjoying the novelty of the thing, but I don't know
what I shall think of the opera. I suppose I shall like it better
when I understand it. Thus far it is to me only a very puzzling
maze of hastily uttered French, imperfectly heard and mixed with
music, all of which is rather unintelligible to me, so unprepared
to judge of it as I am,” said Mercedes, smiling, watching to
see the effect that her candid avowal of ignorance would have
upon such a “{\itshape{muscadin}}” and well traveled young man.\par

“Ah! you never saw the opera before to-night!”\par

“Not the French opera. I was at two matinees of the Italian
opera about five years ago, when I left my San Francisco
school. Mamma thought I was too young to go out at night,
and since then I have been living at the {\itshape{rancho}}.”\par

“Yes, yes; Mr. Mechlin said you had not been in San Francisco
since you were twelve months old.”\par

“Twelve months?”\par

A laugh immediately behind him, made Mr. Selden turn
quickly around. He met the eyes of Mr. Robert Gunther,
who had taken the chair next to him, and made no secret of
being amused at Mr. Selden's mistake.\par

“What are you laughing at?” Mr. Selden asked, sharply.\par

“I suppose Mr. Gunther thinks that girls must grow very
quickly in California if I was twelve months old five years ago.”\par

Mr. Selden could not escape now the raillery of his friends.
Each one had something to say on the subject of Mr. Selden's
ideas of the wonders of California, until the bell rung for the
curtain to rise for the second act.\par

They all arose to go. George said: “Will not some of you
remain? there is room for two or three more.”\par

“If I am not going to crowd you, I shall accept your kind
invitation and hide about here,” said Robert Gunther, taking
a chair behind Elvira.\par

“Bob Gunther is always such a good boy that I always like
to follow his example; so, with your kind permission, Mr.
Darrell, I shall sit here behind you. Keep your chair,” said
Mr. Selden, refusing to change seats with Clarence.\par

But Mercedes saw that this arrangement was not as satisfactory
as might be, so she moved her chair, and making room
for Clarence on her left, told Mr. Selden to push his chair further
to the front, on her right. This was a more desirable distribution,
and it pleased Clarence better, for she would turn
her face to him on looking at the stage. Still, there was that
odious little fellow with his red mutton chops sitting so near
her, that he wanted to pitch him out of the box. Mercedes
watched for an opportunity to say to him:\par

“You look unhappy; have I done anything to displease
you?”\par

“No, never!” he quickly answered, but did not dare to look
at her. Presently he added: “It is too painful to think that
only for one day more I can see you, then we must part, and—and
others will be with you.”\par

“Could you not go with us as far as the Yosemite?”\par

Clarence turned quickly to look at her, and her eyes had
that sweet, loving expression which, to him, was always irresistible,
entrancing. He had never seen it in any other eyes,
and in hers only very seldom.\par

“Oh! if you will only let me.”\par

“Let you! Your pleasure is the only thing to consult.”\par

“Then I know what I shall do.”\par

\begin{container}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
――――
\endgraf}
\par
\end{container}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
Neither Mr. Selden nor Mr. Gunther could sleep that night.
Those little golden curls over the blue eyes floated in a hazy
mist and music in tantalizing recurrence until dawn.\par

“Did you make a satisfactory bargain?” George asked Clarence
next morning, when the ladies had gone to church.\par

“Yes, as far as we can see at present. I am to send an expert
to look at the mines to-morrow, and on his report will decide
what to do. But I am in a quandary now about one thing.
Have you positively decided to leave to-morrow at seven A.M.?”\par

“If we don't oversleep ourselves,” was George's reply. “But
that depends. Why do you ask? If by waiting a few days
we can have your company further on, we will wait, of course.
The girls are enjoying themselves very much, and will be glad
to wait for you.”\par

“Thanks, thanks,” said Clarence, warmly. “Yes, I would
like to go as far as the Yosemite with you; but as I would like
to have one final talk with the miners to-morrow before I pay
them any money, I would be much obliged if you could wait
until Tuesday morning.”\par

“Most willingly, my dear fellow, particularly as these señoritas
are not in a hurry to leave fascinating San Francisco.”\par

“We have not driven anywhere around the city, and Miss
Mercedes wishes to see more of San Francisco,” said Clarence,
“as she has not seen it since she was {\itshape{twelve months old}}.”\par

“Poor Selden; those fellows will never cease laughing at his
mistake,” George said.\par

After mass, our travelers went immediately to luncheon. At
their table were already seated the six New Yorkers, but four
chairs were carefully turned, in token of being reserved. Clarence
sat next to Mercedes, but Selden was opposite, and anxiously
expected the moment when she would lift her veil. He
dreaded to be disenchanted by finding her to be less beautiful
in daylight, but such was not the case. She appeared to him
even prettier, seeing better the lovely dark blue of her eyes.
He looked at her in silence, saying to himself mentally: “She
is exquisite; am I going to love her hopelessly!” And he
looked at Clarence with a pang of jealousy, for he could not
deny to himself that he was handsome, yes, beautiful as an
Apollo, and very manly.\par

Next to Selden sat Robert Gunther, making almost the same
mental observations, and resolving to try and win her in spite
of all obstacles.\par

Luncheon was much enjoyed by all excepting Mr. Selden,
who seemed to get more and more nervous as he sat there
trying not to look at Mercedes as much as he wished.\par

The Gunther brothers were very brilliant conversationalists,
and so was George, who was in his element in the company of
such polished gentlemen as were now before him. On leaving
the table, Mr. Charles Gunther begged Elvira's permission to pay
their respects, asking if it would suit her convenience for them
to call that evening after dinner, to which she gracefully assented,
and all walked towards the parlor.\par

“Shall we go to the Cliff House this afternoon?” George
asked his wife.\par

“You may, but Mercedes and I are going to vespers,” she
replied, and soon after the two sisters retired to their rooms.\par

As all of the gentlemen walked down to the reading room,
Selden said: “And how in thunder are we going to kill time
this afternoon until dinner? It will be intensely stupid here.”\par

“I thought we all were going to drive to the Cliff,” Bob
Gunther said, maliciously. “Perhaps you would rather go to
church.”\par

“You judge others by yourself,” Selden retorted.\par

“I believe I do. But our sudden access of religion, I fear,
would not be appreciated. My dear fellow, our piety, like that
of his satanic majesty, would be distrusted. It would edify
no one, only make us ridiculous. Let us go to the Cliff.”\par

And to the Cliff all went, but the drive was not much enjoyed.
Bob and Selden were quarrelsome, and all the others
laughed at them, which ended by making them surly. Selden
ridiculed the San Franciscans for their stupid Cliff House, while
all sat in arm-chairs on the broad veranda and looked at the
Pacific Ocean, and Pacific sea lions, and Pacific rocks, and
thought them all equally monotonous. To watch the ugly sea
beasts awkwardly dragging their unwieldly hulks up the rocks,
there to spread themselves in the sun, was not a very exhilarating
spectacle for young gentlemen who desired to see other
kinds of lions. Sunday not being the fashionable day for San
Franciscans to drive to the Cliff, the New Yorkers concluded
that the elite would not be seen that afternoon and returned
to the hotel.\par

After dinner several lady friends, who had received Elvira's
wedding cards and had seen her and Mercedes at church that
morning, called.\par

The cards of the New Yorkers, also, were brought, and they
followed immediately. Elvira presented them very gracefully,
while George watched with delighted attention the perfect ease
and natural elegance with which she did the honors as hostess.\par

Robert Gunther and Arthur Selden seated themselves in a
corner, on the right of Mercedes' chair, but Clarence held his
place on the end of the sofa, very near her.\par

About ten o'clock, Mr. Charles Gunther said to them:\par

“Much as it pains me to tear myself away, young men, it
must be done, for we have made {\itshape{a first call}} of nearly two
hours' duration.”\par

“It has not seemed to us nearly so long,” Mercedes said.\par

“It was no more than two minutes,” Bob Gunther added.\par

“How you exaggerate,” Mr. Selden exclaimed.\par

“Ask him how long it has seemed to him,” Bob suggested.\par

“I would not dare. He thinks you exaggerate, that is
enough,” replied Mercedes.\par

Selden gave her a look of tender reproach, and a savage one
at Bob, as he bowed, leaving the room.\par

By nine o'clock Monday morning Clarence had received the
certificates of assay he had ordered on Saturday afternoon. It
seemed to him that there must be a mistake somewhere about
the rock, for these assays gave even a higher percentage than
those shown him by the miners. He went to Hubert's office
and found Fred already there waiting for him.\par

“Look here, Hubert, are you sure that these men did not
bring us this rich rock from some other mine? The assays are
very high. One goes as high as \$2000 per ton.”\par

“They might have selected the specimens, but I can vouch
for their being from the same ledge, for I know the rock. I
can also vouch for the honesty of the men, for I know them
well; besides, what would be the good of telling a falsehood
that would be found out the minute the expert got there? Their
reputation is worth more to them than the five hundred dollars
that you will pay now,” was Hubert's reply.\par

“They are good men. I have known them for years, and
have had them working with me,” Fred added.\par

“Then let us finish this business now, for I go out of town
to-morrow morning,” Clarence said, and in half an hour he
had explained his views and wishes and made his contract
with Fred Haverly, the terms of which had been already mentioned
on Saturday night and Sunday morning. The miners
now came and the contract with them, also, was made and acknowledged
in due form.\par

By twelve o'clock that day Clarence had dispatched his business
with the miners and with Fred Haverly, reserving until
he returned instructions regarding his Alameda farm.\par

In the afternoon all drove to the Cliff House. The ugly
sea lions did not seem so clumsy to Mr. Selden, as Mercedes
laughed, amused to see their ungainly efforts at locomotion,
and as she pronounced the Pacific Ocean to be grand and the
wild surf dashing madly against the impassive rocks very impressive,
Mr. Selden was of the same way of thinking, and
found the sea lions rather graceful and dignified, the black
rocks more interesting than they had been the day before.\par

The gayeties of San Francisco made time slip away magically,
and a week passed in receptions, drives and yacht sailing,
in honor of Elvira, seemed very short indeed. But now another
week had begun, and the journey eastward must be
resumed.\par

Our travelers took an early breakfast on Tuesday morning,
and by seven o'clock they left the hotel. Half an hour later, they
were on the Oakland boat, crossing San Francisco Bay on their
way to New York.\par

“There is plenty of room here for all the navies of the
world,” George observed, looking at the harbor.\par

“Yes, I believe the bay is forty miles across,” replied Clarence.
“For all intents and purposes at present, however, San
Diego Bay is as good as this.”\par

“Yes, I only wish we had commerce enough for ships to be
crowded there.”\par

“If Colonel Scott succeeds in constructing his railroad, there
is no doubt that San Diego will be a large city in a few years.”\par

“I believe that, but the question is, will Colonel Scott succeed?”\par

“I think he will, but he has a hard crowd to fight.”\par

Clarence mused a little, then, changing his position so as to
face George, said:\par

“I have had an idea in my head, a sort of project, I want to
talk to you about. Of course, its practicability, I fear, will
entirely depend upon the building of the Texas Pacific Railroad;
for if San Diego is not to have population, my plan will
be impracticable. It is this: The two banks in San Diego, I
don't think, have a paid-up capital of more than a hundred
thousand dollars. I think we could establish a bank of two or
three hundred thousand dollars that would be a paying institution.
I heard you say that you thought you would like to
come to California, so as to be near your family. That gave
me the idea of starting a bank. You could be the president
and manager, and I would furnish as much of the capital as
suited you.”\par

“Your idea is splendid, nothing could suit me better; but I
suppose we will have to see whether we are to have a railroad
or not.”\par

“Yes, that is the sole and unavoidable condition.”\par

“I suppose we will know next winter, and if it be decided
that the Texas Pacific is to be built, I will immediately accept
your proposition, and put in some money with you.”\par

“I can take half, or a third of the stock, and put in some
money for Don Gabriel and Victoriano; and Everett can come
in, too. You can easily instruct Don Gabriel in the banking
business.”\par

“He would make a good cashier; he is a good bookkeeper
already. I think I could put in twenty-five or thirty thousand
dollars.”\par

“If you put in twenty-five thousand, I will put in that much
for each of the others, Don Gabriel, Tano and Retty, and one
hundred thousand for myself, or will put in thirty thousand for
Don Gabriel and ninety-five thousand for myself.”\par

“You ought to be the president.”\par

“No, I want you and Don Gabriel to have the entire management.
You can take in Tano and Retty, if you like, if they
prove themselves efficient; but as for myself, I want to be free
to attend to those mines (if they are worth working) and take
care of my Alameda farm. Don't you think that two hundred
thousand will be enough to start? I can put in more, if necessary,
by selling some of my United States bonds. I have seven
hundred and fifty thousand in United States securities, which
I can convert into money at any time.”\par

“Two hundred thousand is more than enough. We can
increase the capital, if we wish, afterward. I am glad you are
so well fixed in government securities.”\par

“I could have had a round million if I had not sold my
stock too soon; but my father kept talking to me so much
against dealing in mining stocks, that I ordered Hubert Haverly
to sell all I had. Fortunately he held on for a few days to my
Crown Point, and sold for nine hundred thousand dollars. I
was sorry enough to have lost a million for being so obedient
a son, and when in that mood I promised Hubert I would not
interfere again, but let him manage my stocks as he thought
best. Since then he has done very well, so that now I have
seven hundred and fifty thousand in United States bonds, my
farm, for which Hubert paid ninety thousand, some town lots
in San Francisco, and about one hundred and sixty thousand
dollars in bank, besides the interest on my bonds, which I have
not drawn for over a year.”\par

“Why, that makes you worth over a million.”\par

“Yes, but if I had kept my Crown Point for a few days
longer I could have sold for a million and a half. However, I
think the Arizona mines will reward my filial obedience,” added
he, smiling, “and if we can start that bank I shall be satisfied.
I think it is a pity that such men as Don Mariano and his sons
do not have some other better-paying business than cattle-raising.
It used to pay well, but I fear it never will again, while
such absurdities as the ‘{\itshape{No-Fence Laws}}’ are allowed to
exist.”\par

“Yes, I heard Don Mariano say to my father: ‘I am sure
I am to be legislated into a {\itshape{rancheria}}, as there is no poor-house
in San Diego to put me into,’ he said it smiling, but his smile
was very sad. However, when the appeal is dismissed and he
is rid of squatters, he will recuperate, provided, of course, there
be a Texas Pacific to make San Diego lands valuable. Without
it the prospect is gloomy indeed, I may well say dead.”\par

“That's it; it all depends upon that railroad, I am sorry to
say, when we are so powerless to counteract hostile influences.”\par

“We must hope and wait.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xv-journeying-overland}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xv-journeying-overland}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XV.—{\scshape{Journeying Overland.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The crashing and thundering of Yosemite's falls plunging
from dizzy heights, in splendor of furious avalanches, had been
left behind.\par

George and his three companions had given the last lingering
look towards the glorious rainbows and myriads of dazzling
gems glittering in the sun's rays, which pierced the vertical
streams and played through the spray and mist enveloping
them.\par

The memory of the mirror lakes, with their gorgeous borders
of green, their rich bouquets of fragrant azaleas and pond
lilies, as well as the towering cliffs, the overpowering heights
of that wonderful valley, all made a picture to remain forevermore
a cherished souvenir.\par

But alas, for the fatality of human joys, all is evanescent in
this world of ours; the moment of parting at last came for the
lovers.\par

The west-bound train would pass the station first, so Clarence
must be the one to leave his friends.\par

“Write to us soon, won't you?” George said.\par

“Certainly, as soon as I get to San Diego.”\par

“Write before, and let us know what you are doing.”\par

“All right, I will do so,” said he, and looked at Mercedes,
who with down-cast eyes, felt his gaze but dared not look up.\par

“Don't fail to write the long letter you promised, after you
have your talk with papa, and he has explained to mamma
your position,” Elvira said.\par

“That is my all-absorbing thought. There is no danger of
my failing to see Don Mariano the first minute I can do so. I
will write immediately. To whom shall I direct my letter?”\par

“To me, of course,” Elvira replied, “and you will write to
Mercita also, after matters have been explained to mamma.”\par

The distant rumbling as if of coming earthquake, and a far off
shriek were now heard. In another minute the round-eyed
monster was there, and snorting maliciously, rushed off with
Clarence, leaving Mercedes leaning on George's arm, scarcely
able to stand, and hardly realizing that Clarence had left
them.\par

She was still very pale, and her hands yet trembled, when the
thundering of the east-bound train was heard in the distance.
Two shrieks pierced the air simultaneously, as the two trains
passed each other. Her heart gave accelerated throbs when
she heard those shrieks, because she knew that one of them
came from the train which bore Clarence away, and it seemed
to her as if expressive of his pain at being torn from her.
Yes, that magician, the locomotive, understood it all, and
shrieked to say he did so, because he knew she, too, wished to
shriek like that.\par

What would you, my reader? She was so young—only seventeen—and
in love. The poor child was naturally indulging
in all sorts of foolish fancies while looking at the woods through
which he had disappeared.\par

But there was now the east-bound train, and George taking
her towards it.\par

He laughed loudly as they walked to the cars, and Elvira
asked why he laughed.\par

“I declare, Mercedes, you must have fascinated those two
fellows more than is good for them—for there they are as large
as life.”\par

“Who, George?” Elvira asked.\par

“Why, who should it be but Selden and Bob Gunther.”\par

“Oh!” ejaculated Mercedes. “Please George get a compartment
where we can be by ourselves,” implored she.\par

“I will; you shall have it if money or influence or anything
short of murder can get it,” said he, helping them up the car
steps. “But in the meantime I am going to locate you here,
while I go to interview the conductor and porter. This is the
last car—you will be here unobserved. Those fellows did not
see us get in.” So saying, George went off, laughing heartily.\par

Neither conductor nor porter were to be found in the next
car, or the next to that, and George made his way through them
as quickly as their jolting and swinging permitted.\par

At the further end of the fourth car he spied a porter talking
with two foreign-looking gentlemen, who were none other
than Messrs. Gunther and Selden. Their backs were turned
toward him, so he had time to approach them unobserved,
near enough to hear Selden say, in his anglicised accents:\par

“But my good fellah, we were told positively that travelers
going from the Yosemite east must get on the train here.”\par

“And so they do,” George said, laying his hand on Selden's
shoulder.\par

“By Jove! we've got 'em!” ejaculated Gunther.\par

“Here they are,” Selden said, with radiant face, seizing hold
of George's hands, which he shook emphatically.\par

“Look here! let me have one of his hands, won't you?” said
Gunther; “what an all-absorbing fellow you continue to be, I
am sure.”\par

While George gave a hand to each, he told the porter he
wanted a compartment, if such was to be had.\par

“There are none disengaged, sir, except some of those little
ones at the end of the car, which no one wants; but you can have
a section if you like,” the porter replied.\par

“I have that already; but the ladies with me want a good,
large compartment.”\par

“We have one which we will be most happy to place at your
service,” Gunther said.\par

“And rob you of it. That wouldn't be fair.”\par

“Yes it would, as we don't care for it. And it is very
nice and private, and the ladies should have it,” Selden said,
warmly.\par

As the section which George's tickets assigned to him was
the very next to the apartment in question, it was very clear to
Mr. Selden that no arrangement could have been more fortunate,
and he said so.\par

The three then went to bring the ladies to their room.\par

Mercedes pleaded a headache, and George knew that she
wished to be alone, to have a cry all to herself, as most girls
would, when their sweethearts have just left them. So he said
to Elvira:\par

“Mercedes had better lie down for a while. If she sleeps
she will feel better.”\par

“I think so; I will join you presently,” Elvira answered.
And hearing this the gentlemen retired.\par

Mercedes took her hat and gloves and cloak off, and sat at
the window {\itshape{to enjoy}} her misery in a thorough womanly fashion.
She fixed her eyes on the far-off, flying wall of verdure,
seeing nothing, not even the tall trees which, close by, indulged
in such grotesque antics, as if forgetting their stately
dignity only to amuse her—making dancing dervishes of themselves,
and converting that portion of the Pacific slope into a
flying gymnasium to perform athletic exercises, rushing on
madly, or even turning somersaults for her recreation.\par

Elvira left her alone with her thoughts, and silently devoted
herself to unpacking their satchels, arranging their toilet things,
traveling shawls and night-dresses and comfortable slippers all
in their proper places. She then took her hat off, and tying a
large black veil over her head (Spanish fashion), told her sister
to sleep if she could, and not to cry, for, after all, Clarence would
soon be in New York.\par

“Do you really think so?” said Mercedes' sad voice.\par

“Of course, I do. Clarence is too energetic and too much
in love to be kept away.”\par

“But mamma—you know mamma's feelings.”\par

“Which will be entirely changed when she hears that Clarence
is no squatter. Leave all that to papa. Come, give me
a kiss, and if you can't sleep, put a veil over your head and
come out. I am going to join the gentlemen.”\par

“Yes, darling, you go; but at present I'd rather sit here by
the window.”\par

And she sat there, but the sad blue orbs saw nothing—for
her mental gaze was fixed on that other flying train, that was
rushing away, carrying her beloved with such frightful rapidity.
She felt, she {\itshape{knew}}, Clarence was sitting by a car window, thinking
of her, gazing blankly at his misery.\par

And so he was.\par

It is to be feared that his misery would have been greatly
intensified had he caught a glimpse of Messrs. Gunther and
Selden, as they rushed past him on their eastward journey.
This aggravation, however, was spared him. And, as when
he arrived at San Francisco, Charles Gunther and his three
companions had already left for Oregon, Clarence remained,
for the present, in blissful ignorance of the whereabouts of
those two persistent young gentlemen, traveling so near Mercedes.\par

But could magician of old have shown to him in enchanted
mirror the image of his beloved, he would have read in those
expressive eyes how sadly she felt his absence.\par

When she had sat there, motionless, for two hours, Elvira
came to tell her to get ready for dinner, which she declined
doing, saying that she was not a bit hungry. And so the
day passed—the night came—and she did not gladden the
hearts of their traveling companions, by letting them see her
that day. Next day the morning hours also passed. She had
her breakfast in her room.\par

Mr. Selden began to feel piqued and Mr. Gunther nervous.
They and Elvira were playing a three-handed game of casino;
George was elsewhere, talking to an acquaintance he had
met on the train.\par

Presently, softly and unexpectedly, the sliding-door of the
compartment moved, and Mercedes stood beside Mr. Selden,
sweet as a rosebud, smiling in her most bewitching way. The
blood mounted to Mr. Selden's temples, and those of Mr.
Gunther's assumed the same hue. Then she, of course,
blushed also—for she could never see any one blush without
doing the very same thing herself.\par

Elvira alone kept her composure, and said: “Why, Baby! I
am so glad you feel better. Come, take a hand, for these gentlemen
will cut your sister's throat, or she theirs. We are
having a fierce battle.”\par

“All right. Will you have me for a partner, Mr. Gunther?
I warn you that I am a very poor player,” said Mercedes.\par

“I'll have you for a partner, Miss Mercedes, on any terms,
and be most happy to do so,” said Mr. Gunther, with more
emphasis than the occasion required.\par

“That being the case, I am ready,” said she, sitting by her
sister, thereby being diagonally opposite to Mr. Gunther.\par

From that time the five travelers were constantly together,
and the days passed delightfully for all during the entire journey,
especially so to Gunther and Selden. They had no
occasion to complain of Mercedes for staying away. She
most amiably took part in all their games and other amusements,
their walks while waiting at stations, their conversations
during the sentimental and delightful twilight hours.
She had found that both young gentlemen were a most excellent
protection against one another, as neither one was ever
willing to go leaving her alone with the other. As for ardent
loving looks, she knew that the best way of eluding them was
by having recourse to her little trick of dropping her gaze, as
if she must look down for something missing near by. That
little trick came to her from sheer timidity and bashfulness
long ago. In fact, she was unconscious of it, until Corina
Holman had told her that whenever Clarence Darrell was
present she became sly, and did not dare to look at people
squarely in the face—that she was the veriest hypocrite.
Thus she learned that her bashful timidity had been entirely
misunderstood, but she was also made aware that she had
accidentally discovered how to avoid looks which were best
not to meet—best to avoid by simply dropping her gaze. As
her long, curly lashes veiled her eyes with a silken fringe, they
could hide under that cover like two little cherubs crouching
under their own wings.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xvi-spanish-land-grants-viewed-retrospectively}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xvi-spanish-land-grants-viewed-retrospectively}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XVI.—{\scshape{Spanish Land Grants Viewed Retrospectively.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
San Francisco seemed deserted, dusty and desolate to Clarence
after his return from the Yosemite and the society of
Mercedes. It was the step from the sublime to the ridiculous;
so he ran off to his Alameda farm and remained there until
the day before the steamer would leave for San Diego. He
then came back late to the dusty city and went in search of
Hubert to take him to dinner.\par

“Come for pity's sake to dine with me and talk to me. I
can't eat alone, I am too blue,” said he, going to Hubert's
desk.\par

“All right, my boy. You are the very man I wanted to see,
for I have been slashing into your stocks like all possessed;”
and he made cuts and thrusts in the air illustrative of a terrible
havoc.\par

“What have you done?” Clarence asked, laughing.\par

“Well, in the first place, I have sold all your Yellow Jacket,
all your Savage and half of your Ophir, and I bought you some
Consolidated Virginia and California. What do you say to
that?”\par

“Not one word, for I suppose you know what you are
about.”\par

“I think I do, and, as a proof of it, I made for you twenty
thousand dollars clear profit by the operation, besides buying
your Consolidated Virginia. So if that last venture is a failure,
I shall not feel I have swamped all your cash.”\par

“I should say not. You are the prince of brokers, Berty.
You have not made a single mistake in managing my stock.”\par

“Yes I have. I sold your Crown Point too soon.”\par

“But that was my mistake, not yours.”\par

“Yes it was. I ought to have sold half to fool you, and
kept the other half ten days longer to make a million with it.
I was stupidly honest that time.”\par

“I forgive you.”\par

“But I don't forgive myself, nor you either.”\par

“I know that. You are only piling coals of fire on my head.
Now I have to bear twenty thousand more fresh coals, and I
forbearingly say: ‘Pile on Macduff,’ {\itshape{et cetera}}. Where shall we
go to dinner—the Poodle Dog or California?”\par

“Let us go to the California House. John keeps the best.”\par

To the California House they went, and had a most excellent
dinner with Chateau Yquem and a bottle of Roderer.\par

“Don't you know I like some of our California wines quite
as well as the imported, if not better? I suppose I ought to
be ashamed to admit it, thus showing that my taste is not cultivated.
But that is the simple truth. There is that flavor of
the real genuine grape which our California wines have that is
different from the imported. I think sooner or later our wines
will be better liked, better appreciated,” Clarence said.\par

“I think so too, but for the present it is the fashion to cry
down our native wines and extol the imported. When foreigners
come to California to tell us that we can make good
wines, that we have soils in which to grow the best grapes,
then we will believe it, not before.”\par

The two friends went after dinner to Clarence's rooms, where
they spent the evening together. Twelve o'clock found them
still busy talking of a thousand things. Next morning Hubert
came to breakfast with Clarence and accompanied him to the
steamer.\par

“Good-by, old fellow; take care of yourself.”\par

“Good-by, my boy; good luck to you,” said they, with a
lingering grip of the hands.\par

“I hope Fred has had a safe journey,” Clarence added.\par

“I think so, and I hope soon to get his telegram—about his
‘{\itshape{first impression}}’—which I shall transmit to you.”\par

Once more Clarence was crossing San Francisco Bay—on
to the Golden Gate, on to the broad Pacific.\par

The surrounding scenery recalled Mercedes' image so vividly
to his mind that it made his heart long to see her, and the
entire voyage was painful to him with the keen regret of her
absence.\par

But now, again, on the fourth morning—a lovely one in the
sunlit July—he was once more making his way between Ballast
Point and the sandy peninsula, facing La Playa and then
turning to the right towards San Diego City.\par

San Diego at that time—in July, 1873—be it remembered,
was fresh and rosy with bright hopes, like a healthy child just
trying to stand up, with no sickness or ill-usage to sap its vitality
and weaken its limbs. Only ten months before Col. Scott
had come to say that the Texas Pacific Railroad would be built
through the shortest, most practicable route, making San Diego
the western terminus of {\itshape{the shortest transcontinental railway}}.
It was true that on the following winter Congress had done
nothing further to help the Texas Pacific. But many reasons
were given for this singular lack of interest in so important a
matter on the part of Congress. Among the many reasons,
{\itshape{the true one}} was not mentioned, hardly suspected; it would
have seemed too monstrous to have been believed all at once;
incredible if revealed without preparing the mind for its reception.
Yes, the mind had to be prepared—slowly educated
first. Now it has been. The process began about that time
and it has continued up to this day, this very moment in which
I write this page. Mr. Huntington's letters have taught us
how San Diego was robbed, tricked, and cheated out of its inheritance.
We will look at these letters further on.\par

When the steamer arrived near enough to the wharf for persons
to be recognized, Clarence's heart leaped with pleasure,
for he saw the well known, tall form of Don Mariano sitting in
his buggy leaning back, looking at the approaching steamer.
A minute after, he saw Victoriano and Everett standing together
near the edge of the wharf ready to receive him.\par

“Well, Mr. Runaway, welcome back!” Victoriano said, clasping
Clarence's hand as soon as he was upon the wharf. He
gave the other hand to Everett, who said:\par

“We will have to {\itshape{lazo}} you to keep you home.”\par

“I think we will have to put a yoke on him,” added Victoriano.\par

“Exactly; only let me select my yokefellow,” Clarence said,
laughing.\par

As Don Mariano intended returning home that day, Clarence
proposed that Victoriano should drive with Everett, and he go
with Don Mariano, an arrangement which was very satisfactory
to all parties. He was very anxious to unburden his mind,
and Don Mariano's inquiries about his daughters and their
voyage to San Francisco soon gave him the desired opportunity.
He told Don Mariano what George had said, and how firmly
and sincerely Mercedes wished to abide by her mother's wishes.
Don Mariano listened very attentively, then said:\par

“I had intended suggesting to you the same thing. Gabriel
has spoken to me about the matter several times, insisting that
all the ladies of our family ought to know that {\itshape{you}} paid for
your land. Since we cannot divest them of the resentment
they have towards squatters, let them know the truth. Let
them see that Congress, if it does not always follow moral principles,
can certainly subvert them most arbitrarily and disastrously.
Do you still wish to keep the matter from your
father?”\par

Clarence thought for a moment, then answered:\par

“Yes, but only for a short time. I suppose we will have to
define our position as soon as the appeal is dismissed. Before
that comes, I shall explain all to him.”\par

They rode on in silence for a few moments; then Don Mariano
said:\par

“Very well, I shall tell my wife that, for the present, the
matter must not be mentioned outside the family or in the
hearing of servants.”\par

“I thank you,” Clarence said: “it is very painful to me to
find my father adhering so tenaciously to his old conviction
that all Mexican grants not finally confirmed to their owners
are public land, and being so, they are open for settlement to
all American citizens. Thus, he still insists that, being an
American citizen, he has the right to locate on your land or
any other unconfirmed grant. This idea has been the bane of
his life for many years, but for the very reason that in maintaining
it he has caused so much trouble to himself and to others,
he seems to cling to it most pertinaciously. He believes your
land was rejected, and that the rejection will be sustained.”\par

“Yes, my land was reported rejected, but it was by some
mistake of the clerks, because at that time the title had not
been either finally rejected or confirmed. It had been before
the Land Commission, and that (of course) decided adversely,
as it generally did. Then I appealed to the United States
District Court. This said that there was not sufficient testimony
to confirm my title, but did not affirm the opinion of the
Land Commission, nor reverse their decision, nor enter a decree
of rejection. It simply left the case in that uncertain condition
until 1870, when I discharged my lawyer and engaged
another to attend to the suit. Then the case was reopened,
and a decree of confirmation was entered. In the meantime,
squatters had been coming, and they now have carried their
appeal to Washington, to the United States Supreme Court,
against me.”\par

“I see it all now,” Clarence said, thoughtfully.\par

“And don't you know,” Don Mariano continued, “that I
don't find it in my heart to blame those people for taking my
land as much as I blame the legislators who turned them loose
upon me? And least of all I blame your father, for he has not
killed my cattle, as the others have.”\par

“Of course, he couldn't, he wouldn't, he shouldn't do that.
That would be worse than the lowest theft.”\par

“That is true, but there is a law to protect him if he did; in
fact, to {\itshape{authorize}} him to do so. Thus, you see, here again
come {\itshape{our legislators}} to encourage again wrong-doing—to offer
a premium to one class of citizens to go and prey upon another
class. All this is wrong. I hold that the legislators of a nation
are the guardians of public morality, the teachers of what is
right and just. They should never enact laws that are not
founded upon rectitude, as Herbert Spencer says, no matter if
expedience or adventitious circumstances might seem to demand
it. But I need not tell you this, for you hold the same
opinion.”\par

“Indeed I do, and understanding your rights better than I
did, I think you were too generous in making the offer you
made to the settlers at the meeting with them last year.”\par

“It was rather generous, but not as much so as you perhaps
think. I was looking out for myself, too.”\par

“I heard them talk about an appeal that was pending, and
I thought it was your appeal, not theirs.”\par

“The position then was this: In the first place, I was willing
to give them a chance of getting good homes for their families,
for I shall always consider that the law has deluded and misled
them, and helped them to develop their natural inclination to
appropriate what belonged to some one else; so they should
bear only half the blame for being squatters—Congress must
bear the other half. Then, in the second place, about the time
I had that meeting, I had just received a letter from George,
written at Washington, telling me how the Solicitor General
had disobeyed the order of the Attorney General, instructing
him to dismiss the appeal against the confirmation of my title.
As I did not know that the Solicitor General was acting thus
out of pique or personal animosity against the Attorney General,
I naturally feared that he was going to make me suffer
other worse outrages, judging by his arbitrary, irresponsible
conduct. I thought that there might be many more years of
delay while waiting for the dismissal of the appeal, and while
thus waiting all my cattle would be killed. Reasoning thus, I
concluded that it would be less ruinous to me to make the concessions
I offered than to wait for tardy justice to restore my
land to me—restore it when all my cattle shall have been destroyed.”\par

“I think your reasoning was correct—it did seem as if the
Solicitor meant mischief. It was fortunate that he dropped
the matter.”\par

“Yes, for which I am devoutly thankful. I hope the mischief
he has done may soon be corrected by the Attorney
General. Of course, the additional eighteen months of depredations
on my cattle which I have had to endure, must go
unredressed together with all else I have had to suffer at the
hands of those vandals.”\par

“At the hands of our law-givers.”\par

“Exactly. I shall always lay it at the door of our legislators—that
they have not only caused me to suffer many outrages,
but, with those same laws, they are sapping the very life
essence of public morality. They are teaching the people to
lose all respect for the rights of others—to lose all respect for
their national honor. Because we, {\itshape{the natives}} of California,
the Spano-Americans, were, at the close of the war with Mexico,
left in the lap of the American nation, or, rather, huddled
at her feet like motherless, helpless children, Congress {\itshape{thought}}
we might as well be kicked and cuffed as treated kindly.
There was no one to be our champion, no one to take our part
and object to our being robbed. It ought to have been sufficient
that by the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo the national
faith, the nation's honor was pledged to respect our property.
They never thought of that. With very unbecoming haste,
Congress hurried to pass laws to legalize their despoliation of
the conquered Californians, forgetting the nation's pledge to
protect us. Of course, for opening our land to squatters and
then establishing a land commission to sanction and corroborate
that outrage, {\itshape{our California delegation}} then in Washington,
must bear the bulk of the blame. They should have
opposed the passage of such laws instead of favoring their
enactment.”\par

“Why did they favor such legislation?”\par

“Because California was expected to be filled with a population
of farmers, of industrious settlers who would have votes
and would want their one hundred and sixty acres each of the
best land to be had. As our legislators thought that we, the
Spano-American natives, had the best lands, and but few votes,
there was nothing else to be done but to despoil us, to take
our lands and give them to the coming population.”\par

“But that was outrageous. Their motive was a political
object.”\par

“Certainly. The motive was that our politicians wanted
{\itshape{votes}}. The squatters were in increasing majority; the Spanish
natives, in diminishing minority. Then the cry was raised that
our land grants were too large; that a few lazy, thriftless, ignorant
natives, holding such large tracts of land, would be a hindrance
to the prosperity of the State, because such lazy people
would never cultivate their lands, and were even too sluggish
to sell them. The cry was taken up and became popular. It
was so easy to upbraid, to deride, to despise the conquered
race! Then to despoil them, to make them beggars, seemed
to be, if not absolutely righteous, certainly highly justifiable.
Any one not acquainted with the real facts might have supposed
that there was no more land to be had in California but that which
belonged to the natives. Everybody seemed to have forgotten
that for each acre that was owned by them, there were thousands
vacant, belonging to the Government, and which any one
can have at one dollar and twenty-five cents per acre. No,
they didn't want Government land. The settlers want the lands
of the lazy, the thriftless Spaniards. Such good-for-nothing,
helpless wretches are not fit to own such lordly tracts of land.
It was wicked to tolerate the waste, the extravagance of the
Mexican Government, in giving such large tracts of land to a
few individuals. The American Government never could have
been, or ever could be, guilty of such thing. No, never! But,
behold! Hardly a dozen years had passed, when this same
economical, far-seeing Congress, which was so ready to snatch
away from the Spanish people their lands (which rightfully
belonged to them) on the plea that such large tracts of land
ought not to belong to {\itshape{a few}} individuals, this same Congress,
mind you, goes to work and gives to railroad companies millions
upon millions of acres of land. It is true that such gifts
were for the purpose of aiding enterprises for the good of the
people. Yes, but that was exactly the same motive which
guided the Spanish and the Mexican governments—to give
large tracts of land as an inducement to those citizens who
would utilize the wilderness of the government domain—utilize
it by starting ranchos which afterwards would originate ‘pueblos’
or villages, and so on. The fact that these land-owners
who established large ranchos were very efficient and faithful
collaborators in the foundation of missions, was also taken into
consideration by the Spanish Government or the viceroys of
Mexico. The land-owners were useful in many ways, though
to a limited extent they attracted population by employing
white labor. They also employed Indians, who thus began to
be less wild. Then in times of Indian outbreaks, the land-owners
with their servants would turn out as in feudal times in
Europe, to assist in the defense of the missions and the sparsely
settled country threatened by the savages. Thus, you see,
that it was not a foolish extravagance, but a judicious policy
which induced the viceroys and Spanish governors to begin
the system of giving large land grants.”\par

“I never knew that this was the object of the Spanish and
Mexican governments in granting large tracts of land, but it
seems to me a very wise plan when there was so much land
and so few settlers.”\par

“Precisely. It was a good policy. In fact, the only one in
those days of a patriarchal sort of life, when raising cattle was
the principal occupation of the Californians.”\par

“I must say that to establish the Land Commission seems
to me rather a small subterfuge for the Congress of a great
nation to resort to.”\par

“What makes this subterfuge a cold-blooded wrong, of premeditated
gravity, is the fact that at the time when we were forced
to submit our titles for revision, and pending these legal proceedings,
we, the land-owners, began to pay taxes, and the squatters
were told that they have the right to take our lands and keep them
until we should prove that we had good titles to them. If the
law had obliged us to submit our titles to the inspection of the
Land Commission, but had not opened our ranchos to settlers
{\itshape{until it had been proved that our titles were not good}}, and if, too,
taxes were paid by those who derived the benefit from the land,
then there would be some color of equity in such laws. But
is not this a subversion of all fundamental principles of justice?
Here we are, living where we have lived for fifty or eighty
years; the squatters are turned loose upon us to take our lands,
and we must pay taxes for them, and we must go to work to
prove that our lands are ours before the squatter goes. Why
doesn't the squatter prove first that the land is his, and why
doesn't he pay his own taxes? We, as plaintiffs, have to bear
heavy expenses, and as the delays and evasions of the law are
endless, the squatter has generally managed to keep the land
he took, for we have been impoverished by heavy taxation
while trying to prove our rights, and the squatter has been
making money out of our lands to fight us with. Generally
the Californians have had nothing but land to pay their
taxes, besides paying their lawyers to defend their titles. Thus,
often the lawyer has taken all that was left out of the cost of
litigation and taxes.\par

“It makes me heartsick to think how unjustly the native
Californians have been treated. I assure you, sir, that not one
American in a million knows of this outrage. If they did, they
would denounce it in the bitterest language; they would not
tolerate it.”\par

“They would denounce it perhaps, but they would tolerate
it. I used to think as you do, that the American people
had a very direct influence upon the legislation of the country.
It seems so to hear public speakers in election times, but half
of all their fire goes up in smoke, and Congress is left coolly to
do as it pleases. And the worst of it is, that this very arbitrary
Congress, so impervious to appeals of sufferers, is also led by a
few persistent men who with determination do all things, spoil
or kill good bills, and doctor up sick ones; and then they half-fool
and half-weary the nation into acquiescence, for what can
we do? The next batch that is sent to the Capitol will have
the same elements in it, and repeat history.”\par

“It seems to me there ought to be some way to punish men
for being bad or ineffectual legislators, when sense of honor or
dread of criticism fail to make them do their duty.”\par

Don Mariano sighed and shook his head, then in a very sad
voice said:\par

“That should be so, but it is not the case. No, I don't see
any remedy in my life-time. I am afraid there is no help for
us native Californians. We must sadly fade and pass away.
The weak and the helpless are always trampled in the throng.
We must sink, go under, never to rise. If the Americans had
been friendly to us, and helped us with good, protective laws,
our fate would have been different. But to legislate us into
poverty is to legislate us into our graves. Their very contact
is deadly to us.”\par

“And yet you do not seem to hate us.”\par

“Hate you? No, indeed! Never! The majority of my
best friends are Americans. Instead of hate, I feel great attraction
toward the American people. Their sentiments, their
ways of thinking suit me, with but few exceptions. I am fond
of the Americans. I know that, as a matter of fact, only the
very mean and narrow-minded have harsh feelings against my
race. The trouble, the misfortune has been that the American
people felt perfect indifference towards the conquered few.
We were not in sufficient numbers to command attention.
We were left to the tender mercies of Congress, and the American
nation never gave us a thought after the treaty of peace
with Mexico was signed. Probably any other nation would
have done the same. Why should I then hate them? No,
indeed. But I confess my heart collapses when I think what
might be the fate of my family if I am not able to avert the ruin
which has overtaken the majority of Californians. We have
not been millionaires, but we have never known want. We are
all ill prepared for poverty; and yet this long-delayed justice,
and the squatters crowding me so relentlessly—” he stopped
short, then added: “I am not giving you a cheerful welcome
with my gloomy conversation.”\par

“But I want you to talk to me frankly and give me your views.
You have told me much that I had never heard before, and
which I am glad to learn. But as for feeling gloomy about the
future of the family, I think a plan that Mr. George Mechlin
and myself have been forming will make things rather better
for the future, and we trust you will approve it.”\par

“What is the plan?”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xvii-dona-josefa-at-home}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xvii-dona-josefa-at-home}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XVII.—{\scshape{Doña Josefa at Home.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Don Mariano had only said, “What is the plan?” a very natural
and simple inquiry, and yet it threw Clarence into something
of a flutter, as it flashed vividly before his mind that the
said {\itshape{plan}} was based entirely upon the fate of the Texas Pacific
Railroad, and that as a natural sequence it depended
upon the wisdom, the moral sense and patriotism of Congress.
If Congress acted right and did its duty as the mentor, guardian
and trustee of the people, all would be well. But would
it? Would it, indeed? The past promised nothing to the
future, judging by the light of Don Mariano's experience. But
why should the Texas Pacific not be granted aid? The public
treasure had been lavished to help the Central Pacific, a northern
road—why should the southern people not be entitled to
the same privilege? These thoughts flashed through Clarence's
mind before he answered, then he said, somewhat
timidly:\par

“The plan is to establish a bank in San Diego, with Mr.
George Mechlin for President, and Don Gabriel for Cashier.
The only drawback is, of course, the delay there might be in
constructing the Texas Pacific Railroad—the delay in the growth
of San Diego. As yet, however, we are hopeful, and the prospect
seems good.”\par

“The prospect is perfectly good, and I would have entire
confidence in it, if the fate of the railroad did not depend upon
right and just legislation. The Congressmen from the north
do not seem to feel all the interest they should in reviving the
south. They are angry yet. The fact that they coerced back
into the Union the southern people has not appeased them
yet, it seems. I wish Tom Scott would build his road without
Congressional aid. The success of your banking project
must, of course, depend upon the amount of population
in San Diego.”\par

“Undoubtedly. And if there is no railroad, there will be
no population. But Mr. Mechlin and myself are ready with
our money, and with the least encouraging sign we start our
bank. I think we will begin at first with two hundred thousand
dollars. Mr. Mechlin says he can subscribe twenty-five
or thirty thousand dollars, and I will put the balance in, subscribing
thirty thousand for Don Gabriel, twenty-five thousand
for Victoriano and twenty-five thousand for Everett, with ninety
thousand for myself.”\par

“You must be prudent in incurring risks.”\par

“I am. I have more than two hundred thousand that I can
put in this bank without troubling my government bonds or my
farm.”\par

Clarence then explained to Don Mariano his financial affairs.\par

Don Mariano smiled as he said: “I had no idea you were
so well off.”\par

“I expect to make a fortune out of my Arizona mines,” said
he, laughing.\par

“Take care. Do not put any of your government bonds in
them.”\par

“Indeed, I shall not. The interest on those bonds gives me
nearly thirty-five thousand dollars per year, and this income is
for—” here Clarence blushed and was silent.\par

“To take care of your wife,” Don Mariano said.\par

“Yes, sir; for that alone. But do you think Doña Josefa
will object to me after you explain my position?”\par

“As her only objection is that she thinks you are squatters,
she would be very unreasonable should she hold the same objections
after she knows that you are not.”\par

“You make me very happy telling me that. I hope you will
let me know soon what answer she gives to you.”\par

“Certainly. You can come to-morrow.”\par

“I have some little packages that Mrs. Mechlin sends. I
can bring them this evening—the ladies might wish to see the
contents.”\par

“Of course, they will. They wouldn't be women if they
didn't. They'll want you to relate all the incidents of the voyage,
too, and the trip to the Yosemite. If you can, come
this evening. I'll tell them you are coming.”\par

“Thank you, sir.”\par

Everett and Victoriano overtook them now as they entered
the valley.\par

“Say, Clary,” Everett called out, “don't you want to get out
here and change seats with Tano?”\par

“I'll take him home,” Don Mariano answered; and they all
drove toward the Darrell house.\par

At the door were Mr. Darrell and Alice. Immediately after,
Darrell came out to greet his son. He was rather cordial to
Don Mariano, and asked him to come in and take lunch. This
was so very unexpected to all his hearers, that, with the exception
of Don Mariano, all showed their surprise. This kind
invitation, however, was politely declined—whereupon Victoriano,
pretending to feel slighted because he was not invited,
tossed his head at Clarence and Everett, and marched majestically
towards his father's carriage.\par

Everett overtook him, and would not let him get in, insisting
upon his remaining to luncheon. Victoriano then indicating
that he was entirely pacified, remained, perfectly happy,
knowing his seat would be near Alice, and that was the allurement,
but he said to Tisha, as she came to set a plate for
him:\par

“Your cooking is so good, Tisha, that I always come sneaking
around, begging for an invitation, for I am sure you have
something nice to give us.”\par

“La massa! and right welcome ye are, too, by everybody in
this 'ere family, and I knows it exactly.”\par

And Tisha winked to herself in the pantry, indicating to
the crockery on the shelves that she knew why Massa Tano
liked her cooking, “and Miss Alice knows it, God bless her,”
said Tisha, nodding her head to the rows of preserves and
pickle jars, in sheer exultation, for there was nothing so interesting
to Tisha on the face of the earth as a love affair.\par

“{\itshape{All the world love the lover}},” says Emerson, and Tisha
could certify to this aphoristic truth, for who more humble
than Tisha? And yet her heart went headlong to the lover,
whoever he might be. Therefore, a love affair in the Darrell
family was to Tisha perfectly entrancing. She had been in a
state of undefined bliss ever since her perceptive organs and
other means of information had indicated to her that {\itshape{Clarence
was in love}}! She had taken upon herself to watch and see that
the affair progressed and ended happily.\par

In the evening Clarence proceeded to deliver the packages
sent by Elvira to her mother and sisters.\par

With beating heart he timidly ascended the steps of the
front veranda of the Alamar house, for he did not feel entirely
certain that Doña Josefa's objections would be withdrawn.
He was not kept in suspense about the matter,
however, as now, preceded by woolly Milord, the handsome
matron herself came forward to meet him, extending
her hand in welcome most gracious. She never had
seemed to him so handsome, so regally beautiful. He thought
that he had been right in imagining Juno must have looked
like her. And when she smiled, as she extended her hand to
him, he thought that such was surely the smile, the manner
and the beauty of a goddess.\par

“I am so glad to welcome you, Mr. Darrell,” said she, “and
knowing that you wish to speak to me, and as I, too, wish to
speak with you alone, I thought I would meet you here by
myself.”\par

Milord barked, wagged his tail in token of friendship, and
sat up to listen.\par

“You are very kind,” Clarence said, placing the packages
on a table near him, not knowing, however, what else to say.\par

“Sit down,” Doña Josefa said, pushing one of the large arm-chairs
for Clarence to sit near. “And let me begin our conversation
by apologizing for the very wrong, very unjust opinion
I have had of you. Believe me, it gives me great pleasure to
know I was mistaken.”\par

Her voice, her manner, were more gracious than her words,
and Clarence thought that it was not to be wondered that the
daughters were so very charming.\par

“I am the one who should apologize,” he hastened to reply;
“I ought to have asked Don Mariano to explain my position
to you before.”\par

“I wish you had, for that would have saved us many anxious
thoughts. But let us not regret the past too much, only enough
to cause us to appreciate the present. I understand how you
felt, not wishing to seem disrespectful to your father, and yet
not agreeing with him.”\par

“It has been the source of very painful feelings to me to
see my father so misled, but I have found very great comfort
in the fact that my mother agrees with me. She told
me she would never come down if I did not pay for the
land.”\par

“Yes; Mariano told me this, and I beg of you to convey to
her my regrets at having been in error about this matter. Will
you do so, please?”\par

“Certainly, madam; with great pleasure.”\par

“I trust that her good influence will be of great assistance to
you in persuading your father to change his views.”\par

“Yes, I hope so; in fact, I feel pretty sure that, more or less
warmly, all of my brothers and sisters will agree with me, especially
Everett and Alice. Another fact, also, is in my favor,
that my father promised to Don Mariano, when he first took
up the land, that he would pay for it if the Courts decided
against the settlers. That promise, I think, will have a good
effect, for he always keeps his word. When the appeal is dismissed
I shall remind him of it. In the meantime I shall
watch my opportunities to conciliate him, for I feel sure
he will resent my having paid for the land without his consent.”\par

“That is a pity. I am very sorry for that.”\par

“It is unpleasant that he should take so decided a view of
so clear a subject, but I feel perfectly justified in acting as I did.
What I do regret sincerely is that you and—and Miss Mercedes
should not have known the truth sooner,” said Clarence,
reddening to the roots of his hair, for he felt that he was
touching on most delicate ground; with anxious, beating heart
he waited for her reply.\par

Her face flushed a little. Was it pride, or was it because
the heart of woman must always flutter when in her presence
the subject of love is approached, in which ever direction it
may be, and no matter if the snows of eighty winters rest
placidly on her brow? Love is woman's special province—she
has, or has had, or will have, power there. Man might take,
and absolutely appropriate, monopolize and exclude her from
money-making, from politics and from many other pursuits,
made difficult to her by man's tyranny, man's hindrances,
man's objections—but in the realms of love he is not the
absolute dictator, not the master. He must sue, he must wait,
he must be patient. Yes, the lord of creation often has to take
snubbing quite meekly, for he can't help it.\par

Clarence knew all this, but he saw Doña Josefa smile, and
grew brave.\par

“Yes; Mercedes, poor child, was very unhappy, and it went
to my heart like a knife to send her away, but I deemed it to
be my duty—I hoped it would be for the best.”\par

“And so it was. You did right.”\par

“Yes, but it did not enter into my calculations that you were
to jump on board the steamer,” said she, laughing.\par

Clarence's face and ears became crimson.\par

“I hope you have forgiven me for it,” he stammered.\par

“I suppose I must,” said she, still laughing.\par

“I assure you I had no idea of doing such a thing, but when
I saw her going I didn't care what I did.”\par

“And as you received some dispatches, you thought it was
best to dispatch other matters as well.”\par

“But, after all, she left everything for {\itshape{you}} to dispatch. My
fate is in your hands.”\par

It was now Doña Josefa's turn to blush.\par

“I thought that George and Mariano had decided that.”\par

“No, indeed. It is all left to you. Please be merciful,”
he pleaded, feeling very nervous, for he heard steps and voices
approaching from through the hall.\par

“What shall I say?”\par

“Say {\itshape{yes}}.”\par

“Yes,” she said, smiling, with a kind look in her beautiful
eyes.\par

He glanced quickly toward the front door, and seeing no
one in sight, dropped on his knees, and seizing her hand, covered
it with hurried and vehement kisses, saying:\par

“Thanks! thanks!”\par

And all before she knew what he was about.\par

“Impetuous boy! is that the way you rushed and assaulted
my poor little Mercedes?” said she, laughing.\par

“You have said yes—God bless you for it.”\par

“But, yes to what?”\par

“Ah! your heart will tell you.”\par

“What is that? What about the heart?” asked Don Mariano,
standing in the door. “This looks like love-making. I
am interested. Let me hear a little of it,” said he, pulling
after him a chair, to sit between Clarence and his wife.\par

“It is love-making, only it is by proxy, and I am to guess at
things without being told,” said she, still laughing.\par

Clarence was greatly embarrassed. He knew he had not
formally asked for the hand of Mercedes in the serious manner
that the subject merited, but he had been carried away by
his fears, then by his hopes, and the matter was launched before
he could scarcely say how. When for months past he
had thought, time and again, of a probable interview with
Doña Josefa, he had imagined himself talking to that queenly
lady in his most stately Spanish. But now he had taken hold
of Cervantes' language—I may say, jumped into it, just as he
had jumped on the steamer's deck, thinking of no difficulties
in the way, except that they must be overcome in order to
reach Mercedes.\par

He gave a most appealing look to Don Mariano, whose kind
heart immediately responded by saying to his wife:\par

“If it is love-making, and you are to guess at it, there won't
be much delay, for no woman was ever slow to guess such matters.
I know {\itshape{you}} understood me very quickly.”\par

“Hear him! but please do not learn such frightful lessons
in vanity and conceit,” said she, laughing again, but blushing
also.\par

“I know she understood what I meant, when I would ride
eighty miles on horseback for the pleasure of serenading her.
To do that, or jump aboard the steamer after it is under way,
means about the same thing, I think.”\par

Don Mariano kept talking in that strain until Clarence
recovered his composure.\par

He then said: “I have been your ambassador before this
queen, and her majesty has granted your petition. So you have
nothing more to do now than to fall on your knees and kiss
her hands.”\par

Whereupon, down went Clarence again on his knees, and
seizing her hand, kissed it warmly and repeatedly, in spite of
Doña Josefa's protestations, saying:\par

“That will do. Once is enough—once is enough. Reserve
your kisses for younger hands.”\par

“I'll warrant he has plenty more in reserve,” Don Mariano
said, laughing.\par

And it was true, for Clarence was so happy that he could
have kissed the entire Alamar family—all, all—irrespective of
age or sex.\par

The days now passed pleasantly and peacefully enough at
the Alamar rancho.\par

Don Mariano knew that he would have to go through
many disagreeable scenes with the squatters when the appeal
should be dismissed, but as the law would be on his side
{\itshape{finally}}, he confidently hoped to see the end of his troubles,
intending to allow the squatters to keep their homes, provided
only that they would fence their crops and pay their own
taxes.\par

Clarence reconciled himself to wait until the fall to take
that ring which Mercedes had told him to bring himself. This
would be the most judicious plan, as he would thus take the
necessary time to have the mines prospected and to decide
about their purchase, before going to New York. In the
meanwhile he worked in the garden, fenced and prepared
ground for planting grapevines and fruit trees. He read and
wrote love letters, and passed nearly all of his evenings at the
Alamar house, holding Milord, who always came to be held by
him as soon as he arrived.\par

The telegram from Fred Haverly came in due time, a few
words only, but how exhilarating they were to Clarence,
making his pulse beat high.\par

It read thus:\par

“Prospect splendid. Far better than described. Have
written to-day. Hurrah!”\par

Like the telegram, Fred's letter came promptly in the early
part of August.\par

The ledge was so wide, Fred said, that the miners had sunk
their prospect shaft in the center of the vein, and consequently
all the rock taken out was a high-grade ore. That he was
going to run two drifts, and would then have a more correct
idea of the character of the mine, its volume, formation, etc.
Only a small portion of the hanging wall was visible at the
entrance, as the shaft went immediately into the very heart of
the broad vein.\par

“But,” Fred added, “If the mine proves to be one-tenth
as good as it seems, ‘there are millions in it,’ literally.”\par

So Clarence must make up his mind to wait developments.\par

In the meantime the settlers had harvested their crops of
hay and grain, and were hauling them to town. Don Mariano,
as a matter of course, had paid dearly for these same
crops, with the sacrifice of his fine cows, besides very heavy
taxes. He had sent half of his cattle away to the sierra, and
those left had been as carefully guarded as possible, but still
the dumb brutes would be attracted by the green grain, and
would obey the law of nature, to go and eat it, in utter disregard
of the “no fence law.”\par

Thus, every night the fusilade of the law-abiding settlers
would be heard, as they, to protect {\itshape{their}} “{\itshape{rights under the law}},”
would be shooting the Don's cattle all over the rancho. In
vain did he, or his sons and servants, ride out to find who
fired. There was never a man to be seen with a gun or rifle in
his hands; it never could be proved that any one of these
peaceful farmers had fired a shot. The cattle were killed, but
who had done it no one could say. Day after day the {\itshape{vaqueros}}
would come in and report the number of cattle found
shot, dead or wounded, that morning, and Gabriel would make
a note of the number; at the end of the month he would add
these figures, and the Don had the sad satisfaction of knowing
how many of his cattle were killed {\itshape{under the law}}. For although
the law did not enjoin upon any one to kill cattle in this manner,
the effect was the same as if it had said so plainly.\par

“I think Southern California isn't such a very dry country
as people try to make it out. The settlers on this rancho, I
reckon, will realize nice little sums on their crops this year,”
Mr. Darrell observed at breakfast one morning.\par

“And with their little sums they should pay the Don for the
cattle they have shot. It is a shame to take his land, have
him pay taxes, and then kill his cattle also,” replied Mrs.
Darrell. “Those heartless people keep me awake sometimes
with their cattle-shooting. I think the Don and his
family are too kind to bear all these daily (and nightly) outrages
so patiently.”\par

“I thought you had given it up as a bad job to be the Don's
champion, Mrs. Darrell,” said her husband.\par

“If by being his champion I could save his cattle there
would be no danger of giving up my championship. What I
regret is that my sympathy should be so useless.”\par

“Never mind, mother, the Don will soon have the power to
drive all this {\itshape{canaille}} out of his rancho,” Clarence said.\par

“Do you include me with the {\itshape{canaille}}?” asked Darrell.\par

“No, father, I do not. I suppose you have not forgotten
you promised Don Mariano to pay for the land you located
when the title should be approved.”\par

“When there is no more {\itshape{dispute}} about it,” Darrell explained.\par

“I understood you had said that when the government did
not dispute it. We all know that the squatters will dispute it
as long as they can find lawyers, who for a fee will fight against
right and justice,” Clarence said.\par

“I will keep to what I said—but I am not going to
have my words construed to suit everybody,” Darrell said,
doggedly.\par

“How is the Don to have power to drive off the settlers,
Clary? Tell us,” Webster inquired.\par

“Don't you tell him, Clary. He'll go and tell it to the {\itshape{squatters}},”
Willie interposed.\par

“And since when did you learn to call the settlers squatters,
Master Willie? Ain't you a squatter yourself?” asked Mr.
Darrell.\par

“No, I'm not. Am I, mamma?” asked Willie.\par

“I hope not, my dear. If I thought any one in this family
were to deserve such a name I would not have come down to
this place,” Mrs. Darrell replied.\par

“What is a squatter, anyhow, mamma?” Clementine inquired.\par

“A squatter is a person who locates a land claim on
land that belongs to some other person,” Mrs. Darrell explained.\par

“On land that other persons say belongs to them, but
which land, as no one knows to whom it belongs, it is free to
be occupied by any American citizen,” Mr. Darrell added
with emphasis.\par

“There you are again mixing the wilful squatter with the
honest settler, who pre-empts his land legitimately. The dividing
line between the squatter and the settler is very clear to
any one who honestly wants to see it,” Mrs. Darrell said, and
three or four of her children started to explain how well they
did see that line.\par

“It is as plain as the nose on your face,” Willie's voice said
in a high key. “The honest settler only pre-empts government
land, but the squatter goes into anybody's land before
he knows who has title.”\par

“Bravo!” cried Everett; “you got it straight this time.”\par

“Then a squatter is a land thief?” Clementine inquired.\par

“That is a severe term,” Alice observed.\par

“But isn't it true?” Clementine argued.\par

“No, because the squatter might not {\itshape{intend}} to steal. He
might mistakenly take land which belongs to some one else.
The intention is what makes the action a theft or not,” Mrs.
Darrell explained.\par

“But why should they make such mistakes? Ain't somebody
there to say to whom the land belongs?” Master Willie
inquired.\par

“Yes, but that somebody might not be believed, Master
Willie, and there is where the shoe pinches,” Webster explained.\par

“Ah!” was Willie's exclamation, and he became thoughtful.\par

“I give it up,” said Clementine with a sigh, making them
all laugh.\par

“That is a very wise resolve,” Darrell observed.\par

“I've got it, papa,” Willie's voice again was heard saying.\par

“Well, what have you got?” his father asked.\par

“The government ought to say first to whom the land belongs,
and not let anybody take a single acre until the government
says it is public land. Isn't that the way you say,
Clarence?”\par

“Oh, you are quoting Clarence. I thought it was your own
original idea you were giving us,” Darrell said, and all laughed
at Willie.\par

But he held his ground, saying; “It is Clarence's idea,
but I only understood it this minute, so now it is mine.”\par

“That is right, Willie. That is the way correct ideas are
disseminated and take root,” Everett said.\par

“And erroneous ones, too,” Darrell added.\par

“Which is the correct, papa?” asked Willie.\par

“Your mind is even more inquisitive than usual this morning,
Willie,” said Jane.\par

“Suppose it is, do you object to it?” Willie queried.\par

“I think you had better be a lawyer,” Lucy suggested.\par

“I mean to be. Then I will be the Don's lawyer.”\par

“But suppose he don't want you?” asked Webster.\par

“But he will, for I will be honest.”\par

“Will he want you if you are stupid, only because you are
honest?” asked Clementine.\par

“I hate girls, they talk so silly,” said Willie, again bringing
the laugh on himself.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xviii-at-newport}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xviii-at-newport}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XVIII.—{\scshape{At Newport.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Mr. George Mechlin and traveling companions had a most
delightful journey across the continent in spite of the hot
weather.\par

Mr. Lawrence Mechlin and wife came to New York to meet
George's bride and her sister and take them to Long Branch,
where they had been sojourning for the last two months.\par

Mrs. Lawrence Mechlin was most favorably impressed with
her nephew's wife and her sister. The two young beauties captivated
her at once. She was enthusiastic.\par

“My dear,” said she after dinner, addressing Elvira, “before
I saw you and your sister I had been deliberating in my mind
whether we should not go directly to our cottage in Newport
and spend the remainder of the summer there. But now I
think we had better go to Long Branch first, and then, unless
you wish to visit Saratoga, we will go to Newport. How will
that do?” She looked at George.\par

George smiled. He knew his aunt must be much pleased
to put herself to the trouble of this traveling in hot weather.
He replied:\par

“I am sure these young ladies will be most happy to follow
you, aunt.”\par

“Don't you all get too tired. And this reminds me that
people who have been in the cars for ten days should have some
rest. The day will be cool to-morrow; we need not go back to
Long Branch until the day after,” said the senior Mechlin.\par

“We do not intend going to-morrow. We have something
to do in town yet,” said Mrs. Mechlin.\par

“Some shopping, I suppose,” Mr. Lawrence observed.\par

“Exactly,” his wife assented.\par

After Mrs. Mechlin accompanied Elvira and Mercedes to
their respective apartments, she returned to the library, where
her husband and nephew were engaged in conversation. There
was in Mrs. Mechlin's step and manner a degree of pleased
elasticity, an amiable buoyancy of contented alacrity, which
betokened that her mind was in a state of subdued pleasurable
excitement which was to her very enjoyable. She came to
George and kissed him twice, saying:\par

“I must repeat my kiss and congratulations, dear George.
Your wife is perfection. Where in the world did such beauties
grow? I assure you I am perfectly carried away by those two
girls. No wonder you were so impatient to get married. They
will be the rage next winter, and I shall give several dinners
and receptions in honor of your wife, of course.”\par

“You are always so kind to me, dear aunt.”\par

“No more than I ought to be, but this time pleasure and
duty will go together. I know I shall be proud to present my
beautiful niece to New York society. Her manners are exquisite.
She is lovely. She will be greatly admired, and justly so.”\par

“You will have to arrange for your parties and dinners to be
in December and February, because George is going to Washington
in January, and the young ladies will take that opportunity
to visit the Capital with him,” said Mr. Mechlin, senior.\par

“That is a pity. Couldn't they go in December?”\par

“No, because George's business is with the Attorney General,
and he wrote to me that he would not be ready until
January. However, January is six months off yet. For the
present, you have enough on your hands with your plans for
the summer.”\par

“That is very true. We will order some summer things to
be made immediately. But I feel quite sure that we can find
imported dresses ready made that will suit. I saw some lovely
batists and grenadines at Arnold \& Constable's, just from
Paris, also beautiful embroidered muslins at Stewart's. We
will see to-morrow and be ready to return the day after.”\par

Life at Long Branch in the Mechlin cottage was very delightful
to Elvira and Mercedes. When they had been there
about two weeks, Mr. Robert Gunther appeared on the scene,
and next day Mr. Arthur Selden followed. As they were old
friends of the Mechlins, Mrs. Mechlin thought it was a natural
thing that these two young gentlemen, on their return from
their travels, should come to see her at Long Branch.\par

“In a day or two we are going to Newport, young gentlemen,”
she said. “You had better join our party and we'll all
go together.”\par

“I shall be most happy. My mother and sister have been
with friends in the White Mountains, but will be at Newport
next week, so this arrangement will suit me,” said Gunther.\par

“It will suit me, also, as I promised my mother and sisters
I should be at Newport in two weeks. Saratoga is too hot for
me. I left them there under father's care. He likes Saratoga,”
Mr. Selden said.\par

If their sojourn at Long Branch had seemed so delightful
to Elvira and Mercedes, their pleasures increased ten-fold at
Newport. The Mechlin villa, shaded by tall elms and poplars,
and surrounded by shrubbery and flowers, with a beautiful
lawn and fountains in front, facing the ocean, and well-kept
walks and arbors in different places on the grounds, was certainly
a charming abode, fit to please the most fastidious taste.
Then the drives, croquet playing, boat sailing and promenades,
were also much enjoyed by our two little Californians. In the
evenings, music and dancing would add variety to their pleasures,
until such life seemed to them too charming to be real.\par

“And is this life repeated every summer, year after year?”
asked Mercedes one evening as in the coming twilight she was
sitting with Mr. Bob Gunther in a cozy bower of roses located
on a little knoll in the grounds of the Gunther villa. They
were looking at the gay equipages which drove by. Gunther
sighed as he answered.\par

“Do you like this life?”\par

“Very much, but perhaps because it is a novelty to me.
However, I am never tired of things that I once like, so I suppose
I would like it always.”\par

She did not look at Gunther; her attention was all given to
the beautiful carriages driving by. If she had looked at him
she would have seen the intensity of his passion in the workings
of his features. For a moment the struggle with himself
was terrible; but controlling his voice all he could, he said:\par

“You can have this life if you wish, and continue in the
winters in a beautiful residence in New York or in Paris,
should you desire it. You know it.”\par

“No, I do not. I have no fairy god-mother to give me palaces.
Come, let us go. Where is everybody?” said she, hurrying
out of the arbor, looking about the grounds for Elvira
and Miss Gunther, who had but a moment before been near
her. “Ah! there they are; let us go to them.”\par

“Do I frighten you? or am I tiresome?” said he, pale to
the lips, following her.\par

“Neither; but young ladies who—who are—I mean any
young lady, should not have such {\itshape{tete-á-tetes}} with fascinating
young gentlemen in rosy bowers.”\par

“Young ladies who are—what?”\par

“Who are judicious.”\par

“Were you not going to say ‘who are engaged?’”\par

“If I had, I might not have said the truth, {\itshape{strictly}}.”\par

“Oh, in Heaven's name, tell me the truth! Are you engaged?”\par

“Ask me no questions, and I'll tell thee no lies.”\par

“You are cruel; you are trifling with me!”\par

She stopped and looked up quickly into his eyes. For a
moment she hesitated, then resolutely said:\par

“Mr. Gunther, I like you very much. Don't talk to me like
this. I want to find pleasure in your society, but I shall not if
you talk so to me. I am not and have never been cruel, and
it never entered my head to trifle with you—never!”\par

“Forgive me this time. I shall never offend again.”\par

He looked so distressed that Mercedes felt very sorry for
him. She would have comforted him if she could. They
walked in silence a few steps, but as he still looked pale, she
did not wish the other ladies to see him. They were walking
towards the house. Pointing to a narrow path leading towards
the seashore, she said:\par

“That path goes to your boat-house, I suppose.”\par

“Yes. I have a new boat; would you like to see it?”\par

“Is it far? You see it is getting late.”\par

“We can come back in ten minutes.”\par

“Truly? No longer than ten minutes?”\par

“Not a second longer unless you wish it.”\par

“Come,” said she, turning quickly into the little path, and
he followed her. She did not care a straw to see the boat, but
she wanted to give him time to get back the color to his face.
She walked so fast down the hill; she almost ran. She looked
back; he was following close. She began to laugh and started
to run. He ran after her, and they did not stop until they got
to the beach.\par

“How long is it since we started?” she asked. He looked
at his watch.\par

“Not quite two minutes,” he answered.\par

“I beg your pardon for running, obliging you to run, but I
felt like it when I saw the blue water. It reminded me of home,
of San Diego.”\par

“No apology is needed. If it gave you pleasure to run, I
am glad you did so.”\par

“One look only, and then we must go back. Perhaps we
had better return; I hear horses coming,” she said, and at the
same time Mr. Selden and his youngest sister came down by
the boat-house at a gallop. His face flushed and became pale,
but he lifted his hat as he passed. Gunther did the same, in
answer to Miss Selden's salutation.\par

“Let us return. More riders might be passing,” said Mercedes,
and began to walk back.\par

“What! without seeing the boat?”\par

“It will be dark inside the house. I'll come some other
time, earlier.”\par

“Do you promise me that?”\par

“Certainly. You see, we can't run as fast up hill; it will
take more than two minutes to return.”\par

Again the galloping of horses was heard, and Selden, with
his sister, passed on their way back just as Mercedes and Gunther
reached the bank at the edge of the lawn and sat down to
rest.\par

Selden's sister had noticed how he flushed and how livid he
became a minute after, and faithfully reported the fact to her
vigilant mamma as soon as she got home. Arthur would be
watched now. His mamma knew that he was a millionaire and
considered “a catch.”\par

The Seldens had been abroad many years, the greater
time in England, and had acquired some English habits, one
of which was to dine late. That evening Arthur did not come
down to dinner until half-past eight o'clock. He was afraid
he would be questioned regarding the young lady with Robert
Gunther. He felt too angry with his friend to hear his name
spoken. But it was unavoidable. As soon as he took his
seat at the table his mother asked:\par

“Who was the lady with Robert on the beach?”\par

“When?”\par

“This evening as we rode by his boat-house,” explained his
sister.\par

“Were they coming out of the boat-house?” asked the elder
sister. Arthur's lips became white again.\par

“Don't be alarmed. They did not go into the boat-house,”
said he, sneeringly.\par

“I? I alarmed? It seems to me you are the one alarmed.
I might say frightened,” she replied, reddening like a peony,
trembling with anger, as she well understood her brother
meant to allude to her well known fondness for Bob.\par

“Who is the lady, any way? I ask,” reiterated Mrs. Selden.\par

“She is George Mechlin's sister-in-law,” Arthur replied.\par

“Ah! That is the beauty I hear half a dozen fellows are
raving about,” said Miss Selden, to pique her brother.\par

“Is she so very pretty, Arthur?” asked the younger sister.\par

“I never saw any woman so beautiful in all my life,” he answered,
with dogged resolution as if about to pull the string of
his shower bath.\par

The mother and daughters exchanged looks. They understood
it all now. Poor Arthur, he, too, was raving.\par

“By-the-by, I met Mechlin in the street to-day, and he
asked if any one was sick in our family,” observed Mr. Selden,
senior.\par

“I understand. We will call to-morrow,” Mrs. Selden said,
sententiously. “We will see the beauties.”\par

And they did. When they were in their carriage riding
home, Mrs. Selden said:\par

“I am sorry for Arthur if he is in love with that girl. I fear
he will never get over it.”\par

“So much the better if he marries her,” said the younger
sister.\par

“Yes, but if he does not, he'll never have any heart left.”\par

“Do you suppose she would refuse him?” said the elder sister,
haughtily.\par

“I don't know; I must have a talk with Arthur.”\par

She had a talk with Arthur, and when he saw evasion would
be useless, he told her all about his love and why he believed
it hopeless, judging by what he heard George say.\par

“But if she is not positively engaged to that Darrell, why
should you fear him more than you fear Gunther?”\par

“Because I believe she loves him.”\par

“Perhaps. But we are not sure of it. Moreover, he is far
off in California, and you are here.”\par

Arthur shook his head despondingly, but, nevertheless, he
was pleased to hear his mother say that they must entertain
those two Californians, and Mrs. Mechlin would think it was
all intended as a compliment to herself.\par

The Gunthers being more intimate with the Mechlins, should
not be outdone by the Seldens in courtesy to these two ladies
(at least such was the opinion expressed by Robert to his
mother), and thus a day hardly passed without some entertainment
for their amusement.\par

Arthur closed his eyes to the future and let himself float
down this stream of sweet pleasures, knowing that they were
but a dream, and yet for that reason more determined to drink
the last drop of that nectar so intoxicating, and enjoy being
near her, within the sound of her voice, within the magic circle
of her personality. The thought that he had seen her with Gunther
rambling on the beach had been at first very bitter and
disconcerting, but when he had learned that she had intended
going to see the boat, but changed her mind, he consoled
himself, and more easily yet, when he observed that Gunther
and other admirers made no more progress as suitors than he
did himself.\par

Misery loves company, sure. Thus it will be seen that Mr.
Arthur Selden did not deceive himself with any very great
hopes of success; still, such is the complexity of man's aspirations
and man's reasoning, that he determined to speak to
Mercedes of his love, for he had never done so—had never
offered himself to her. He would know the worst from her
own lips. So one morning in the month of September, when
George Mechlin and his uncle had gone to New York on business
on account of Jay Cook's failure, Selden saw the two
Misses Mechlin out driving on the road towards Fort Adams.
He concluded that the two Misses Mechlin must be going to
call on the officers' wives, stationed at the Fort, and Mercedes
must be alone at home. He immediately took a side road
thus to avoid meeting the Mechlins and drove directly to the
Mechlin villa. He found Mercedes alone in the library, where
she had gone for a book to take to her room.\par

“Mr. Arthur Selden,” said the tall servant at the library door,
and behind his broad shoulders peeped Arthur's red whiskers.\par

“I took the liberty of following the servant,” said he, “because
I hoped we would be less interrupted here.”\par

“Undoubtedly,” replied she, laughing and offering him a
chair; “very logical deduction.”\par

“Don't laugh at me, please,” said he, blushing; “I know
you are thinking that others might follow you here as well as I,
and it is so, but you see, Miss Mercedes, I am in despair at
times. I have been wishing to speak to you alone, but I never
have a chance.”\par

“Why, Mr. Selden, you see me very often.”\par

“Yes, but not alone, not where I could tell you all I feel for
you, and beg you not to drive me to despair. You know I
have loved you from the first instant I saw you. Can I hope
ever to win your love? May I hope, or is my love hopeless?”\par

“Mr. Selden, I like you very much, but please do not ask
me to love you. It is not possible.”\par

“Why not? Is it because I am not handsome like Bob
Gunther?” said he, with a painful sneer. “Believe me, I shall
be a devoted, loving husband; none can love you more passionately
and devotedly.”\par

“I do not doubt it. But I cannot. Please don't ask me,
and don't hate me.”\par

“Mr. Robert Gunther,” said the tall waiter, and Bob's broad
brow and good-natured smile shone at the door.\par

The delightful sojourn at Newport was now over. The
Mechlin family were again at their town residence in New York
City. Elvira and Mercedes, as it was their habit, were that
evening having their cosy chat before going to bed.\par

“So Clarence will be here next month,” Elvira remarked.\par

“Yes, he says he will spend Christmas with us, and if we'll
let him, he will go with us to Washington.”\par

“That will be delightful. I suppose Gunther and your
other numerous slaves will disappear when he arrives.”\par

“They ought not, for I have never encouraged any one any
more than if I had been married already.”\par

“But you are not, my darling, and that makes a very great
difference with young gentlemen.”\par

“Why is it that Mrs. Mechlin does not approve of my being
engaged to Clarence?”\par

“Because she had set her heart upon your marrying Gunther,
who is a great favorite of hers.”\par

“I am sorry to disappoint her, for she has been so sweet and
good to me, but I can't help it. Here are the letters I got
from home. I'll leave them for you to read, and you let me
have yours. I hear George coming up stairs, I must go to
my room.”\par

“Well, pussy, haven't you had a nice frolic at Newport?”
said George, stopping Mercedes at the door and making her
come back into the room again.\par

“Indeed I have,” Mercedes answered.\par

“And haven't you broken hearts as if they were old cracked
pottery?”\par

“They must have been, to be broken so easily. But I guess
I didn't hurt any very much.”\par

“Indeed you did. Besides Gunther and Selden who are
given up as incurable, there are three or four others very badly
winged. Poor fellows, and friends of mine, too. It is like an
epidemic, uncle says.”\par

“Clarence will soon be here and stop the epidemic from
spreading any further,” Elvira said.\par

“I don't know about that. But I am glad he is coming.
When will he be here?”\par

“About Christmas—perhaps about the twentieth of December,”
Mercedes answered. “He says he will telegraph to you
the day he starts.”\par

“I shall be glad to see him; he is a noble fellow,” said he,
and embraced Mercedes, saying good night.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xix-in-new-york}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xix-in-new-york}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XIX.—{\scshape{In New York.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Cards for Mrs. Mechlin's ball, on the 27th of December,
had been out for two or three days, when, on the 20th of that
same month and year—1873—Clarence arrived at the American
metropolis. He was in a high state of excitement. He
could scarcely repress his impatience to see Mercedes, and yet
he exerted sufficient self-control to go first to Tiffany and purchase
the finest diamond ring in the establishment. He even
was patient enough to wait until the diamond which he selected
was reset in a ring from which an emerald was removed. When
the exchange was made and the jewel paid for, he told the
driver to hasten to Mr. Mechlin's house.\par

George and his uncle had just come from their office when
Clarence arrived, so he met them in the hall as he entered.
George presented him to his uncle, and the three walked into
the library. The cordial manner in which Clarence was received
by Mr. Mechlin, demonstrated clearly how favorably
this gentleman was impressed.\par

After conversing with him, while George went to carry the
news of his arrival up-stairs, Mr. Mechlin, when George returned,
invited him to dine with them, saying:\par

“I feel as if you were not quite a stranger to us, having
heard George speak of you so often, and always most kindly.”\par

Clarence hesitated, but George insisted, and he remained.
Then the two friends sat down to chat while the ladies came
down. In a few minutes Clarence had given a synopsis of
home news.\par

“And what about mining news?” George asked.\par

“Splendid,” was the reply.\par

And Clarence quickly told him how rich his mines had
turned out, and how he had already sold six hundred thousand
dollars' worth of ore, and had an offer of one million dollars
for the mines, but the Haverly brothers advised him not to
sell. That he thought of putting up crushing mills in the
spring.\par

Mr. Mechlin went into his wife's room without knocking—an
omission indicative of great pre-occupation of mind—and
his words proved that to be the case.\par

“But that young fellow is splendid, wife.”\par

“What young fellow?”\par

“That young Darrell, from California.”\par

“Ah! where did you see him?”\par

“Down stairs. He is talking with George in the library,
and I asked him to take dinner with us.”\par

“He might be splendid—but never superior to Bob Gunther—never!”
said Mrs. Mechlin, with firmness.\par

“Perhaps not superior, mentally or morally, but he is certainly
much handsomer.”\par

“Handsomer than Bob? The idea!”\par

“You wait until you see him,” said Mr. Mechlin, going into
his room to get ready for dinner.\par

If Mercedes' hands had not trembled so much she would have
been ready to come down stairs much sooner.\par

“If you had accepted aunt's offer to get you a maid you
would not labor under so many difficulties,” said Elvira, coming
into Mercedes' room as she was going down stairs. “You
have never dressed yourself without some one to help you at
home, whether it was my squaw, your squaw, or mamma's, or
the other girls, or whether it was your own Madame Halier—you
always had an attendant.”\par

“That is so,” Mercedes said, ready to cry. “I am so utterly
useless when—when—sometimes—but how could I accept
a maid? It would have been an extravagance after the
many dresses and other things bought for me. I couldn't.”\par

“I wish I had thought of sending my maid to help you,”
said Elvira, coming to Mercedes' assistance.\par

“I wish so, too, now; but I didn't think I wanted her,
as Mrs. Mechlin's maid had dressed my hair. What I dread
is that your aunt will be present when I meet him, and—and
as she don't like him—”\par

“Nonsense. She likes Bob Gunther, that's all. But she
will not go down before we do if she knows Clarence is here.
She will give you time to meet him first.”\par

With Elvira's assistance Mercedes at last was ready, and with
trembling knees, which scarcely supported her light weight, she
managed to walk down stairs.\par

“Don't run so fast, dear. I want you by me,” said she.\par

“Take my arm, old lady,” said Elvira, laughing.\par

The rustle of silk approaching put Clarence in a tremor—making
him forget what he was saying.\par

Elvira entered, and he rose to meet her.\par

“I must salute you Spanish fashion,” she said, embracing
him.\par

“Where is pussy?” said George, going towards the door,
but as the train of Elvira's dress lay in his way, he looked
down and pushed it aside.\par

Mercedes, who had remained behind the door, saw him do
so, and burst out laughing, for it seemed to her as if George
was expecting to find pussy entangled in Elvira's train.\par

“Here she is, laughing at me,” said George, taking her arm.\par

She looked so lovely, that Clarence stood looking at her in
silence, not even taking a step to meet her.\par

“Mr. Darrell, I am very glad to see you,” she said, still
laughing, all her fear and trembling having left her. She
extended her hand to him with perfect composure.\par

Elvira looked at her surprised. She herself was surprised
at her sudden and perfect calmness. Because George made
her laugh looking for {\itshape{pussy}} in Elvira's train, she lost all
her fear.\par

“This is a step from the sublime to the ridiculous,” she said
to herself, as she became of a sudden philosophically calm.\par

When she explained what had made her laugh, all joined
her, remembering that it had indeed seemed as if George
was looking for some small object hidden in the ruffles of
Elvira's train.\par

Those rosy lips and pearly teeth looked so sweet, and the
little dimples so charming when she laughed, that Clarence
would have been satisfied to remain there looking at them for
an indefinite length of time without saying anything, only
holding her hand in his, and looking into her eyes. But
other people were not so entranced, and as now Mr. and Mrs.
Mechlin came in, all proceeded to the dining-room, after
George had presented him to his aunt.\par

Mrs. Mechlin was a little cold in her manner at first, thinking
that surely Bob must give up all hopes. But being a very
courteous hostess, her manner soon became affable, she engaged
Clarence in conversation, asking him about fruit-raising
in California, and about those wonderfully rich mines, which
had given so many millions to the world. Mr. Mechlin also
became much interested in what Clarence had to say. Before
dinner was over, Mercedes had the pleasure of seeing that Mr.
and Mrs. Mechlin were more than favorably impressed with
her intended.\par

After dinner many callers began to arrive. Clarence had
not spoken a word yet to Mercedes alone. He followed her
with his eyes and watched—without seeming too watchful—for
an opportunity of speaking to her without being overheard.\par

At last the desired moment came, and he was able to whisper
a few words.\par

She blushed as she replied: “Perhaps not this evening—there
are so many here.”\par

“I brought you the ring which you told me I was not to send
but {\itshape{bring}} in person.”\par

“Bring it to-morrow,” she said, with deeper blush.\par

“At what time?”\par

“Perhaps between ten and eleven.”\par

Clarence returned to Elvira's side, and had to console himself
with studying how Mercedes could have become more
beautiful when it had seemed that it would be impossible for
any human being to be more perfect.\par

He was deliciously occupied in pondering upon this problem
when ices and cakes, tea and coffee were served by two
waiters, in white gloves, and very irreproachable manners, and
now Clarence could have the happiness of taking his ice cream
beside Mercedes.\par

Next day, at half-past ten exactly, Clarence ran up the steps
of the Mechlin mansion. He gave his card to the servant for
Miss Alamar, and asked for no one else, but Elvira came from
the library as she heard his voice.\par

“Aunt and myself are going to attend to some shopping.
You will stay to luncheon, won't you? Aunt requests it. I
am glad she likes you.”\par

“I am truly grateful to her, and much pleased, indeed. But
I shall be making a very long call if I wait. I shall go and return
at one—hadn't I better?”\par

“If you have anything else to do this morning, of course, go
and return. We lunch at one.”\par

“I have nothing on earth to do but to see you people and
wait on you. I hope you won't get tired of me. I was in
hopes you two would go with me to see some very pretty
things at Tiffany's.”\par

“We are going there now. I promised aunt to go with
her. Mercedes and I, you mean, I suppose, can go with
you to-morrow?”\par

Mrs. Mechlin now came down stairs, and Clarence waited
on them to their carriage.\par

As he closed the carriage door Mrs. Mechlin said: “Elvira
has told you we shall expect you to luncheon.”\par

“Yes, madam; thank you,” said he, bowing.\par

The carriage drove off, and Mrs. Mechlin said: “He is certainly
very handsome. I am sorry for Bob.”\par

When Clarence returned he met Mercedes in the hall. She
was evidently frightened, and so was he, but soon rallied as he
followed her into the library.\par

“Tell me more about home, now that we are alone,” said
she, pushing a chair for him, and occupying another on the
opposite side of the fire-place, with a graceful affability, which reminded
him of his interview with Doña Josefa on the veranda
at the rancho.\par

He understood by her manner and the position of the
chairs, which had high backs and high arms, that the interview
was to be very formal, and so he took his seat accordingly—far
off and demurely.\par

“Where shall I begin?” said he, with mock gravity.\par

“Anywhere—at the top with papa, or at the bottom with
Tisha. It will all be interesting.”\par

“Can't I begin at the middle, for instance, with myself?”\par

“Yes; but you are here—I see you.”\par

“Do you? At this distance? Don't you want a telescope?”\par

“You are near enough,” she said, laughing.\par

“I can't talk of anybody but you. What is the use of putting
me in this chair like a bad child that must be punished by
being roasted alive!”\par

“Are you too near the fire?”\par

“And too far from you,” said he, rising, and going to sit
on a sofa, at the other end of the room. She kept her seat
by the fire-place. “Please come here. I have so much to
say to you. It will give me a headache to sit so near the
fire.”\par

She arose, walked over to where he was, and sat on another
arm-chair nearest to the sofa.\par

“Let us freeze at this end of the room,” she said.\par

“Are you cold? If you are, let us go back to the fire.”\par

She did look a little cold, with her pretty little hands
calmly folded on her lap, but she smiled.\par

He drew a low seat close to hers, and took the soft hands
into his, saying in beseeching accents:\par

“Let me sit by you, please. After so many weary months
of absence grant me this happiness. You told me not to send
but {\itshape{bring}} our engagement ring. Here it is. Let me put it
on the dear little finger myself.”\par

So saying he put the ring on, and covered the hand with
kisses. Mercedes' face was suffused with blushes, and she did
not dare look at the ring.\par

“I have been longing for this moment of bliss, Mercedes,
my own, my precious. You are pledged to me now. Look at
me, my sweet wife!”\par

“What a foolish boy!” she said, covering her face.\par

“Now you must set the day of our marriage. Let it be
the day after we arrive. Let us be married at San Francisco.
Why not?”\par

“You must ask mamma and papa. Talk to Elvira about it.”\par

“I will. She will not object. Particularly as Mechlin intends
going to reside in California, and engaging in business there.
So you see, it will be just the thing for our marriage to take
place as soon as we arrive. I think it would be so nice for all
your family, and my mother and Alice and Everett to come to
meet us at San Francisco, and we be married there, and I then
take you to your house, which will be ready for you.”\par

“I don't know whether mamma would approve—”\par

“Oh, my precious! Why not? She will, if you say you
wish it so. I will write to-day to Hubert. I shall telegraph
him to buy the handsome house he told me was for sale. Shall
I telegraph?”\par

She looked down reflectingly. Suddenly she uttered an
exclamation of surprise. She had seen the ring for the first
time.\par

“I had not seen this diamond. Is it not too magnificent for
an engagement ring?”\par

“Nothing is too magnificent for you.”\par

“But, really, will it not attract too much attention?”\par

“I think not. You are not ashamed of it, are you?”\par

“No, indeed. Only it might be considered too large for
an engagement ring,” she said. But observing that he looked
pained, she added: “It is very beautiful. It is like a big drop
of sunlight.”\par

“I am glad you like it. But perhaps it might not be considered
in good taste for an engagement ring. Let us go to Tiffany's
now and ask your sister. I'll give you all home news as
we drive down. But don't you remove the ring. I am superstitious
about that.”\par

Mercedes laughed and arose, saying: “I will not touch it.
I'll go now to put on my bonnet. Elvira told me I may drive
down with you to Tiffany's, if I wished. I won't be gone but
two minutes.”\par

“When am I going to have one sweet kiss?” said he, in
pleading tones. “Only one.”\par

“I don't know—I can't tell,” she said, running off, eluding
him.\par

The gentle motion of Mrs. Mechlin's luxuriantly cushioned
carriage invited conversation, and Elvira soon perceived that
her aunt desired to know all about Clarence's family and
history and wished to obtain all necessary information in that
respect as they drove down Broadway to Tiffany's, Elvira
therefore proceeded to enlighten the good lady, remembering,
however, that George had cautioned her never to mention
that old Darrell had taken land on the rancho in the sincere
conviction that by wise enactments of Congress, to rob people
of their lands, was and had been made a most honest transaction.\par

“My aunt will not understand,” George had said, “and
never realize the effect that our legislation has upon us, as a
nation, particularly upon the untraveled, the stay-at-home
Americans, and more specially yet, the farmers. She will not
believe old Darrell honest in his error, and no matter whether
Clarence might be the prince of good fellows, to her he will
always be the son of a squatter, of one who {\itshape{steals land}}. No matter
under whose sanction—theft is theft to her—and she would
snap her fingers at the entire Senate and House of Representatives,
if those honorable bodies undertook to prove to her
that by getting together and saying that they can authorize
American citizens to go and take the property of other citizens
(without paying for it) and keep it—and fight for it
to keep it—that the proceeding is made honorable and
lawful.”\par

Remembering these words of George, Elvira spoke highly
of Mrs. Darrell and the other members of the family, but said
very little of the head thereof. Still, as there was much to say
about Clarence himself, very favorable to that young gentleman,
the time was agreeably occupied with his biography,
while the two ladies drove through Broadway.\par

“I noticed last evening that his manners are very good,” said
Mrs. Lawrence Mechlin, speaking of Clarence. “You know,
my dear, that I have a confirmed dread of bad-mannered people.
They spread discord and discomfort wherever they are. And
{\itshape{apropos}} of manners, I must not omit saying that Mercedes'
behavior last evening was all that could be desired in a well-bred
young lady. A great many quite nice young ladies on
such an occasion would have gone into the library, or the
little boudoir, or the other parlors, or would have sat on the
stairs, anywhere, to have a whispered {\itshape{tête-à-tête}} with her {\itshape{fiancé}}.
Your sister remained in the drawing-room, like a lady, though
I know well enough her heart was longing to express how
glad she was to see him. And he, too, behaved very well.
Did not hang about her, but was courteous to all the ladies.
I noticed last summer that Mercedes was not fond of running
off to have a {\itshape{tête-à-tête}} with this one, and then with another,
as many of our girls do, but I thought she avoided it on
account of being engaged. Now, however, I see that her reason
is even a better one. That it is inbred self-respect, a lady's
sense of decorum.”\par

“I am glad you think so well of my sister, dear aunt; and I
think she is naturally refined and lady-like. But as for running
off to have {\itshape{tête-à-têtes}} with gentlemen is a thing never
seen among our Spanish girls. I know that we, Spanish
people, are criticised and much ridiculed for keeping girls
too strictly guarded, and in some instances this may be so,
but as a general thing, the girls themselves like to be guarded.
We have all the freedom that is good for us. Now, for instance,
I told Mercedes she may receive Clarence alone, and
after they had their talk together, that she might drive down
and join us here. I know I can trust her.”\par

“That is right. I am glad you told her to come, for I want
to give her a Christmas present, and would like to have some
idea of her taste in jewelry.”\par

In due time the two ladies arrived at the jeweler's, and
very soon after Mercedes and Clarence joined them. The
ring was submitted to Mrs. Mechlin's {\itshape{dictum}}, and she pronounced
it superb, not at all inappropriate for an engagement
ring. Meantime, however, Clarence had seen another which he
liked best, and he bought it at once. It was made of large
diamonds, set in a circle, close together, so that the ring
looked like a band of light, very beautiful, “and,” he said,
“just the thing; in fact, symbolical,” considering that he
wished to surround Mercedes with never-ending brightness
and joy.\par

On Christmas night our Californians attended a {\itshape{musicale}} at
Mrs. Gunther's. On the 27th, Mrs. Mechlin's grand ball came
off (and a grand affair it was). On New Year's Day George
took Clarence on an extensive tour of visiting.\par

“We will have a regular ‘{\itshape{rodeo}},’” said George, laughing, as
they were about to start; “and wind up our drive by coming
home to make a long visit here, at our {\itshape{corral}}.”\par

“We don't want you, if you call your round of visits a ‘{\itshape{rodeo}}.’
Aren't you ashamed to laugh at us Californians like that?”
said Elvira, affecting great resentment, which took several
kisses from George to pacify.\par

Clarence was so pleased with the number and character of
the acquaintances he made on New Year's, and he was so
warmly invited to call again, that he became convinced that
New York was just the nicest city on the continent, and even
thought he would like it for a residence, provided Mercedes
was of the same opinion.\par

The Mechlins received in grand style on New Year's, and
finished the day with a dance and collation.\par

Next night Mrs. Gunther's ball took place, which was
followed by an equally grand affair at the Seldens, on the 6th.\par

And now it was time to talk about the trip to Washington.
George wanted his uncle and aunt to go with him.\par

“I have no fears that the Solicitor General will give us
any trouble,” said Mr. L. Mechlin; “I think his action in the
Alamar case was a {\itshape{feeler}} only for some ulterior purpose, which
he has abandoned. But if I could see how I might help Scott
with his Texas Pacific Railroad, I should be most happy to go
and try—for his sake, for the sake of the southern people, and
for the sake of you people at San Diego. But I don't see what
I can do now. The failure of Jay Cook has hurt Scott at the
very time when Huntington is getting stronger and his influence
in Congress evidently increasing.”\par

“Several persons have told me that a certain railroad man is
bribing Congressmen right and left to defeat the Texas Pacific
Railroad,” said George, “and I believe it.”\par

“Bribery is an ugly word,” Mr. Mechlin replied; “and if
that is the way railroad men are going to work, it will be a difficult
matter for an honest man to compete with them and keep
his hands clean. However, I might be able to help Scott in
some way. I guess we might go for a week or two. Lizzie,
what do you think? Would you like to go to Washington for
a week or two?”\par

“I would like it very well. I shall miss these two young
ladies very much, and as the best way to cure {\itshape{ennui}} is to avoid
it, I think a visit to Washington would be just the thing for
me now.”\par

Mercedes clapped her hands in such genuine delight at
hearing this, and Elvira and Clarence were evidently so pleased,
that Mrs. Mechlin added:\par

“These dear children seem so pleased that now I would
feel great satisfaction in going, even if I did not expect any
pleasure in my visit. But I do. I have not been in Washington
for years, and I have many warm friends there whom I
would like to see.”\par

Thus it was fixed that all the family would go to Washington
on the 9th or 10th, and remain for two or three weeks at
the gay capital.\par

Mrs. Mechlin now remembered that the Gunthers and the
Seldens had mentioned that perhaps they would accept some
invitations to several parties and a wedding, to come off in
Washington about the middle of January, and would be going
down about the same time.\par

“I'll tell you what I'll do,” Mr. Mechlin said, “I'll get a
special car, and you invite the Gunthers and Seldens to go
with us, and we will make a pleasant party all together.”\par

“That is a good idea. I'll see Mrs. Gunther to-day, and we
will appoint the day to start.”\par

And thus it came to pass that on the 9th of January our
Californians were traveling in a palace car on their way to
Washington, in company with the most elite of New York.\par

Messrs. Bob Gunther and Arthur Selden were of the party.
They derived no pleasure in being so, but they followed Mercedes
because they preferred the bitter sweet of being near her,
in her presence, rather than to accept at once the bitter alone
of a hopeless separation. They knew they must not hope,
but still they hoped, for the reason alone that hope goes with
man to the foot of the gallows.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xx-at-the-capitol}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xx-at-the-capitol}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XX.—{\scshape{At the Capitol.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“There is no greater monster in being than a very ill man
of great parts, he lives like a man in a palsy, with one side of
him dead; while perhaps he enjoys the satisfaction of luxury,
of wealth, of ambition, he has lost all the taste of good-will, of
friendship, of innocence,” says Addison.\par

If this can be said of a man whose influence is of limited
scope, how much more horrible the “palsy,” the moral stagnation,
of the man whose power for good or evil extends to millions
of people, to unlimited time; whose influence shall be felt,
and shall be shaping the destinies of unborn generations, after
he shall be only a ghastly skeleton, a bundle of crumbling
bones!\par

Would that the power, the wisdom, the omniscience of God
had not been repudiated, discarded, abolished, by modern
thinkers, so that now but few feel any moral checks or dread
of responsibility; for if there is to be no final accounting, morality
ceases to be a factor, there being no fear of any hereafter;
and as a natural sequence, there is no remedy left for the terrible
“{\itshape{palsy}}.” For it is a well demonstrated fact that {\itshape{sense of
justice}}, or pure {\itshape{philanthropy}}, alone, is but frail reliance. Fatally
has man elevated his vanity to be his deity, with egotism for
the high priest, and the sole aim and object of life the accumulation
of {\itshape{money}}, with no thought of the never-ending to-morrow,
the awakening on the limitless shore! no thought of his fellow-beings
here, of himself in the hereafter!\par

“It is a high, solemn, almost awful thought,” says Carlyle,
“for every individual man, that his earthly influence, which
has had a commencement, will never, through all ages—were
he the very meanest of us—have an end! What is done, is
done; has already blended itself with the boundless, ever-living,
ever-working universe, and will also work for good or for evil,
openly or secretly, throughout all time. The life of every man
is as a well-spring of a stream, whose small beginnings are indeed
plain to all, but whose ulterior course and destination, as it
winds through the expanses of infinite years, only the Omniscient
can discern. Will it mingle with neighboring rivulets as
a tributary, or receive them as their sovereign? Is it to be a
nameless brook, and with its tiny waters, among millions of
other brooks and rills, increase the current of some world's
river? or is it to be itself a Rhine or a Danube, whose goings
forth are to the uttermost lands, its floods an everlasting boundary-line
on the globe itself, the bulwark and highway of whole
kingdoms and continents? We know not, only, in either case,
we know its path is to the great ocean; its waters, were they
but a handful, are {\itshape{here}}, and cannot be annihilated or permanently
held back.”\par

But how many of the influential of the earth think thus? If
only the {\itshape{law-givers}} could be made to reflect more seriously,
more conscientiously, upon the effect that their legislation must
have on the lives, the destinies, of their fellow-beings {\itshape{forever}},
there would be much less misery and heart-rending wretchedness
in this vale of tears. Now, the law-giver is a politician,
who generally thinks more of his own political standing with
{\itshape{other politicians}} than of the interests entrusted to his care. To
speak of constituents sounds well, but who are the constituents?
The men who govern them, who control votes, those who guide
the majorities to the polls; the politicians, who make and unmake
each other, they are the power—the rest of the people
dream that {\itshape{they}} are—that's all. And if these law-givers see fit
to {\itshape{sell themselves}} for money, what then? Who has the power
to undo what is done? Not their constituents, surely. But the
constituencies will be the sufferers, and feel all the effect of
pernicious legislation.\par

These were George Mechlin's thoughts as he sat, with his
uncle, in the gallery of the House of Representatives, listening
to a debate, a few days after their arrival in Washington. The
attention of George, however, was divided between the debate
and some papers he held in his hands which a member of Congress
had given him. These papers contained several arguments,
speeches and petitions, praying Congress to aid in the
construction of the Texas Pacific Railroad, thus to help the
impoverished South to regain her strength wasted in the war.
Among these papers there was one which more particularly
arrested his attention. It read as follows:\par

\begin{table}[h!tbp]
\label{table-17}%
\hypertarget{table-17}{}%
\footnotesize



\setlength{\tablewidth}{1.000\linewidth - \tabcolsep * 2 * 3}

\begin{longtable}{lll}
\otoprule
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.250\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
43d Congress,
1st Session.\@arstrut}}\box0 & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.500\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\centering\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
{\scshape{House of Representatives.}}\@arstrut}}\box0 & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.250\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Mis. Doc.
No. 68.\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline
\bottomrule
\end{longtable}
\end{table}

\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}

{\centering
{\scshape{Central Pacific Railroad Company.}}
\endgraf}
\par}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
\endgraf}
{\vl 
{\centering
{\bfseries{Preamble and Resolutions submitted by}} {\scshape{Mr. Luttrell}}.
\endgraf}
\par}
\end{verse}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
January 12, 1874.—Referred to the Committee on the Pacific
Railroad, and ordered to be printed, together with accompanying
papers.\par

“{\scshape{Whereas}}, The Central Pacific Railroad Company was
incorporated by the State of California on the 27th day of
June, A.D. 1861, to construct a railroad to the eastern boundary
of said State; and whereas, by Acts of Congress of the years
1862 and 1863, said company was authorized to extend said
railroad eastward through the territory of the United States by
an Act entitled ‘An Act to aid in the construction of a railroad
and telegraph line from the Missouri River to the Pacific
Ocean,’ and received from the United States, under said Act
and the Acts supplemental thereto and amendatory thereof,
and from the State of California and counties and corporations
within said State, from the State of Nevada, and from the Territory
of Utah, the following amounts, estimated in gold coin,
to wit:\par

\begin{table}[h!tbp]
\label{table-18}%
\hypertarget{table-18}{}%
\footnotesize



\setlength{\tablewidth}{1.000\linewidth - \tabcolsep * 2 * 3}

\begin{longtable}{lll}
\otoprule
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Land granted by the United States of the value in gold
coin of\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
\$50,288,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Granted and donated by various corporations and individuals
within the State of California\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
5,000,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Granted and donated by various corporations and individuals,
situate within the State of Nevada\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
3,000,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Granted and donated by various corporations and individuals
within the Territory of Utah\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
\$1,500,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Donated by the State of California\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
1,500,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Bonds on which the State of California guarantees and
pays interest\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
12,000,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Donated by the County of Placer, in the State of California—Bonds\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
250,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Donated by the City and County of San Francisco—Interest
bonds\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
400,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Donated by the City and County of Sacramento—Interest
bonds\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
300,000 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Bonds by the United States Government\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
27,389,120 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
First mortgage bonds of Central Pacific Railroad Company\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
27,389,120 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Second mortgage bonds of said Central Pacific Railroad,
legalized by law\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
15,601,741 83\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.795\tablewidth + \tabcolsep * 1 * 2}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Second mortgage bonds, issued and sold as above\@arstrut}}\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\wd0\dimen0\box0 & & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
11,787,378 17\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline

\cmidrule{1-1}\cmidrule{2-2}\cmidrule{3-3}
\setlength{\dimen0}{0.084\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedright\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
\@arstrut}}\box0 & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.711\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
Total\@arstrut}}\box0 & 

\setlength{\dimen0}{0.205\tablewidth}\setbox0\vbox{\hsize\dimen0\parbox[b]{\dimen0}{\raggedleft\setlength{\parskip}{1em}\noindent\@arstrut
\$156,825,360 00\@arstrut}}\box0\tabularnewline
\bottomrule
\end{longtable}
\end{table}

And, whereas, the directors of said Central Pacific Railroad
Company made contracts with {\itshape{certain of their own members}} to
construct said road, known as the ‘Contract and Finance
Company,’ for consideration in lands, money, and bonds, far
in excess of the actual cost of construction; and,\par

Whereas, said Central Pacific Railroad is, and has been,
completed and in running order for, in part and in whole, over
six years last past, and the profits accruing from same, amounting
to over —— millions of dollars per annum, has been
kept and appropriated to their own use, in {\itshape{violation}} of their
duties and {\itshape{in fraud}} of the United States Government; and,\par

Whereas, said directors of the said Central Pacific Railroad
Company {\itshape{issued to themselves, and for their personal profit and
benefit}}, the second mortgage bonds of said Central Pacific
Railroad Company, to the amount of \$27,387,120, payable in
United States gold coin, with interest at ten per cent. per annum,
and have, with said profits accruing to the Central Pacific
Railroad Company, from the sales of United States bonds,
lands, and other subsidies, as aforesaid mentioned, and the
{\itshape{issue to themselves}} of the bonds aforesaid, bought, {\itshape{in order to
defraud}} the Government of the United States out of the interest
now due from said Central Pacific Railroad Company,
other roads in the State of California, and expended in doing
the same, all the accruing profits of said Central Pacific Railroad
for the benefit of the directors, failing and {\itshape{fraudulently
refusing to pay the Government of the United States}}, the interest
legally due on said mortgage bonds; therefore, be it\par

{\itshape{Resolved}}, That a select committee of seven members of this
House be appointed by the Speaker, and such committee be and
is hereby instructed to inquire whether or not any person connected
with the organization or association commonly known
as the ‘Contract and Finance Company’ of the Central Pacific
Railroad Company, now holds any of the bonds, lands, or
other subsidies granted said company, for the payment of
which, or the interest thereon, the United States is in any way
liable; and whether or not such holders, if any, or their assignees
of such bonds, lands, or other subsidies, are holders in
good faith, and for a valuable consideration, or procured
the same illegally, or {\itshape{by fraud}}; * * * and to inquire
into the character and purpose of such organization, and fully,
of all the transactions of said Central Pacific Railroad Company,
and all transactions had and contracted by and between
the directors of the Central Pacific Railroad Company and
Charles Crocker \& Co.; and of all transactions and contracts
made by said directors with the ‘Contract and Finance Company’
for the furnishing of material of every kind and character
whatever, and the construction of the Central Pacific Railroad
and other branch roads connected therewith; * * *
and to report the facts to this House, together with such bill as
may be necessary to protect the interests of the United States
Government and the people, on account of any bonds, lands
and subsidies of the class hereinbefore referred to, and against
the combinations {\itshape{to defraud the Government}} and the people;
and said committee is hereby authorized to send for persons
and papers, and to report at any time.”\par

Here follows a long recital of {\itshape{frauds}} perpetrated by Messrs.
Leland Stanford, Huntington, Crocker and Hopkins, under
the name of “Central Pacific Railroad Company” and “Contract
and Finance Company,” etc. Said frauds, Mr. Luttrell
says, were against the Government and against the stockholders
of the Central Pacific Company. A Mr. Brannan, in a long
complaint, sets forth also how and when these gentlemen
{\itshape{cheated}} the Government by presenting {\itshape{false statements}} of the
cost of constructing the Central Pacific Railroad, and in other
ways, and {\itshape{cheated}} the stockholders of said railroad by issuing
{\itshape{to themselves}} the stock, and appropriating other subsidies, which
should have been distributed {\itshape{pro rata}} among all the stockholders.\par

The entire statement is a shameful exposure of disgraceful
acts, any one of which, were it to be perpetrated by a poor
man, would send him to the penitentiary.\par

George was shocked to read Mr. Luttrell's “{\itshape{Preamble and
Resolutions}},” and Mr. Brannan's “{\itshape{complaint}}.” Mr. Lawrence
Mechlin waited to read them in the evening, at his hotel.\par

“These two gentlemen ever since their arrival had heard
strange rumors about Congressmen being ‘{\itshape{bribed with money}},’
and in other {\itshape{ways improperly influenced by ‘a certain railroad
man,’ who was organizing a powerful lobby to defeat the Texas
Pacific Railroad}}.” In his endeavors to aid Tom Scott, Mr.
Lawrence Mechlin had come across some startling facts regarding
the manipulation of railroad bills, especially in the
Congressional committees. Still, he was loth to believe that
bribery would be so openly used. He was a man of strict
probity, slow to think any man dishonorable. George, brought
up in the same school, felt, also, a reluctance to believe that
the Congress of these United States could be packed, bundled,
and labeled, by a few of its treacherous members, who would
sell themselves for money, in spite of their honest colleagues.\par

“Pshaw! the thing is too preposterous,” he had said to his
uncle, who, with saddened voice, had answered.\par

“So it seems to me. Let us go to the Capitol again; I
want to speak to some of the Representatives; I have only
seen Senators; I must talk with the House a little.” And
they had come, and were now listening to the House.\par

George's business with the Attorney General had been
more satisfactory. The appeal was at last dismissed, and the
joyful news had been telegraphed to Don Mariano. There
was now no dispute about the validity of his title. The Government
itself had said that the land belonged to him; would
the squatters vacate now? We will see. Meantime, the remittitur
had to be sent to the court below, and it was expected
that Congress would soon make an appropriation to defray expenses
of surveying lands in California. George wrote to Don
Mariano not to engage any surveyor to survey his rancho, as
there would be an appropriation made for lands to be surveyed
by the Government.\par

Elvira and Mercedes were made very happy on hearing that
the appeal was dismissed. They did not well understand
what it all meant; but as they were told that now the Government
of the United States had said that the rancho belonged to
their father, they naturally concluded that the squatters would
go away, and there would no longer be any trouble about the
destruction of their cattle, and their father not be so worried
and unhappy.\par

Thus, life seemed very sweet to those two innocents, and
they enjoyed their visit to Washington to the fullest extent.
The Gunthers and Seldens had stopped at the same hotel with
the Mechlins, and the three families were constantly together.
Their parlors in their evenings “{\itshape{at home}}” were filled with a
crowd of distinguished visitors; other evenings were given to
parties and receptions. One cloud only cast a shadow on
Mercedes' brilliant surroundings, and this was the obvious
misery she saw in Arthur Selden's dejected countenance, and
a certain dread she felt at the silent coldness of Robert Gunther.
His eyes seemed to her darker than they used to be, but
perhaps they seemed so because he was so much paler. But
what could she do? she asked herself, and wished very much
that these two young gentlemen had remained in New York,
for, surely, they couldn't expect that she would give up Clarence!
No, indeed. Not for fifty thousand Gunthers, or two
million Seldens.\par

There were times when the coldness of these two young gentlemen
was very marked, and, amiable as she was, she felt it.
But her Clarence was always near, and his superb eyes were
watching, ready to come to her at the slightest indication. It
was so sweet to be so quickly understood and so promptly
obeyed by him.\par

There had been a brilliant ball at one of the legations, and
on the following morning the Seldens and Gunthers were discussing
the event in Mrs. Mechlin's parlor.\par

“You made two new conquests last night,” said the eldest
Miss Selden to Mercedes. “Those two {\itshape{attachés}} are now your
new slaves. They are awfully in love. I felt pity for them, to
see them so completely captivated. You ought to be proud.”\par

“I don't think they are in love, but, admitting it is so, why
should I be proud? I should be annoyed, that's all,” replied
Mercedes.\par

“Do you expect us to believe that?” Miss Selden asked.\par

“You may believe it, for it is the truth.”\par

“You are a strange girl, then.”\par

“Why so? Why should I wish men to fall in love with me,
when I cannot return their love?” said Mercedes, evidently
vexed.\par

“You are the first girl I ever saw that did not want to have
admirers; yes, loads of them.”\par

“Admirers and friends, yes; but you spoke of those young
men being {\itshape{in love}}. Now, if I thought so, I would be very
sorry, and, as I do not wish to be unhappy, I hope you are
mistaken.”\par

The Misses Selden laughed incredulously.\par

“In my opinion, no kind-hearted girl ought to desire to be
loved except by the one she loves. Else, she must be a very heartless
creature, who enjoys the miseries of others,” added she,
earnestly. “Now, I want you to know, I am not cruel; I am
not heartless; so I do not wish any man (but one) to be in
love with me.”\par

“You are right, my dear,” Mrs. Gunther interposed. “But
the trouble is, you are too pretty, too sweet, to be let alone;
you can't help being loved.”\par

“Then I am unlucky, that's all,” she said, with trembling
lips, “and the sooner I go home, the better it will be for mutual
comfort.”\par

Robert Gunther was talking with Elvira, but he had not lost
one word of this conversation. In the evening they went
to a Presidential reception. It happened that he was near
Mercedes when Elvira proposed to go and see the flowers in
the conservatory; he offered her his arm, and they followed
Elvira. He had spoken very few words to her since they returned
from Newport, but had watched her and feasted his
eyes on her loveliness. Now, after walking in silence for some
time, he said:\par

“It is a sad sort of consolation to know that you regret inspiring
hopeless love. I heard your conversation with the
Misses Selden this morning. I thank you for not enjoying
my misery.”\par

“Oh! how could I do that? I wish I could make you
happy; please forgive me if I have ever caused you pain?” said
she in the sweetest of pleading tones. He looked at her sweet
face, turned toward his, and his love for her seemed to rush
upon him like an overwhelming wave—like a hot flame rising
to his brain.\par

“Oh! Mercedes, it is frightful how much I love you! What
shall I do to conquer this unfortunate infatuation?”\par

“Forget me; I shall soon be away—far away.”\par

“Oh! darling, I would rather suffer seeing you, than to have
your sweet presence withdrawn from my sight. You see my
unfortunate situation? I vow it is awful to love so hopelessly!
But I shall never talk to you of my love again. I see I pain
you,” he added, seeing that she trembled and looked pained.
“Forgive me, for I am very wretched. My life will now be a
blank.”\par

“I wish you could feel for me, as you do toward Elvira.
How I envy her your friendship,” she said, in very low tones.\par

“Do you, truly?”\par

“Indeed I do. I would be so happy.”\par

“I shall try. But how can I, loving you so ardently?”\par

“As a proof of your love, try to be my friend—only a
friend.”\par

“You ask of my love a suicide—to kill itself. Be it so. I
shall try,” said he with a sad smile. “The request is rather
novel, but perhaps it might be done. I doubt it. I suppose
you will be my friend then?”\par

“I am that now—most sincerely,” said she, earnestly.\par

On leaving the conservatory, they saw Clarence coming to
meet them. He joined Elvira and walked by her side.\par

“Thanks, Mr. Darrell. I am glad you have good sense,”
said Gunther, addressing the back and broad shoulders of
Clarence from the distance. Mercedes laughed and felt herself
regaining her composure.\par

They had now been in Washington ten days, and the ladies
of the party had only made one very hurried visit to the Capitol.
This day Mrs. Mechlin had set apart “to devote to Congress,”
she said, and it was arranged that they would go in the
morning, would lunch at the Capitol, and remain part of
the afternoon. A debate on the Texas Pacific Bill was expected
that day, and the Mechlins, as well as Clarence and Mercedes,
wished to hear it. The President of the Senate put his rooms
at the service of Mrs. Mechlin and friends. Thus the ladies
had a delightful time, taking a recess in the President's parlor
when they liked, or strolling through the corridors, or sitting in
the galleries.\par

After luncheon, the party, walking toward the public reception
room, were met by five or six old men with very white
beards. Two of them walked slowly as if weakened by sickness,
one walked on crutches, and one had lost an arm, his
coat-sleeve being pinned to his breast. Mr. Mechlin stopped
to shake hands with them, saying to his wife to go on, that he
wished to speak with these gentlemen. On rejoining the party,
Mr. Mechlin was asked by Miss Gunther where these venerable
old gentlemen came from.\par

“They looked like a little troop of patriarchs,” Miss Selden
added. “What can they want at the Capitol?”\par

“They want bread,” Mr. Mechlin replied. “Those men
should be pensioned by our Government, but it is not done
because Congress has not seen fit to do it. The three oldest
of those men are veterans of the Mexican War. For twenty-five
years they have been asking the Government to grant them
a pension, a little pittance to help them along in their old age,
but it is not done. Year after year the same prayers and
remonstrances are repeated in vain. Congress well knows how
valuable were the services of those who went to Mexico to conquer
a vast domain; but, now we have the domain, we don't
care to be grateful or just. It would perhaps be a matter of
perfect indifference to half of our Congress should they hear
that all those poor veterans died of starvation.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxi-looking-at-the-receding-dome}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxi-looking-at-the-receding-dome}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXI.—{\scshape{Looking at the Receding Dome.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
There was one thing that the gay New Yorkers, under Mrs.
Mechlin's {\itshape{chaperoning}}, had to do before they left the capital.
They must make an excursion across the Potomac to Arlington,
and visit the tomb of Washington. Patriotism, she said,
imposed this duty upon them, which must be fulfilled with
due reverence.\par

“Therefore,” Mrs. Mechlin added, “they would have a
picnic under the glorious trees in the Arlington grounds.”\par

“Let our libations be on that sacred spot,” said George; “we
will pour wine on the grave of Washington—that is, we will go
close to it and drink it.”\par

“You mean that we will drink the wine and rub the bottle
devoutly upon the monument, as the Irish woman did when
she cured her rheumatism,” Bob Gunther added.\par

“It is awful how unpatriotic and irreverent are the young
men nowadays,” Miss Gunther said.\par

“Yes; it makes me weep,” added Arthur Selden, blinking.\par

There would be a day or two before the picnic, and Mercedes
told George she wanted to go to the dome of the Capitol,
and see Washington City from that elevated place.\par

“The little puss shall have her wish,” George said, and on
the following day all the party drove again to the Capitol, and
walked through labyrinths of dark corridors leading into committee
rooms or may-be into solemn judicial halls, where justice
sat holding the scales in terrific silence. Emerging from
the cool, musty air of the lower halls, they again visited the
upper rooms and galleries, which Elvira and Mercedes liked
better than on their former visits. Now all ascended to the
highest point they could go, and their exertions were amply
rewarded by the pleasure of seeing the beautiful panorama at
their feet. Washington City has been viewed and reviewed,
and too minutely described to be considered any longer interesting
to Eastern people, but to our Californians the view
of that city of proud and symmetric proportions, with its radiating
avenues lost in diminishing distances, its little triangular
parks and haughty edifices, all making a picturesque {\itshape{ensemble}},
was most pleasing and startling.\par

With Clarence by her side, Mercedes looked carefully at
the city that like a magnificent picture lay there beneath
them. She wished to carry it photographed in her memory.\par

The picnic to Arlington was much enjoyed by all. Mercedes
would have preferred to walk over the grounds of Mount
Vernon with Clarence alone, for her love was of that pure
character which longs to associate the cherished object with
every thought and feeling having its source in our highest
faculties. She thought Mount Vernon ought to be visited reverently,
and she knew Clarence would not laugh at her for
thinking so. But, alas! those other young gentlemen had no
such thoughts. They were in high glee, determined to have fun,
and enjoy it; and though Mercedes and Miss Gunther told
them they were behaving like vandals, such rebukes only increased
their merriment, which continued even after they recrossed
the Potomac.\par

Mr. Mechlin's party had at last to tear itself away from
Washington, and hurry to New York, for the “charity ball”
was to come off in a few days; then the Liederkranz and the
Purim balls would follow—all in the month of February—and
Mrs. Mechlin wished that Elvira and Mercedes should see
them all. They had been at masked balls in Washington at
the house of a Senator and of a foreign minister, but Mrs.
Mechlin said that no masked balls in America could or did
equal those given in New York at the Academy of Music,
consequently it became an absolute necessity that these two
young ladies should see those grand affairs. Moreover, she
was one of the matrons of the charity ball, and her presence
was indispensable to attend to their management.\par

A special car was again in readiness, and the Mechlin party
occupied it one morning at eight o'clock. The party was now
increased by the addition of six ladies and eight gentlemen
from Washington, who were going to attend the charity ball
and Liederkranz. The train was in motion, going out of the
city limits, accelerating its speed as it plunged into the woods
beyond. George and Clarence sat at one end of the car, separate
from the company, looking at the Capitol, as it seemed to
retreat, flying with receding celerity. The woods were beginning
to intercept its view at times—the dome would disappear and
reappear again and again above the surrounding country.\par

Mr. Mechlin joined the two young men, saying to them, as
he turned the seat in front, and sat facing them: “You are
watching the receding Capitol. I was doing the same. I
wonder whether your thoughts were like mine in looking at
that proud edifice?”\par

“I think my thoughts were about the same subject, uncle.
What were your thoughts, Darrell? Tell us,” George said.\par

“I was thinking of your father and of Don Mariano—thinking
that under that white shining dome their fate would be
decided perhaps, as they both have embarked so hopefully in
the boat of the Texas Pacific Railroad.”\par

George and his uncle looked at each other as if saying, “We
all were of the same mind, surely.”\par

Mr. Lawrence Mechlin said: “We certainly were thinking
nearly alike, Mr. Darrell, with this difference, may-be, that I
don't feel as hopeful as I did a few weeks ago, when you and I
talked about the fair chances of the Texas Pacific as we looked
at that same white dome when we were coming down. Now I
am very fearful that the sad condition of the impoverished
South is not going to have the weight which it deserves in the
minds of this Congress. I talked with many of our law-givers
about the matter, and all seemed not to realize the importance,
the policy, the humanity of helping the South, and of
giving to the Pacific Coast a competing railway, to get California
out of the clutches of a grasping monopoly. All agree that
it ought to be done, but it looks as if few put their hearts into
the matter.”\par

“Their hearts are in their pockets, uncle, and I am afraid
that after all our reluctance to believe that our Congressmen
can be improperly influenced, we will have to submit—with
shame and sorrow—and accept the fact that bribery has been
at work, {\itshape{successfully}}. The chief of the lobby is king.”\par

“Not yet—not yet. It is a frightful thought. Let us not
accept it yet. Let us think it is an error, but not knavery. I
am coming down again, I think, before this session is over.
I want to see more before I am convinced. I have my fears
and my doubts, but I still hope—{\itshape{must}} hope—that our Congress
has many honest men.”\par

“You can hope—but it will be in vain,” George said; “the
money of the Central Pacific Railroad will be too much for
Colonel Scott.”\par

“Don't be so desponding, boy.”\par

“I can't have any hope in this Congress. There never can
be any better arguments in favor of the Texas Pacific than are
now plain to everybody. So, then, if in the face of all these
powerful considerations Congress turns it back and will not
hear the wail of the prostrate South, or the impassionate appeals
of California, now, {\itshape{now}}, when there is not one solitary
reason under heaven why such appeals and entreaties should
be disregarded, is there any ground to expect any better in the
uncertain future? Certainly not. But still, I do not say that
we should abandon all hope. For the sake of my father, who
has trusted so much in the Texas Pacific, I am glad you will
do all you can to help Colonel Scott.”\par

“I certainly shall,” Mr. Mechlin replied. Then, after a
few minutes of silence, he said: “If our legislators could only
be induced to adopt Herbert Spencer's view of {\itshape{the duties of
law-givers}}, there would be far less misery in the United States.
If they could but stop to see how clearly it stands to reason
that ‘legislative deductions must be based upon {\itshape{fundamental
morality}},’ that ‘the inferences of political economy are true, only
because they are discoveries by a roundabout process of {\itshape{what
the moral law commands}}.’ It is an unfortunate mistake that the
words ‘{\itshape{moral law}}’ are generally understood to apply practically
only to private conduct; to a man's fidelity to his marriage
vows; to his religious belief; this we learn at school. But
these words are only loosely applied (if at all) to a man's actions
as a legislator. I never heard in election times that any
one expects our law-givers to base their legislation upon {\itshape{fundamental
morality}}, and regard expediency as a secondary consideration.
Congressmen know that they are expected to
watch the material interests of their States or counties, but
they do not feel any moral responsibility to see that other {\itshape{constituencies}}
do not suffer injustice. Thus, if the Congressmen
of one State choose to betray the rights of their constituencies,
other Congressmen generally look on indifferently, or, perhaps,
amused—and do not interfere any more than they
would in the domestic affairs of perfect strangers. They do
not seem to perceive that on the very instant in which they see
that a community, or an individual, is being wronged by the
neglect or design of their own representatives, that then any
other Congressman should come forward to protect the betrayed
community or defenseless citizen. This is clearly their
duty. But it seems to be ignored by tacit consent. All Congressmen
are ready to offer objections to every conceivable
measure. To jump up and shout {\itshape{against}} anything, seems
to be thought the proof of a man being a good legislator.
Combativeness is the one faculty ever in use to offer {\itshape{obstructions}},
and thus necessary and useful legislation is foolishly retarded,
and untold misery is brought upon innocent citizens.
All this is a mistake. Because the ‘{\itshape{fundamental law of morality}}’
is not understood. Herbert Spencer says: ‘Now, this
that we call {\itshape{moral law}} is simply a statement of the {\itshape{conditions}}
of beneficial action. Originating in the primary necessities
of things, it is the development of these into a series of limitations
within which all conduct conducive to the greatest happiness
must be confined. To overstep such limitations is to
disregard these necessities of things, to fight against the constitution
of nature.’ Mr. Spencer applies this axiom to the
happiness of individuals, as well as of entire communities. If
the principles of fundamental morality were better understood
and more conscientiously respected, railroad manipulators
would find it impossible to organize a lobby to defeat all laws
intended to aid the Texas Pacific. But I repeat, in spite of all
discouragement, I will use my best efforts to help the Texas
Pacific, as I firmly believe every honest man in these United
States ought to do, even when not directly interested.”\par

The journey to New York was accomplished safely by our
party, and in good time for the charity ball. Mrs. Mechlin
and Mrs. Gunther being in the list of its distinguished matrons,
busied themselves about that grand affair from the day after
their return until its successful {\itshape{finale}}, which was also a success
pecuniarily.\par

To the charity ball follow the Liederkranz and the Purim.\par

“Are you to go masked, George?” Mrs. Mechlin asked, as
they were discussing the coming ball with Miss Gunther.\par

“No, I think not. I think the best plan is to wear a
domino and mask, as we go in with you ladies, so that you
may not be recognized. Then after awhile we will leave you
and go out into the vestibule and take off our masks and return
unmasked.”\par

“But why not keep masked?” Clarence asked.\par

“Because we will have no fun at all with masks on. The
ladies not knowing who we are will have nothing to say to
us. But if they see who we are, then they'll come and talk
saucily, thinking we will not recognize them. We will, though,
and then the fun begins.”\par

“Nobody knows at home what my domino is to look like,
but I think Bob will recognize my voice, and know who we all
are, as he knows I am going with you,” Miss Gunther said.\par

“But is he not to be of our party?” Mrs. Mechlin asked.\par

“No; he is going to escort Miss Selden. My brother Charles
will be my escort. He will be in our secret, of course. How
I wish we could mystify Bob.”\par

“But we can't, if we speak to him, as he will recognize
our voices, Mercedes and mine, by our accent immediately,”
Elvira said.\par

“You can mimic the German way of talking English, and
Mercedes can talk half French and half English, with an Irish
brogue,” George suggested.\par

“She talks Irish brogue to perfection,” Elvira said.\par

“But I'll have to practice before I would speak to him,”
said Mercedes.\par

“Practice every day—you have six days yet,” Mrs. Mechlin
said.\par

“Do, Miss Mercedes. I would like you to fool Bob,” Miss
Gunther said.\par

“But you must make your voice sound guttural. Your
voice is naturally very musical. You must disguise it,” George
suggested.\par

Mercedes followed his suggestion, and by carefully imitating
Mrs. Mechlin's French maid (who spoke very broken English
and stammered a good deal), she passed herself off for a stammering
French girl, who was very talkative, in spite of the difficulty
in her speech—maintaining her {\itshape{rôle}} so well that neither
Bob nor Arthur recognized her until she took off her mask.
Then the faces of the two young men were a study. They
both had paid most ardent compliments to her feet and
hands, and had earnestly begged for the privilege of calling
upon her, which she granted, promising to give the number of
her house when she unmasked. She had danced with both
several times, and had asked them to present George and
Clarence to her. Both of whom also asked her to dance, and
while dancing had a good laugh at the expense of the two deluded
ones.\par

When she unmasked, Selden left the ball in the midst of
the peals of laughter from those who understood the joke.
Bob stood his ground, with the crimson blush up to his ears
and eyebrows.\par

“The fact of the matter is, that you will attract me
always, no matter under what disguise,” he whispered to
Mercedes.\par

“{\itshape{Pas si bete}},” she answered, stammering fearfully, and looking
the prettier for it.\par

The Liederkranz and Purim balls were highly enjoyed
also, but Mercedes, though in domino, assumed no {\itshape{rôle}}. She
was very amiable to Bob and Arthur, to heal the wound of
their lacerated vanity.\par

The winter had now passed, and spring came—bringing to
our Californians thoughts of returning home.\par

The sun was shining brightly on Madison Square—there
had been a heavy shower that morning, in the early March—which
had washed the snow off the pavements into the sewers,
leaving the streets clean. Children were out with their
nurses in the square, among the trees, which were trying hard
to bud out, but as yet succeeded very poorly. Still, there were
some little birds of sanguine temperament, chirping like good
optimists about the ungainly, denuded branches, calculating
philosophically on coming green leaves, though vegetation was
slow to awake from its winter sleep.\par

Clarence, from his window at the hotel, saw that the day was
bright, and hastened, in an open carriage, to take Elvira and
Mercedes out for a drive in the park. They first went down
for George, who had not yet left the bank.\par

“Did you get letters from home to-day?” Elvira asked.\par

“Yes; and among them a long one from Don Mariano,”
Clarence replied.\par

“What did he say? Any good news for poor papa?”\par

“He has just made twenty thousand dollars, any way, in
spite of squatters. And he will make sixty thousand dollars
more if he will do what I asked him in my letter to-day,”
Clarence said.\par

“How did he make twenty thousand dollars?” George
asked, with a brightened look, which was reflected in the
beautiful eyes of the sisters.\par

“By sending five hundred steers to Fred Haverly.”\par

“Are five hundred steers worth that much?” George asked,
surprised.\par

“Yes—at forty dollars per head—which for large cattle is
not too high a price. That is what Fred has been paying for
cattle weighing in the neighborhood of four hundred pounds.”\par

“The best thing Don Mariano can do is to sell you all his
cattle, even at half of this price,” George said.\par

“That is what I have been writing to him to-day. As I
have to buy cattle for the mines, and I am willing to pay him
a good price, he ought to sell them all to me, and when he gets
his rancho clear of trespassers then buy finer breeds and restock
the rancho.”\par

“A most excellent idea,” George said.\par

Robert Gunther passed by, driving his four-in-hand at a
furious speed, with a very handsome girl sitting by his side.
He bowed as he passed.\par

Mercedes laughed, saying he looked “sheepish,” and though
he did not hear what she said, he blushed to the roots of his
hair, and ran against a heavy carriage which slowly rolled
ahead of him, loaded with four elderly ladies, who screamed
terrified. This mishap only increased Bob's confusion, forcing
him to check his speed.\par

“Do you want our assistance?” George asked, laughing.\par

“No, thanks. If people did not come to drive their funerals
through the park, no one would run over them,” Bob said.\par

“And you want to kill them, so as not to have funerals without
dead bodies?” Mercedes asked.\par

“Be merciful! Remember your name is Mercedes,” said
poor, embarrassed Bob.\par

Whereupon Mercedes wafted a kiss to him, saying: “That
goes as a peace offering.”\par

“Ah, yes; I understand,” said he, following her with his
eyes. “A kiss to the empty air is all you will ever give me.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxii-perplexities-at-alamar}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxii-perplexities-at-alamar}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXII.—{\scshape{Perplexities at Alamar.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
It has generally been the custom of biographers to treat their
subject after he is resting peacefully in his grave, indifferent to
the world's opinion. Seldom has a man “{\itshape{been written}}” (in a
biography) until he is past knowing what is said of him in print.
Epitaphs are non-committal, or laudatory only, and too brief;
they are solely a charitable or affectionate tribute to the dead,
intended to please the living. Biographies—it is to be supposed—are
intended, or should be, admonitory; to teach men
by the example of the one held up to view—be this an example
to be followed or to be avoided. But if no offense be intended
by the biographer, why wait until a man is forevermore beyond
hearing what is said of him, before his fellows are told in what
and how he surpassed them so much as to be considered worthy
of special notice? If he ought to be reproved, let him know
it; and if we must worship him as a hero, let him know it also.
Only such an irascible man—for instance—as Dr. Johnson
was, could have received the homage of admiration and reverence
such as Boswell's, so impatiently, almost ungratefully. It
is more natural for man to receive incense at least passively,
and endeavor to deserve it. Biographies, therefore, ought to be
intended, not to mislead readers, but to instruct them. From
this point of view, then, it would be difficult to say flattering
things of Mr. Darrell, and more difficult yet to say them of the
other squatters of Alamar, in a biographical sketch.\par

Mr. Darrell did not receive the news of the appeal being dismissed
as Mrs. Darrell and Clarence had hoped. Mr. Darrell
was evidently out of humor with the executive branch of the
Government—with the Attorney General—and he discussed
the matter with himself in many an animated soliloquy. High
as his opinion of Congress was and had always been, he, in his
ill humor, even went so far as to say—to himself—that this
much respected body of legislators had been entirely too lenient
with the conquered natives. Congress ought to have confiscated
all their lands and “only allowed them one hundred
and sixty acres {\itshape{each}}.” The idea that they (the conquered)
should be better off than the Americans! They should have
been put on an equality with other settlers, and much honor to
them, too, would have been thereby, for why should these {\itshape{inferior}}
people be more considered than the Americans?\par

“Inferior? What are you talking about? It is enough to
see one of those Alamar ladies to learn that they are inferior to
nobody,” said Mrs. Darrell, happening to overhear the last
words of her lord's soliloquy. “Neither are the Californians
considered {\itshape{better than Americans}} because the Government did
not take {\itshape{all}} their lands from them. I declare, William, you
have gone back to your old unfortunate ideas which brought so
many troubles to us in Napa and Sonoma. You forget those
troubles, and you are ready to bring them back again.”\par

“No, I ain't; but I always will maintain that the Spanish
Californians should not have a right to any more land than
Americans.”\par

“And they have not. The Government does not give them
any more land; all they ask and expect is that the Government
may {\itshape{not take away what they had}}. You see this perfectly well,
and you know that every time you have disregarded this truth,
we have suffered. This time it might lead to worse suffering,
since it is Clarence that might be made very miserable; and if
he is, so must I. Then good-by happiness for me.”\par

“Why should Clarence be made miserable?”\par

“Because he is devotedly attached to Miss Mercedes; and
if you are to be the enemy of her family, perhaps she will not
marry him.”\par

“Marry him? Does Clarence think she will marry him?
She marry a squatter?” He laughed derisively.\par

“Clarence is no squatter.”\par

“He is the son of a squatter.”\par

“You have been one, but if you keep your word, and this
land is paid for, you will not be a squatter.”\par

“I suppose Clarence followed the girl to New York, believing
she'll marry him. I thought he would have more sense.”\par

“If he did follow her, he would also be following his father's
example.”\par

Mr. Darrell blushed, but he smiled, for he was pleased.
The recollection of that tender episode of loving devotion was
always very sweet to him. It had been a folly of which he
was proud to cherish the memory.\par

But Mr. Darrell did not pursue the subject any further this
time; he felt he would be defeated if he continued it; it was
best to beat a masterly retreat before he was routed. He
made an orderly march toward the stable, and Mrs. Darrell,
remaining master of the field, busied herself with her flower
garden, where Alice presently joined her.\par

“Mamma dear, I overheard your conversation with papa;
I hope you won't let him quarrel with the Don.”\par

“I shall do my best to prevent it, but you see, he has all the
settlers at his heels all the time worrying him about their
claims. Any one might suppose that he induced them to come
here, instead of being induced by them. Since they heard that
their appeal was dismissed, they have openly said to him that
they rely entirely upon his assistance to retain their homes.
This pleases him, it flatters him, but it is a piece of hypocrisy
on their part, because the Don is too kind-hearted to eject
them. Clarence says that the Don will let them keep their
homesteads, on the sole condition that they put up fences to
keep his cattle off.”\par

“Can anything be more kind and generous?”\par

“But all his kindness is thrown away.”\par

“At all events, there is this much to be said, that if papa
will insist upon wanting to be a squatter, and favor squatters,
he will find that not one of his family approves it. No, not
even the children.”\par

“I know it; Jane and Lucy feel very badly about it.”\par

“And so does Everett; Webster don't like it either. We
all feel very badly to see papa so wrong, and the worst of it is,
how it all might affect our darling Clarence, who is so sweet
and so good to all of us—yes, to everybody. I do hope he
will marry Mercedes. I know she loves him dearly. I am
so afraid that papa will quarrel with the Don, and Clarence
and Mercedes be separated. It would be awful.”\par

If sweet Alice had said all she held in her dear heart, and
which might be affected by the course that her father would
pursue between the settlers and the Don, she would have revealed
other anxieties besides those she felt on Clarence's
account. The thought that Victoriano, too, might be estranged
from her, had made that dear heart of hers very heavy with
forebodings. Gentle and loving though she was, she could
not help feeling exasperated to foresee how miserable she and
Clarence, and Mercedes and Victoriano might all be, all
on account of this squatter quarrel, which might so easily be
avoided if those people were not so perverse, and her father
upholding them, which was perversity, also.\par

Thus ran Alice's thoughts as she helped her mother to trim
the fuschias and train them up the posts of the porch, beside
the honeysuckle and roses, which already formed an arbor
over the front steps. Occasionally she would look up the valley;
it was time that Victoriano should be riding out with
Gabriel or his father, superintending the gathering of their
cattle, to be sent to the Sierra.\par

Strange as it may appear, now that the Government, by the
dismissal of the appeal, acknowledged that Don Mariano's title
was good, now, when by this decision, the settlers should have
made up their minds to leave the premises or purchase their
homesteads from the owner of the land, now their disgraceful
destruction of dumb animals was renewed with obvious virulence,
and every night the firing of rifles and shot-guns was heard
all over the rancho. Don Mariano saw that this devastation was
a malicious revenge, which he could not avert, so he began to
collect his stock to take them all to the mountains. About that
time he received the letter in which Clarence proposed to buy
all of his cattle, advising him to restock the rancho afterwards,
when cleared of all trespassers. He liked the proposition,
and immediately gave orders to drive all the cattle to his
sister's rancho as they were got together; there to be put in a
valley and kept in a sort of depot, as they were gathered and
brought in bands of any number, to wait until Clarence returned.
But as afterwards Don Mariano feared that by the
time Clarence came back, there would be no cattle left to sell,
he now hastened their gathering and decided to send them off
as soon as possible. Patiently, and without a word of complaint,
Don Mariano and his two sons would ride out every day to
superintend personally the collecting of the cattle and sending
them off to his sister's rancho to the valley, where the rendezvous
or depot had been established. Victoriano named this
valley the “{\itshape{rodeo triste}},” insisting that the cattle knew it was a
“{\itshape{rodeo triste}},” and walked to it sadly, guessing that they were
to be exiled and butchered. “Just like ourselves, the poor
natives,” he said, “tossed from one cruelty to another still
worse, and then crushed out.” “{\itshape{Rodeo triste}}” was a very appropriate
name, considering the fact of its being different from
the gay and boisterous gatherings of other years, when “the
boys” of the surrounding ranchos all assembled at Alamar to
separate their cattle and have a grand time marking and
branding the calves; twisting the tails of stubborn ones by way
of a logical demonstration, a convincing argument conveyed in
that persuasive form, which was to a calf always unanswerable
and irresistible. Then the day's work and fun would wind up
with a hilarious barbecue. But this was all in the past, which
had been happy, and was now a fading tableau.\par

Alice, watching from behind the honeysuckle, saw Don
Mariano, his two sons and three {\itshape{vaqueros}} ride down the valley.
There they separated, each followed by a {\itshape{vaquero}}, going in
different directions.\par

But Alice was not the only one watching the riders going
out to gather stray cattle. Though with very different sentiments
from those which agitated her loving heart, the entire
population of the rancho had been attentive, though unseen,
spectators of the Don's proceedings. In the evenings the
neighbors would come to relate to Darrell how many head of
cattle and horses they had seen pass by their farms, and renew
their comments thereon.\par

Thus six weeks passed. The remittitur from the Supreme
Court to the United States District Court at San Francisco
came. This caused a ripple of excitement among the settlers.
Then a bigger one—a perfect tidal wave—was expected with
the surveyors that would come to make the survey of the
rancho; and when this should be finished, then the grandest and
last effort must be made by the settlers to prevent the approval
of it. Thus, at least, they would have more litigation, and while
the case was in the courts, they would still be on the rancho
raising crops, and paying no taxes and no rent, as they knew
perfectly well that the Don would never sue them for “rents
and profits.”\par

Everett had gone to town for the mail that day; letters from
Clarence were expected. The neighbors knew it, for by dint
of asking questions they had learned to time the arrival of his
letters, and would drop in quite accidentally, but unerringly,
and in an off-hand manner ask if there was “any news from
Mr. Clarence?” The Don, with his two sons and three
{\itshape{vaqueros}}, had gone out in search of his cattle, as usual, just as
if no {\itshape{remittitur}} had come. The settlers thought this was a
most excellent subject to ventilate with their neighbor, Darrell;
they came in goodly numbers, “to {\itshape{revolve}} the matter, and talk
it over in a {\itshape{neighborly}} way,” Mr. Hughes had said, with his perennial
smile.\par

“Just so; sit down, sit down,” Mr. Darrell replied; and when
all having dragged chairs and pulled them forward from between
their knees, had dropped upon them, he added, “What
may happen to be the matter we are to revolve?”\par

“Why, the remittitur, of course,” Hughes replied, in his oiliest
tones.\par

“Oh, I thought something new,” Darrell remarked.\par

“That is a clincher, you know,” Hughes replied.\par

“Yes, but we knew it was coming.”\par

“Don't you think it queer that the Don be hurrying off his
cattle, now that he's won his suit? Don't that look as if he don't
put much trust in his victory?”\par

“He trusts his victory, but he knows that more stock has
been shot for the last six weeks than for six months previous.
He wants to save {\itshape{a few}} head,” said Romeo Hancock, smiling.\par

“Roper told me,” said Hughes, ignoring what Romeo said,
“that, if the settlers wish it, this case might be kept in the
courts for fifty years.”\par

“After the land is surveyed?” Darrell asked.\par

“Yes, after the survey.”\par

“We begin our new war by {\itshape{objecting}} to the survey, I suppose;
ain't it?” Miller asked.\par

“That is what Roper says,” Hughes replied.\par

“And, meantime, harass the enemy like the deuce,” Gasbang
added.\par

“Exactly; that is Roper's advice,” said Mathews.\par

With a gesture of disgust, Romeo said: “Of course, no cattle
having been shot in this rancho before Roper advised it, let
the harassing begin now.”\par

“Look here, young man, you had better get more years over
your head before you talk so glibly,” Billy Mathews snarled at
Romeo.\par

“He is a settler like yourself, Mr. Mathews, and he has as
good a right to express his opinion, though he may not have
the happiness of being old,” interposed Everett.\par

“It seems to me that all the young bloods on this rancho are
either on the fence or have bolted clean over to the other side,
Mr. Darrell,” said Mathews, addressing his remarks to the elder
Darrell, “but they forget that there aren't girls enough to go
round. There are only two left, if, as rumor says, Mr. Clarence
has taken the blue-eyed one.”\par

“Roper says those girls must have done good service in
Washington to get the appeal dismissed so quick.” Gasbang
said, grinning.\par

“And Roper is a dirty-minded dog to say that, and I'll make
him eat his dirty words, or I'll take his hide off of his filthy
carcass,” Everett said, jumping up from his seat, livid with
anger.\par

“Sit still, Retty,” Mr. Darrell said, “nobody minds what Roper
says, except, perhaps, in law matters.”\par

“Some people do mind what the whelp says, as he is quoted
here,” Everett argued.\par

“It oughtn't to be so. I don't like women's names mixed up
in men's business.”\par

“Roper only said that, because we heard that those girls
were in Washington with a gay crowd, who took them from
New York,” Gasbang explained.\par

“Yes, a crowd who went as guests of Mr. Lawrence Mechlin,”
Everett replied; “a New York banker, and brother of
this Mr. Mechlin here. Mr. Mechlin engaged a special car, as
George wanted to take his wife and sister-in-law to visit the
capital, and then two other families (of the highest and best
in New York) were invited, and all made a party to spend
three weeks in Washington. Clarence being a friend of George
Mechlin's, was invited, also.”\par

“That may all be, but we heard that the crowd was a gay
one, running about the corridors and taking lunches at the
Capitol with Senators,” Gasbang explained. “And as that is
the way things are managed when there are any axes to grind,
Roper guessed that the girls had been pressed into service to
help with their smiles to bamboozle Senators.”\par

“The vile little reptile; I'll put my heel on him yet,” said
Everett, with white lips.\par

“It isn't likely that Clarence would have stayed by, seeing
Mercedes smiling improperly on anybody, if he cares for
her. He wouldn't be a son of mine if he did,” said Darrell,
frowning.\par

“No; that is all a very mean talk of Roper's. Attorney
General Williams had promised George Mechlin's uncle, six
months ago, to dismiss the appeal as soon as the Supreme
Court should be session, and, though it cuts us all to pieces,
I must say he kept his word like a man; that's all.”\par

“Yes, it was that infernal, dandified puppy George Mechlin,
who did the mischief. I'll be even with him yet for it,” Old
Mathews growled.\par

“Why shouldn't George Mechlin help his father-in-law? Because
it upsets the liver of the amiable Mr. Mathews?” asked
Romeo, laughing.\par

“Keep quiet, Romeo,” Old Hancock said, smiling.\par

“If George Mechlin hadn't helped, the thing would have
been done in some other way. It had to come,” Darrell said.\par

“I don't know about that; these Californians are too ignorant
to know how to defend their rights, and too lazy to try,
unless some American prompts them,” Mathews replied.\par

“They know enough to employ a lawyer to defend their
rights,” Old Miller observed.\par

“Yes; but, after all, they have to use influence in Washington,”
Old Mathews insisted. “And what influence have they,
unless it is by the aid of some American?”\par

“And the pretty daughters,” added Gasbang.\par

“Never mind the pretty daughters,” said Miller, seeing that
Everett clenched his fists as if ready to pounce upon Gasbang
at the next provocation. “The question now is, what is to be
done? and who is for us, and who against? The time has come
when we have to count noses.”\par

“Yes, what are you going to do, Mr. Darrell?” asked velvety
Hughes, with his sickly smile.\par

“Nothing. What is there for me to do? You heard me
promise to the Don that I would pay him for the land I was
locating, if it was decided that the title was his.”\par

“You said {\itshape{when the title is settled}},” Gasbang said.\par

“The title is settled as far as the Government is concerned.
As you—the settlers—and the Government were on one side,
and the Don on the other, I guess he now naturally supposes
I must regard the title as {\itshape{settled}}, since the principal opponent
(the Government) has thrown up the sponge,” Darrell answered.\par

“But we haven't,” said Mathews; “and as long as we keep
up the fight I don't see how the title can be considered settled.”\par

“It is settled with the Government, which was the question
when I made my location,” Darrell answered.\par

“But you ain't going to desert our cause?” Hughes asked.
“You'll be our friend to the last, won't you?”\par

“Such is my intention, but what I might think I ought to
do, circumstances will point out to me. Probably we will see
our way better after the survey is made. Meantime, as the Don
don't trouble any one with orders to vacate, the best thing to
do is to keep quiet.”\par

“And spare his cattle,” Romeo added, looking at Mathews.\par

“You seem to want to pick a quarrel with me, youngster,”
growled Mathews.\par

“What makes you think so? Did {\itshape{you}} ever shoot any of
the Don's cattle, that you should appropriate my remarks to
yourself? If you never did, I can't mean you.”\par

The boys, the young men, all laughed. Mathews arose, too
angry to remain quiet.\par

“Next time I come to talk business—serious business—with
men, with men of my age—I don't want to be twitted by any
youngster. Children should be seen, and not heard,” said he,
putting on his hat energetically.\par

“Why, Mr. Mathews, you shouldn't call me a youngster.
You forget I am a married man,” Romeo replied, with great
amiability. “I am a papa, I am. Our baby is now six months
old; he weighed twelve pounds when he was born. Now, can
you show us a baby of {\itshape{your own}}, only as old as that, and weigh
half as much?”\par

The shout of laughter that followed these words was too
much for Mathews. The banging of doors as he left was the
only answer he deigned to give.\par

“Mr. Mathews! Five pounds! Two-and-a-half, Mr. Mathews!”
shouted Romeo from the window, to the retreating form
of Billy, swiftly disappearing in long strides along the garden
walk.\par

“That is the hardest hit Mathews ever got. He is awfully
sensitive about having always been jilted and never been married,”
Miller said.\par

“He'll never forgive you,” added old Hancock.\par

“He never has forgiven me for locating my claim either, but
I manage to survive. One more grievance can't sour him much
more,” Romeo replied, laughing.\par

After Mathews had made his exit, the conversation went on
more harmoniously. Gasbang was now the only malignant
spirit present, but being very cowardly, he felt that as Mathews'
support was withdrawn, and the other settlers were inclined to
abide by Darrell's advice, he would be politic; he would listen
only and report to Peter Roper. Gasbang knew well how unreliable
Roper was, but as they were interested in sundry enterprises
of a doubtful character, he consulted Peter in all matters
when found sober.\par

Darrell's advice being to “keep quiet,” the meeting soon
broke up and the settlers went home by their separate ways,
all more or less persuaded that, after all, peace was the best
thing all around. Old Mr. Hancock gave utterance to this
sentiment as he stopped by the gate of the Darrell garden to
say good-night to his neighbors.\par

“I heard the Don say that he does not blame us settlers so
much for taking his land as he blames our law-givers for those
laws which induce us to do so—laws which are bound to array
one class of citizens against another class, and set us all by the
ears,” Romeo said.\par

“Yes, I heard him say about the same thing, but I thought
he said it because he was a hypocrite, and to keep us from shooting
his cattle,” Gasbang added.\par

“No matter what might be his motive, the sentiment is kind
anyway,” Hancock, senior, said.\par

“Perhaps,” said the others, still unwilling to yield.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxiii-home-again}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxiii-home-again}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXIII.—{\scshape{Home Again.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
On the 25th day of May, of '74, Elvira and Mercedes found
themselves again under the paternal roof of their California
home, in the Alamar rancho. They could have arrived ten
days sooner had they left New York on the first of the month,
as was first intended. This they were not allowed to do, because
when Mrs. L. Mechlin heard that Mercedes' birthday
would be on the 5th of May, she immediately said she could
not and would not think of allowing Mercedes to spend her
eighteenth birthday in the cars. Consequently, invitations
would be issued the following day (which was the 22d of
April) for “{\itshape{A fête in celebration of Miss Alamar's birthday, on
the 5th day of May}}.”\par

The invitations were issued thus early to prevent friends of
Mrs. Mechlin's from going into the country for the summer, as
many of them did every year, in May. All, however, accepted,
and waited most graciously.\par

The season was already too far advanced, and the nights were
getting too warm to enjoy dancing, so Mrs. Mechlin thought
it would be better to have an excursion to West Point; to
charter a river steamer, and thus pass the day on the water;
to take breakfast on board on the way to the Point; visit the
Post; see the cadets drill and review; and re-embark; take dinner
on board, and then the young people dance on deck, as
there would be a full band to give them music.\par

This was the programme—which though decided upon
hurriedly, on their return from Baltimore, where they had
been visiting—was carried out successfully. All their pleasure
excursions had been equally delightful. They had visited
Boston first, then they went to Philadelphia, intending to
remain only three or four days, but when they were there,
Mrs. Mechlin's relatives in Baltimore sent urgent invitations
to visit them, so there was nothing else to do but accept.
Thus the jaunt to Philadelphia was extended to Baltimore,
and might have been prolonged, had not Elvira refused to be
separated from George one day more. This young gentleman,
on his part, seemed to have thought, too, that Elvira had been
away long enough. For as the party were waiting for the train
to move out of the depot who should come aboard but this
same young gentleman, George Mechlin.\par

“The darling,” said Elvira, perfectly overjoyed at the sight
of that beloved apparition, throwing her arms about his neck.\par

“Precious,” said he, clasping her to his heart.\par

And now Elvira and Mercedes, surrounded by their beloved
family, were relating this episode and many other occurrences
of their eastern visit, all sitting in their favorite front veranda.\par

The Holman girls were there, too. They had made several
visits to Carlota and Rosario within the last ten months, but
this time they came to see Elvira and Mercedes. Mr. Holman
himself had accompanied them, that being a good pretext
to question George closely regarding Texas Pacific
matters. Mr. Holman had invested all his ready money in
San Diego, placing implicit faith in the fact that the building
of the Texas Pacific was a measure of national importance
so manifest that Congress would never have the hardihood to
deny it assistance, nor would be so lacking in sense of honor,
sense of justice, as to deprive millions of American people of
a railway so much needed. These had been the reasons, he
alleged, for plunging headlong into real estate speculations, followed
closely by his friends, Don Mariano and Mr. James
Mechlin.\par

These three gentlemen now sat at the eastern end of the
veranda, listening to what George said that he and his uncle
had learned in Washington regarding the prospect of that unlucky
railroad; while the ladies were equally entertained, listening
to Elvira and Mercedes, on the western end of the same
veranda.\par

“But what has become of the handsome Clarence? Why is
he not here?” Corina inquired, seeing Everett and Victoriano
riding up with Gabriel towards the house.\par

Elvira informed her that on their arrival at San Francisco,
Clarence found it necessary to visit his farm, and thence to go
to Arizona on business, but would return about the first of
July.\par

“We heard that his mine is in bonanza,” Amelia said.\par

“That it has been in bonanza ever since he bought it—hasn't
he told you that?” Corina added.\par

“No; he only said that the ore was very rich,” Elvira replied.\par

Victoriano and Everett now came in and took seats near the
ladies. Gabriel joined the gentlemen, and soon was deeply interested
in their conversation, it of course being upon that
subject—the railroad—which filled the minds and hearts of
all the San Diego people, absorbing all their faculties and all
their money.\par

“How are all the ladies of your family? Well?” Amelia
asked of Everett.\par

“Yes, thank you. They are all well, and I think they will
be up this evening—at least, some of them will. I heard words
to that effect,” Everett replied.\par

“I hope all will come,” Elvira said.\par

“What? Mr. Darrell, senior, also?” Corina asked.\par

“Certainly. Why not?” Mercedes answered.\par

“We were speaking of the ladies—but if Mr. Darrell should
call, we will be happy to receive him with sincere cordiality,”
Elvira added.\par

“All of which would be thrown away upon the stiffest
neck in San Diego County,” Victoriano observed.\par

Everett laughed.\par

“Why, Tano! What makes you talk like that?” Mercedes
exclaimed, reddening with evident annoyance.\par

“Because his ‘{\itshape{butt-headedness}}’ is like that of a vicious old
mule, which no one began to break until he was ten years
old, and loves to kick from pure cussedness,” Victoriano explained,
with free use of slang.\par

“If Mr. Darrell has said or done anything to vex you, the
best thing is not to go to his house, but it is not very courteous
to speak as you have in the presence of his son,” Doña
Josefa said.\par

“I forgive him,” Everett said, patting Tano on the back.\par

“Not go to his house!” Tano exclaimed. “That is exactly
what the old pirate wants. It would be {\itshape{nuts}} for the
old Turk if I stayed away. Not much—I won't stay away.
I'll go when he is at {\itshape{the colony}} with his sweetly-scented pets.”\par

“Where is the colony?” Mercedes asked.\par

“That is the new name for the large room next to the
dining-room, which Clarence said he built for a ‘growlery.’
Alice called it the ‘{\itshape{squattery}},’ because father always receives
the settlers there; but mother changed the name to ‘{\itshape{colony}}’
to make it less offensive, and because the talk there is always
about locating, or surveying, or fencing land—always land—as
it would be in a new colony,” Everett explained.\par

“Whether he be at the colony or not, you should not go if
he does not wish you to visit his house,” Doña Josefa said to
Tano.\par

“But we all wish it—my mother and every one of her children.
Father doesn't say anything about Tano's coming or
not, but he is cross to all of us, and don't have the politeness
to be more amiable in Tano's presence—which, of course, is
very disagreeable,” Everett replied.\par

“I think Mrs. Darrell ought to put her foot down, and have
it out with the old filibuster,” Tano asserted.\par

“We will see what he will do when Clarence comes,” Everett
said.\par

Everett thought as all the family did—that Clarence, being
the favorite child of the old man, and having naturally a winning
manner and great amiability, combined with persuasiveness,
would influence his father, and dispel his bad humor.
But if the family had known what was boiling and seething in
the cauldron of their father's mind, they would have perceived
that, for once, neither Clarence's influence, nor yet the more
powerful one wielded by Mrs. Darrell, would at present be as
effective as they heretofore had been.\par

Time alone must be the agent to operate on that hard skull.
Time and circumstances which, fortunately, no one as yet was
misanthrophic enough to foresee. The fact was, that no one
of his family had understood William Darrell. It can hardly
be said that he understood himself, for he sincerely believed
that he had forever renounced his “{\itshape{squatting}}” propensities,
and honestly promised his wife that he would not take up
land claimed by any one else. But no sooner was he surrounded
by men who, though his inferiors, talked loudly in
assertion of their “{\itshape{rights under the law}};” and no sooner had
he thousands of broad acres before his eyes—acres which, by
obeying the laws of Congress, he could make his own—than
he again felt within him the old squatter of Sonoma and Napa
valleys. That mischievous squatter had not lain dead therein;
he had been slumbering only, and unconsciously dreaming
of the advantages that the law really gave to settlers. Alongside
the sleeping squatter had also slumbered Darrell's vanity,
and this was, as it is generally in every man, the strongest
quality of his mind, the chief commanding trait, before which
everything must give way.\par

Mrs. Darrell had heretofore been the only will that had
dared stand before it, but Mrs. Darrell, being a wise little
woman, not always made direct assaults upon the strong citadel—oftener
she made flank movements and laid sieges. This
time, however, all tactics had thus far failed, and Mrs. Darrell
withdrew all her forces, and waited, in “masterly inactivity,”
reinforcements when Clarence returned.\par

What exasperated Darrell the most, and had ended by putting
him in a bad humor, was a lurking self-reproach he could
not silence, a consciousness that having promised Don Mariano
to pay for his land whenever the title was considered settled,
that it was fair to suppose he ought to pay now. But on
the other hand, he had also promised the settlers to stand by
them, and was determined to do so. Thus he stood in his own
mind self-accused, unhappy and unrepentant, but resolutely
upholding a lost cause. He avoided the society of his family
with absurd persistency. After meals he would fill his pipe,
and march himself off to the farther end of his grain fields;
resting his elbows on the fence boards, and turning his back
upon the house which contained his dissenting family, would
puff his smoke in high dudgeon, like an overturned locomotive
which had run off its track, and became hopelessly
ditched. In that frame of mind, he thought himself ready to
do battle against all his family, but he knew he dreaded Clarence's
return.\par

However, that event had at last arrived, and there was Clarence
now on the porch—just come from Arizona—kissing all
the ladies of the family and hugging all the males, not omitting
the old man, who was literally as well as figuratively taken off
his feet by the strong arms of the dreaded Clarence.\par

“Clary is so much in love, father, that he comes courting
you, too,” Everett said, laughing, as they all went into the
parlor.\par

“I suppose so,” Darrell answered, not looking at any one's
face, excepting that of the clock on the chimney mantel.\par

Mrs. Darrel's eyes, however, were not in the least evasive—they
met those of Clarence, and he read in them a volume of
what was troubling his father's mind. He longed to have a
talk with that true-hearted and clear-headed, well-beloved
mother, but he must wait—for now came Tisha to announce
that luncheon was on the table. She was grinning with delight
to see her favorite Massa Clary again, and Clarence
jumped up and ran to throw his arms around her, making
that faithful heart throb with unalloyed happiness, for she
loved him from his babyhood, just if he had been her own
child.\par

“I love them all, missis—all your dear children,” she would
say to Mrs. Darrell; “and they are all good children; but
Massa Clary I love the best of all. Next comes Miss Alice.
But Massa Clary took my heart when he was six months old,
and had the measles. He was the best, sweetest baby I ever
saw, and so beautiful.” Thus Tisha would run on, if you let
her follow the bent of her inclination, for Clarence was a theme
she never tired of.\par

All sorts of questions now showered upon Clarence about
New York, about Washington, about San Francisco, and about
Arizona—all of which he answered most amiably.\par

“And are the Mechlins very grand? As rich as one might
suppose? hearing the Holman and Alamar girls talk of the
parties and excursions that Mr. Lawrence Mechlin gave in
honor of Elvira?” Jane asked.\par

“The excursion to West Point was to celebrate Mercedes'
birthday,” Alice observed.\par

“Yes, the Mechlins must be rich, to judge by their style of
living. Their social position is certainly very high,” Clarence
replied.\par

“You had a delightful time, Clary?” Everett said.\par

“Yes, indeed; most delightful,” was the answer.\par

“We, too, have had lots of fun, with old Mathews on the
rampage, like an old hen who got wet and lost her only chicken,”
said Willie, at the top of his voice.\par

“Willie!” Mrs. Darrell said, to impose silence, but as Clarence
and Everett laughed, and his father did not seem particularly
displeased, Willie added:\par

“And the old man gets so mad, that he perspires, and
smoke comes out of his back, as if his clothes were on fire.”\par

“Oh, Willie! how you exaggerate,” Lucy exclaimed.\par

“I don't. He snorts and clucks and growls and snarls.
Romeo says he miauls like a disappointed hyena.”\par

“That will do. You must not repeat such unkind criticisms.
Romeo is always ridiculing Mr. Mathews,” Mrs. Darrell
said.\par

“Old Mathews is in worse humor since the Don began to
send his cattle away,” Webster said.\par

“Why so?” Clarence asked.\par

“Because they made nice targets for his rifle,” Everett replied.\par

“Scandalous!” Clarence exclaimed.\par

“He threatens to shoot George Mechlin, Tom Hughes
says,” Webster added.\par

“Why?” Clarence asked.\par

“Because he got the appeal dismissed,” answered Webster.\par

“He is foolish to suppose that if George hadn't had it dismissed
that no one else would,” Clarence said.\par

“I met the old man this morning. He stopped his wagon
to ask me if father knew that Congress had passed the appropriation
for money to survey lands in California. I told
him I hadn't heard, and he went off whipping his horses,
and swearing at Don Mariano and George Mechlin,” Everett
said.\par

“I thought there would be a better feeling when the Don's
cattle should be sent off, as they were the principal cause of
irritation,” Clarence observed.\par

“And it is so. Only those boys—Romeo, Tom and Jack
Miller—are always ridiculing or teasing Mathews,” Darrell
said.\par

“Why, father!” Everett exclaimed; “the fathers of those
boys are as bad as Mathews, and old Gasbang is worse
yet!”\par

“Gasbang was always dishonest, but he is worse now, at
Peter Roper's instigation,” Darrell said.\par

“Gasbang says that he and Roper will send the Don to the
poor-house,” Everett said.\par

“Not while I live,” Clarence replied; adding, “and how is
everybody at the Alamar house—all well?”\par

Up started Willie and Clementine, eager to be the first to tell
Clarence the great news.\par

“They had two arrivals,” Mrs. Darrell said.\par

“Oh, Clary! you never saw prettier babies in all your life!
Both have the loveliest blue eyes,” Clementine exclaimed,
joining her hands, as if in prayer, as Tisha always did when
speaking of Clarence's babyhood.\par

“The boy has gray eyes,” Willie interposed, with authority
not to be controverted. “He hasn't no blue eyes.”\par

“How do you know? You haven't seen them, but {\itshape{I}} have,”
Clementine asserted; “and the little girl is exactly the image of
Miss Mercedes. She has Miss Mercedes' blue eyes, exactly,
with long, curling lashes, the little thing.”\par

“The girl looks like Don Gabriel, as she ought to,” Willie
stated in a peremptory manner, not to be contradicted, and
whilst he discussed with Clementine the looks of the babies,
Clarence was informed by his mother and sisters that Elvira
was the happy mother of a big, handsome boy, and Lizzie rejoiced
in the possession of a beautiful little girl, which weighed
nearly as much as her boy cousin. That Doña Josefa and
Mrs. Beatrice Mechlin were nearly crazy with happiness, but
that the craziest of all was Mr. James Mechlin, who made
more “{\itshape{fuss}}” over those two babies than either Gabriel or
George, and went from one house to the other all day long,
watching each baby, and talking about them by the hour.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxiv-the-brewers-of-mischief}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxiv-the-brewers-of-mischief}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXIV.—{\scshape{The Brewers of Mischief.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Eight delicious weeks passed—the most delightful that Clarence
and Mercedes had ever lived. The first of September
had dawned, and on the 16th they would be married. With
the first rays of the coming morn, Clarence arose and went to
the west window of his chamber, which looked towards the
Alamar House. As he peeped through the closed shutters,
thinking it would seem foolish to open them so early, he saw
the shutters of one window—in that well known row where
Mercedes' room was located, and which looked to the east—pushed
open, and a white hand and part of a white arm came
out and fastened it back. His heart told him whose white
arm that was, and of course he could not think of going back
to bed. He began to dress himself, deliberating whether he
should or not go to town that day and telegraph to Hubert to
do as he thought best about selling another cargo of ores, or
say to wait for him, that he would be at San Francisco on the
20th. When he was dressed, he sat by the west window and
tried to read, but that white arm would come across the page
and that white hand would cover the letters, so that he threw
the book down and began to walk, trying to think about that
business of selling the ore to the Austrian house, of which Hubert
had been writing to him. Yes, he thought, the best thing
would be to go to town that same day and ask Hubert couldn't
the matter wait until the 20th. But should Hubert be coming,
or should it be necessary to wait for telegrams, he might
not be back until the following day in the evening. He would
go immediately after breakfast to tell Mercedes that he could
not see her that evening.\par

Mercedes and Doña Josefa were on the front piazza when
he arrived, and Gabriel was talking to George in quite an excited
manner, for him, as he was always so calm and self-contained.
As soon as Clarence came up the piazza steps,
George began to tell him that some of the last lot of cattle
which had been sent off to the mountains, had got away from
the herders and returned to the rancho on the previous day,
and that morning a couple of cows of a very choice breed were
found shot through the body, in a dying condition. The poor
brutes had to be shot dead by Gabriel himself, to save them
from further suffering. No one knew who had fired on the
poor dumb animals, but circumstantial evidence clearly pointed
to Old Mathews.\par

Clarence was very angry, of course. He reflected in silence
for a few moments, then said to Gabriel:\par

“I think if Don Mariano would make now, to-day, a deed
of sale of {\itshape{all}} his cattle and horses to me, they would have a
better chance of being spared. Not that Mathews, or Gasbang,
or Miller like me any better, but they are not so anxious to
annoy me.”\par

“I think Clarence's idea is a good one,” George said.\par

“I think so, too, and have thought so for some time,” Gabriel
replied. “We are going to drive off the last lot to-day.
Father and Tano are down in the valley. I'll tell him what
you say as soon as I go down. I think we will return by
to-morrow night, and he can draw up the deed then.”\par

“Tell him that I shall consider that the cattle are mine {\itshape{now}},
and will let our friends, the settlers, know it, so that they can
have the satisfaction of killing {\itshape{my cattle}}.”\par

“Do you really mean it?” Doña Josefa asked.\par

“Certainly. Don Mariano can buy all the cattle he wants
to restock his rancho after he gets rid of the two-legged animals,”
Clarence replied.\par

“That is, if he wants to restock it. He was talking with
George and me last night, and he said if the Texas Pacific is
built, he will have all his land surveyed to sell it in farming
lots, and will not put cattle in it. But if the railroad is not
built, then the best use he can make of the rancho will be to
make it a cattle rancho again, after the squatters go away,”
Gabriel said, adding that he must be going to join his father.
He then went into the hall to go to the court-yard, where his
saddled horse and his {\itshape{vaquero}} waited for him. Clarence and
George followed to bid him good-by. Clarence said:\par

“I wrote to Hubert about procuring for you a place at a
bank, to get broken into the banking business, and he replied
that he can, and will get you a place. Would you like to try
it, now that you will have less to do here, when there will be
no cattle at the rancho? I am going to write and telegraph to
Hubert to-day—or he might be down in to-morrow's steamer—so
that I can tell him about what time you might go up.”\par

“I think you had better go about the time Clarence and
Mercedes get married, as they will immediately go to their
house in San Francisco,” George suggested.\par

“Yes, I think that will be the best time,” Gabriel said.\par

“Very well; I'll write to Hubert that we will be up by the
20th of this month,” Clarence said.\par

“Gabriel can take his place on the 1st of October. That
will do splendidly, as Lizzie and Mercedes will be together,”
George said.\par

“But we must live in the hope that we will all come down
to make our homes here,” Gabriel added.\par

“Of course. That is understood,” Clarence replied.\par

“Though at times I feel discouraged, still, I can't well see
how the Texas Pacific is to be defeated permanently. That
would be too outrageous. Let us hope that by next year our
banking scheme will be carried out,” George said.\par

“I hope so, and as I have made more money than I had
when we first talked about it we can put in more capital. We
can, if you advise it, put in a whole million now,” Clarence
said.\par

“So much the better,” George said, and both shook hands
with Gabriel, who quickly jumped on his horse and was off at
a gallop, followed by his {\itshape{vaquero}}.\par

It was the hour when the babies got their morning bath.
George had great pleasure in seeing his boy enjoy the sensation
of floating in the water; so he let Clarence return to the porch
where Mercedes was now alone, and he went to watch the
bathing of his boy.\par

Clarence sat close to Mercedes and said: “Does the sweetest
thing that God created realize that this day is the first day
of September?”\par

“If you mean me, though you make me feel very foolish
with your exaggerated praise, I must say that I do realize that
to-day is the first of September,” she replied, smiling.\par

“And does the loveliest rosebud and the prettiest hummingbird
remember that in two weeks more she is to be mine, mine
forever?”\par

“Hush, Clarence, some one might hear you,” she said, putting
her hand over his lips, blushing and looking around,
alarmed. He took that hand and kissed the palm of it, then
turned it over and kissed the back of it most ardently, and held
it in his own, saying:\par

“I have a piece of information that is going to make your
dear heart glad. What will you give for it?”\par

“What is it? Do tell me. Is it about papa?”\par

“No, but it is about Gabriel and Lizzie.”\par

“What?”\par

“That Gabriel will get a place at a San Francisco bank to
learn the banking business, and they will live with us, so you
and Lizzie will be together.”\par

“Oh! Clarence, is that so? Oh! you make me so glad!
How can I ever thank you?”\par

“Haven't you said that you love me? Haven't you promised
to marry me, and thus make me the happiest man upon
the entire face of all this earth? That is enough for thanks.
But for telling you the news I want to be paid {\itshape{extra}}.”\par

Mercedes blushed crimson.\par

“I am going to town now, to be away a long time; won't
you give me one single kiss to say good-by?”\par

“Must you go? Why don't you write your letters or telegrams
and send them from here?”\par

“Because I may have to answer some dispatches immediately.
Or it is possible that Hubert might have run down to
see me for a few hours. To-morrow is steamer day.”\par

“Then this will be a good chance to send up your photograph
I want to have enlarged and painted.”\par

“Yes; give it to me; I'll send it up.”\par

“I'll bring it,” she said, going to the parlor. He followed
her. He closed the door, saying:\par

“Now, one sweet kiss to give me good luck and bring me
back all safe. P-l-e-a-s-e don't refuse it.”\par

“Oh, Clarence! Mamma don't approve of such things, and
I don't either. You are not my husband yet,” she pleaded, but
in vain, for he had put his arm around her and was holding
her close to his heart.\par

“I am not your husband yet? Yes I am. In intention I
have been ever since January, 1872. More than two years,
and, in fact, I shall be in two weeks. So you see how cruel it
is to be so distant.”\par

“Do you call this distant, holding me so close?” For sole
answer he looked into her eyes, kissed her forehead and blushing
cheeks, then he kissed the heavily fringed eyelids, kept
partly closed, afraid to meet the radiant gaze of his expressive
eyes. Then he put his lips to hers and held them there in a
long kiss of the purest, truest love. “My darling! My wife!
My own for ever! The sweetest, loveliest angel of my soul!”\par

No doubt he would have been willing to hold her thus close
to his heart for hours, but she disengaged herself from his embrace
with gentle firmness. Such warm caresses she intuitively
felt must be improper in the highest degree, even on the
eve of marriage. No lady could allow them without surrendering
her dignity. That was the effect of Doña Josefa's doctrines,
which she had carefully inculcated into the minds of
her daughters.\par

“Well, I hope that at last you have kissed me enough,” said
Mercedes, rather resentfully.\par

“Never enough, but I hope sufficiently to give me good
luck,” answered the happy Clarence.\par

“Oh, Clarence, that reminds me of my horrible dream of
last night. I dreamed that papa went to look for you in the
midst of a snow storm and never came back. You returned,
but he never did.”\par

“You must not believe in dreams, dearest.”\par

“I do not, but this seemed prophetic to me.”\par

“Prophetic of a snow storm in San Diego?”\par

“The snow was symbolic of bereavement, perhaps.”\par

She rested her head on his shoulder and seemed lost in
thought, and he held the little hand, so soft and white and well
shaped, and thought of her beauty and lovely qualities and his
coming happiness. He was thinking that he would have been
content to pass the day thus, when she raised her eyes to his,
saying:\par

“I must not keep you if you must go. Remember how superstitious
my dream has made me. I wish you could wait
until to-morrow.”\par

“I would, but Hubert might come to-morrow.”\par

“I had forgotten that.” One more long kiss and they parted,
her heart sinking under a load of undefined terrors.\par

From the seventh heaven Clarence had to come down again
to prosaic earth; and after bidding adieu to Mercedes, he
drove back home to speak to his father. The old man was
sitting in his easy chair on the porch, smoking his pipe, alone,
behind the curtain of honeysuckle, white jasmine and roses, so
carefully trained over the porch by Mrs. Darrell and Alice.
Seeing his son driving back towards the front steps, he walked
down to meet him. Clarence was glad that he seemed in a
better humor. He at once said:\par

“Father, I came back to ask a favor of you.”\par

“A favor? You alarm me. You never did that in all your
life,” he said, smiling.\par

“You mean I never did anything else. I know it. But this
is a very especial one, and a business favor.”\par

“Let us hear it. Of course I'll do anything I can for you
or any other of my children.”\par

“Thanks, father. The favor is this. That in talking with
the settlers—especially those who have been most ready to
shoot the Don's cattle—that you tell them I have bought all
his stock and all will be driven to the Colorado river just as
soon as cold weather sets in. I don't think many of the settlers
like me any better than they like the Don, but if they
think they might displease {\itshape{you}} by killing your son's cattle they
might spare the poor animals.”\par

“I'll do it. I expect Mathews and Miller now. They sent
me word they are coming to bring me some special news as
soon as Gasbang returns from town. But have you really and
truly bought the stock? or is it only to—”\par

“I have made a bona fide purchase; five hundred head are
already at the mine, and as soon as the hot weather is over,
the others will follow. I must buy cattle somewhere, for we
have to feed five hundred men now at work, and as the Don
is losing his all the time, I proposed to him to sell all to me.”\par

“But what is he to do with his land? Queer that he should
sell his cattle when he gets his land. Doesn't he believe he'll
get rid of us—the {\itshape{squatters}}?”\par

“O yes, but he figures thus: If the Texas Pacific is built, it
will pay better to sell his land in farming lots; if not, he can
restock it when he gets rid of his troublesome neighbors.”\par

“He has more sense than I gave him credit for. I guess
you put him up to that dodge.”\par

“No indeed. He thought it himself, but it seems that Gabriel
and George thought the same thing at the same time,
and as I was thinking where I could get cattle for my mines,
it struck me I might buy his and suit us both.”\par

“All right. I'll speak to the settlers, but of course I cannot
promise that they will do what I ask.”\par

“I understand that. Many thanks. Good-by.”\par

“When will you return?”\par

“To-morrow,” and he was off at a tearing speed for his
horses were tired of waiting, and longed to be on the road.\par

There was a little {\itshape{arroyo}} which passed about 500 yards on
the west of Don Mariano's house and marked the west line of
Darrell's land; as Clarence approached this dried brook, he
saw Gasbang and Roper coming down from the opposite hill,
evidently unable to check their horses. Roper was so intoxicated
that he could with difficulty keep his seat, and as Gasbang
seemed much frightened, Clarence took his phæton well off
the road and waited so as to lend his assistance, if it should be
required. But “the kind Providence which takes care of
drunken sailors, children and the United States,” was watchful
of Roper, and though he swayed and swung beyond possible
equilibrium, he stuck to his seat with drunken gravity.\par

“Going to invest in more real estate?” Gasbang shouted as
soon as he felt reassured by passing the great danger of sand
and pebbles which his cowardice had magnified to him into a
precipice. Roper laughed heartily, but Clarence, not understanding
the allusion, made no answer and drove on without
looking at them. If a kind fairy could have whispered to him
what was the errand of these two men, he most assuredly would
have turned back. There being no fairy but the blue-eyed
one who had already told her dreams and fears, which he had
not believed, he went on to town, and Gasbang took Roper
to his house, carefully putting him to bed to take a nap that
would sober him before he spoke with Darrell; for it was to
speak with Darrell that he came.\par

While Roper slept, Gasbang went to see Mathews, Miller and
Hughes, and together they held a consultation, at the end of
which it was decided that, as Roper was too intoxicated yet,
and Darrell disliked drunkards, they would go and have a preliminary
talk with him themselves, and Roper would be pressed
into service, if advisable, in the morning, when he would be sober.\par

Darrell had got tired of waiting for Mathews; so, after thinking
of what Clarence had said, he decided that it would be
better to have a talk with Hancock and Pitikin, who were about
the most reliable of all the settlers. They perhaps knew what
it was that Mathews had to say. He told Webster to saddle a
horse and bring it around; he would go on horseback, as the
wagon road to Hancock's was very long, around the fields.\par

But now when Webster had brought the saddled horse to the
front steps, Darrell saw Mathews, Gasbang, Miller and Hughes
coming in a two-seated wagon, and all seemed to be talking
very excitedly.\par

“Tie the horse there. I'll wait for those men,” said Darrell,
sitting down again. Webster did as he was told, and then
walked straight up-stairs to his mother's room. Everett and
Alice were with her.\par

“Mother, if I were you, I would go and sit in the parlor and
do my sewing there by the windows on the piazza, while those
bad men are talking to father,” Webster said.\par

“Why, Webster, go and listen unseen!” Mrs. Darrell exclaimed.\par

“Certainly, and do it quickly, for those old imps mean mischief
to Clarence.”\par

“To Clarence!” exclaimed Alice and her mother at the
same time.\par

“Yes, mother, Web. might be right. You might just be in
time to unmask some lie against Clary,” Everett suggested.\par

“One thing is sure, that those men already have too much
influence over father, and we have done nothing to oppose it,”
Alice said. Mrs. Darrell was silent, then, looking at her children,
said:\par

“You might be right, my children, but that would not justify
my listening at the keyhole.” Everett shrugged his shoulders,
saying:\par

“All right, mother. Come on, Web.” And both boys left
the room. When they were out, Everett said: “Web, get a
horse saddled and tie him at the back porch for me. I am
going to listen from Jane's room; one of her windows is right
over those men. If what I hear makes it necessary for me to
see Clarence, I shall go to town. Get a horse saddled immediately
and come to me.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxv-the-squatter-and-the-don}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxv-the-squatter-and-the-don}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXV.—{\scshape{The Squatter and the Don.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Everett found Lucy in Jane's room. Both were sewing by
the window he wanted. He squeezed himself into a seat between
his sisters, saying:\par

“Girls, I want to hear. Hush! Listen!”\par

Voices were heard below. All listened. As Webster was
coming down stairs he saw John Gasbang going out at the
other end of the parlor, pushing a large arm-chair out upon
the porch. He heard them laughing at some of Gasbang's
coarse, vulgar jokes, and then all sat down. After some desultory
talk, Mathews, evidently anxious to begin at what they had
to state, said:\par

“I am afraid, neighbor Darrell, that somebody has been
fooling you and laughing at you, or if not, then the thing will
look as if {\itshape{you yourself}} had been fooling us and laughing at us.
This we can hardly believe.”\par

“We don't believe at all,” Hughes explained, seeing Darrell's
brow darken.\par

Jane's window was possessed of most favorable acoustic
qualities. Every word could be distinctly heard.\par

“I don't understand you,” says Darrell, gruffly. “I am not
given to joking or laughing much, and I never knew that anybody
dared to laugh at me.”\par

“Precisely!” Hughes exclaimed, bowing deferentially.\par

“Did you ever give us to understand that this land you
occupy you had bought and paid for?” Mathews asked.\par

“No. I said to the Don I would pay when the title is settled;
that's all. You all heard that.”\par

“But you never paid him any money?”\par

“Not a red cent. But see here, what do you mean by coming
here to catechise {\itshape{me}}? You don't know William Darrell, if you
think you can set a trap for him in this way. I tell you he would
kick your trap to the old ‘Nick’ in two minutes,” Darrell said,
getting white with anger.\par

“I know it,” Gasbang said, shaking with laughter.\par

“Stop your nonsense,” Darrell said to him; then to Mathews,
“Speak out like a man—what is it all about?”\par

“That we are told that it is recorded that you paid six thousand
four hundred dollars to the Don for six hundred and forty
acres of land,” Miller explained.\par

“When did I do that?” Darrell asked, with increasing pallor,
the sight of which his interlocutor did not relish.\par

“On the 13th day of February, 1872,” Gasbang replied.\par

“Who saw the record?”\par

“I did. I saw the entry made by the notary.”\par

“Well, the notary lies, that's all.”\par

“He couldn't. He could be prosecuted for it,” Miller
said.\par

“Very well, he shall be; for it is a lie that I bought any
such land or paid any such price for it.”\par

“Perhaps the Don had the entry made,” Hughes suggested.\par

“Then the Don lied, and I'll tell him so,” Darrell retorted.\par

“Are you sure that Mr. Clarence did not buy the land unbeknown
to you?” Mathews asked.\par

“What do you mean, sir? Do you mean to say that my own
son would put me in such a ridiculous position? No, I think it is
more likely that, as Hughes says, the Don had the false entry
made on the strength of my having promised to pay him for
the land I would take. But I'll teach him that I am not to
be dragged into a bargain like that.”\par

“What would the Don gain by that? Nothing. No, if you
will not be offended, I'll tell you what I heard is the most likely
theory of it all,” Gasbang began.\par

“And who in the devil has been building theories on my
affairs? I'd like to see the fellow who does that,” thundered
Darrell.\par

“It was my lawyer, who casually discovered that entry in
the notary's books, and told me of it. He meant no harm,”
Gasbang explained, with conciliatory amiability.\par

“Of course, he meant no harm. Lawyers of the Peter Roper
stamp never do. When they go sticking their noses into
people's business, they do so {\itshape{casually}}. And your lawyer—Mr.
Roper, I suppose—being a very innocent and straightforward
and honorable, high-toned man, who never gets drunk, he did
not mean any harm, and {\itshape{accidentally}}, purely so, made this discovery,
and no danger of his having been too drunk to read
straight, either. Look here, John, don't you talk to me as if
you thought me idiotic, for I am not. But what is this innocent
theory of this unsophisticated, honorable Peter Roper?
Let us see.”\par

“Well, he thinks that Mr. Clarence being in love with the
Don's daughter, probably bought the land to propitiate the
family, and dated back the deed of sale,” Gasbang said.\par

Darrell was silent, but shook his head.\par

“You see, the Don could have had no object in putting on
record that he had received six thousand four hundred dollars,
unless he did so,” said Miller.\par

“So you think he received the money?” Darrell asked.\par

“No doubt of it,” all the others answered.\par

“There he goes now,” said Hughes, and all could see the
Don riding towards home, accompanied by his two sons. Behind
them the {\itshape{vaqueros}} were driving a lot of cattle towards
the “{\itshape{corral}}” at the back of the house.\par

Seeing the cattle, Darrell said: “By the way, these cattle
now belong to Clarence. He bought every head on this
rancho belonging to the Don, and will drive them to the Colorado
River as soon as the weather cools off. So I hope that
if any stray cows or calves come up to your places you will
corral them and send {\itshape{me}} word. I ask this of all of you, as a
favor to me, not to Clarence.”\par

“Certainly! certainly!” said Hughes, Miller and Gasbang.\par

“Will it be too much trouble to do that?” Darrell asked
Mathews, who had remained silent.\par

He was compelled to reply: “Of course not—not for
you.”\par

“Well, you see, I ask only what the law gives.”\par

“I know that.”\par

“And Clarence knows that if his cattle go to your fields you
must corral them and give him notice. And now I want to
go and speak with the Don.”\par

All arose.\par

Hughes said: “As we all wish to know more about that
land sale, we will come back this evening to hear what the
Don says.”\par

“Very well. I am going to ask all he knows about it.”\par

“He knows everything, the greaser!” Mathews growled.\par

“But you think Clarence paid the money?” asked Darrell.\par

“Of course he did, to get the girl,” laughed Gasbang; then
added: “It was all a put-up job, and they kept the secret well,
so we never smelled the rat, while they laughed at us. But I
don't care so long as you, Mr. Darrell, wasn't in it.”\par

“So says I,” added Miller.\par

“And I,” said Hughes, and they drove off, laughing.\par

Darrell remained standing on the front steps. He ground
his teeth and clenched his fists as he heard the laughter from
the wagon, which sounded louder as the wagon went further
away. He walked to the stable and took a heavy whip, one of
those which teamsters call “black snakes,” which are used
to drive mules with. The old man trembled with suppressed
anger, so much that he could not fasten on his spurs, and this
only increased the more his senseless rage.\par

Everett was scarcely less angry or less pale. He was waiting
for his father to start, to follow him. Webster came up-stairs
and said to him:\par

“Retty, father means mischief. He has a ‘black snake,’ and
trembles with rage as if he had the ague.”\par

“Poor father, how unfortunate it is that he got into such
a wrong train of reasoning,” Jane said.\par

“He is bound to keep wrong as long as he permits such
men to influence him. I am ashamed of father,” Lucy
added.\par

“No, don't say that,” Jane begged.\par

“But I am,” Lucy maintained; “very much ashamed.”\par

“And I also—bitterly ashamed,” Everett said.\par

The old gentleman at last succeeded in fastening his
spurs and getting on his horse. He trotted off to meet the
Don. Everett and Webster went down stairs. Webster had
saddled two horses; he was not going to let Everett go alone,
when he might need help. So the two boys followed their
father at a short distance.\par

Lucy and Jane went to Clarence's room, from which they
had a better view of that part of the valley through which
passed the main road, in front of the Alamar house. They
saw their father take the main road. The Don was coming
slowly with his two sons, watching the {\itshape{vaqueros}} driving the
cattle up the hill.\par

“Mamma, see father going to meet the Don. What does
he mean?” exclaimed Alice, alarmed.\par

Mrs. Darrell went to the window, and both sat there to watch
proceedings.\par

Two or three head of cattle got separated, and Gabriel
turned back at a few paces to head them off. Don Mariano
and Victoriano kept on, and soon after met Darrell.\par

“Good afternoon, Mr. Darrell,” said Don Mariano, pleasantly.
“You see we are Clarence's {\itshape{vaqueros}} now.”\par

Darrell muttered something gruffly, and stopped his horse
in the middle of the road. The others did the same. Don
Mariano saw that Darrell was very angry, and waited for him
to speak first.\par

The enraged man gasped twice, but no sound came. On
the third effort his harsh tones said:\par

“I want you to tell me what is all this trickery and lies about
my having paid you six thousand four hundred dollars for
land. You know that to be a lie.”\par

“Of course I do. You never paid me a cent, nor the other
settlers either. No settler wants to pay, and I never said you
had, or expected they would, for I know they believe themselves
authorized by law to appropriate my property.”\par

“Didn't Clarence pay you for the land I took?”\par

“Look here, Mr. Darrell, business matters between Clarence
and myself are not to be mentioned, and unless he
authorizes me to speak I cannot repeat anything which he
wishes to keep quiet.”\par

“Then you have some private business together.”\par

Don Mariano bowed, but did not speak. Darrell came
closer to the Don, and shaking at him the fist in which he
held the whip, said:\par

“Then I tell you, you ought to be ashamed of yourself to
be bargaining with my son in a clandestine manner, fooling
me, and making me appear ridiculous. But I tell you to
your face—for I am not a sneaking coward—I tell you,
that you have acted most dishonorably, inveigling Clarence
into bargains unbeknown to me, inducing him, with seductive
bribes, to act most dishonorably towards me.”\par

“What were those bribes?” Don Mariano asked.\par

“What were they? Your daughter's pretty looks, by G—!”\par

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Everett, turning very pale.\par

“Pshaw! That is too low,” the Don said, turning his horse
towards his house.\par

Darrell spurred his and stood in the way.\par

“Too low, you say? And isn't it low to act as you have?
And now you want to sneak off like a coward, and not give me
any satisfaction.”\par

“I am ready to give you any satisfaction you want, but demand
it like a gentleman. I am no Peter Roper, or Gasbang,
or Billy Mathews, to have a tumble-down fist-fight in the dirt
with you. If you forget your dignity, I do not,” the Don replied,
again trying to go towards his house.\par

Darrell again placed his horse in front to intercept his road,
and said, livid with rage:\par

“And why didn't you think of your dignity when you paraded
your daughter (like a pretty filly for sale) before my son,
to get his money! Damn you! can't I make you fight? Won't
you be insulted, you coward? I'll publish your cowardice all
over California.”\par

So saying, he lifted his whip and struck a severe blow at the
Don. Quickly, at the same instant, Victoriano and Everett
had dashed their horses between, and the blow fell right upon
the backs of the two young men.\par

This act of devotion was scarcely necessary, for as Darrell
lifted his whip, and before it fell down, Don Mariano touched
his horse with one spur only, giving a quick touch to the reins
to one side. The horse jumped aside, sat on his haunches
for an instant, half-crouching, half-rearing, and in a second he
was up again. Don Mariano smiled at Darrell's clumsy
horsemanship, conscious of being able to ride him down and
all around him before the belligerent squatter could tell what
was happening. Still smiling, the Don rode slowly away.
Darrell followed close, and again lifted his whip to strike, but
instantaneously he felt as if he had been struck by lightning,
or as if an aerolite had fallen upon him. His arm fell powerless
by his side, and an iron hoop seemed to encircle him. He
looked down to his breast surprised, and there the coil of a
{\itshape{reata}} held him in an iron grip, and he could not move. He
looked about him amazed, and saw that the other end of the
{\itshape{reata}} was neatly wound around the pommel of Gabriel's saddle,
and that young gentleman sat quietly on his horse, as if
waiting Mr. Darrell's orders to move, his handsome face a
little pale, but quite composed.\par

“Go home and bring me my pistols, Webster. I'll fix this
brood of greasers,” said Darrell, half choked with rage and the
tight embrace of the {\itshape{reata}}.\par

Webster hesitated, and looked towards his brother for advice.
Everett winked, and Webster understood at once that
Everett meant that he should go, but bring no pistols. He
galloped off towards home.\par

The horse that Darrell was riding was the mate of the one
that Webster rode, so that when he saw his partner go off
towards home, he thought he must do the same, and followed.
As the reins hung loosely upon his neck, he naturally supposed
that he was to follow at the pace his companion went,
so he started at a gallop to catch up with Webster.\par

Thus now began a most ridiculous steeple-chase going
home. Darrell could not check his horse or do anything but
hold to the pommel of his saddle, his arms being pinioned to
his body. Gabriel, fearing to let go the {\itshape{reata}}, which, if
loosened, might entangle the horse, and thus pull the old man
off his saddle, followed, maintaining the {\itshape{reata}} at an even,
gentle tension, carefully keeping at the same distance. Victoriano
and Everett saw nothing to do but follow, trying to get
near Darrell to catch him in case he should lose his balance
going over the rough ground of the plowed field.\par

The two Indian {\itshape{vaqueros}} after putting their cattle in the
{\itshape{corral}}, came down to inquire for further orders, and seeing
the race going on, they thought they could join in, too. So,
putting spurs to their horses, they began to run and shout in
high glee. Noticing that the patron, Don Gabriel, held a
{\itshape{reata}} in his hands, the {\itshape{lazo}} end of which was attached to
Darrell, they thought that for sport Don Gabriel had thrown
the {\itshape{lazo}} on the old squatter. Having come to this conclusion,
they began to shout and hurrah with renewed vigor.\par

“Apa! viejo escuata ó cabestreas ó te órcas,” cried one.\par

“No le afloje patroncito Gabriel,” said the other.\par

Now the ground being very rough, Darrell began to sway,
as if losing his balance.\par

“Apriétate viejo! apriétate míralo! ya se ladea!” cried
again one {\itshape{vaquero}}.\par

“Creo que el viejo escuata va chispo,” said the other.\par

“Que es eso? A que vienen acá? Quien los convida?
Cállense la boca, no sean malcreados, Vallense!” said Victoriano,
turning to them in great indignation.\par

This rebuke and imperative order silenced them immediately,
and not understanding why these gentlemen were having
all that fun, and did not laugh, nor wished any one else to
laugh, quietly turned and went home.\par

Darrell's horse now came to a hollow made by the old bed
of a brook where the road passed diagonally. To gallop
down hill was too much equestrianism for the pinioned rider;
he began again to topple to one side. Quick as a flash Victoriano
darted forward, and grasping the bridle with one hand,
caught with the other the body of Darrell, which having entirely
lost balance, was toppling over like a log.\par

Gabriel immediately gathering the {\itshape{reata}} quickly in successive
loops, all of which he hung on the pommel of his saddle,
came to Darrell's side.\par

“I'll take that {\itshape{lazo}} off, Mr. Darrell, if you permit me,” said
Gabriel, very quietly, when Victoriano had straightened him
on the saddle, and he had again a perpendicular position.\par

“Yes, damn you, and you'll pay for it, too!” was Darrell's
courteous reply.\par

“Very well, but don't be abusive. Use better language;
and if you want to fight I'll accommodate you whenever you
wish, with any weapons, except the tongue,” Gabriel answered.\par

“I suppose you think a {\itshape{lazo}} is a very genteel weapon. It is
good enough for cowardly, treacherous greasers,” said the irate
Darrell, eager to be as insulting as possible.\par

“And to subdue wild cattle,” Gabriel added. “I threw my
{\itshape{lazo}} on you to keep you from striking my father. He was unarmed,
and you made a brutal attack upon him with a heavy
mule whip. I would {\itshape{lazo}} you again fifty times, or any other
man, under the same circumstances. If you think it was cowardly
to do so, I will prove to you at any time that I was not
prompted by cowardice. Victoriano, loosen the {\itshape{reata}} off Mr.
Darrell's arms.”\par

Victoriano dismounted, and endeavored to loosen the tight
noose, but it was so firmly drawn that he could not move it.
Everett came to his assistance, but he, too, failed.\par

“I cannot loosen the noose without hurting Mr. Darrell,”
said Victoriano, giving up the task.\par

Gabriel dismounted, and examined the noose carefully. He
shook his head, saying:\par

“No, sir; we cannot loosen that {\itshape{reata}} while you are sitting
down. We will have to put you on your feet, Mr. Darrell,
and you will be slimmer then. Thus by collapsing a little the
loop will lose the tension that keeps it tight.”\par

“Come on, Mr. Darrell, Retty and I will let you down
nicely,” said Victoriano.\par

“Lean on me, father,” said Everett, but as he held up his
arms towards his father, he became convulsed with laughter.
Victoriano was laughing, too, so heartily, that Darrell was afraid
to trust his weight into their hands.\par

“For shame, Victoriano, to be so discourteous,” said Gabriel,
reprovingly—his handsome features perfectly serious.\par

But Victoriano had suppressed his desire to laugh too long,
and now his risibility was beyond control. Everett was overcome
in the same manner, so that he hung on Victoriano's
shoulder, shaking with ill-suppressed laughter.\par

“Mr. Darrell, be not afraid to trust to my strength, I am
slender, but I am stronger than I look. Lean your weight on
me slowly, and I'll take you off your horse while those boys
laugh,” Gabriel said, putting up his hands for Darrell to lean
on them.\par

“I think we had better go home first,” he said.\par

“No, sir. It will be painful for Mrs. Darrell to see you as
you are, and then you ought to have that {\itshape{reata}} off now, quickly.
It will sicken you.”\par

“Yes, I feel a very strange sort of cold feeling.”\par

Gabriel was afraid that impeded circulation might make the
old man faint, so he said:\par

“Come, Mr. Darrell, quick.”\par

He slipped off one stirrup, then quickly went around
slipped off the other, and pulled Darrell to him gently. Down
like a felled tree came the old fighter, almost bearing Gabriel
down to the ground. Everett and Victoriano, checking their
laughter somewhat, lent their assistance to hold him up, and
as he had begun to look bluish, they saw the necessity of establishing
the old man's circulation. While Everett and
Victoriano held him up, Gabriel loosened the coil, rubbing
briskly and hard the benumbed arms to start circulation by
friction, moving them up and down.\par

“Can you get on your horse now?” Gabriel asked, after
Darrell had moved his arms several times.\par

“Yes, I think I can,” he said, looking towards his house. A
new shadow passed over his face.\par

Webster was coming back, leading his horse. Would he
bring pistols? No. His mother was walking with him.
Mrs. Darrell saluted the Alamares, and they lifted their hats
respectfully in response. Webster had told her all that had
happened, and she understood everything, excepting the
steeple-chase performance. She had seen all running behind
her husband, but she did not know that the chase was most
involuntary on his part. Seeing them stop for so long a time
in the hollow she thought he had fallen.\par

“What is the matter, William? Did you fall?”\par

“No. And if I had, you couldn't pick me up. What did
you come out here for?” was the characteristic answer.\par

“Because, not seeing you when down in this hollow I feared
you were hurt, but since it is only foolish anger that ails you, I
need not waste my sympathy,” she said in her sweet, low
voice—which Clarence insisted always was like Mercedes' voice,
having that same musical vibration, so pleasing to the ear and
sure to go straight to the heart.\par

“Mrs. Darrell, allow me to assure you that all this trouble
came most unexpectedly to us. We don't know what caused it,
but no matter what the cause may be, I certainly could do
nothing else than prevent anybody from striking my father,”
Gabriel said.\par

“Certainly, Don Gabriel, you did your duty. I do not blame
you—no one of you—at all. Express my regrets to your
father, please. I am grieved to the heart about this,” she
said, and there was a sad note in her tones, which plainly told
that her expressions of regret were but too true.\par

“I will tell my father what you say, and let us hope that the
cause of all this misunderstanding may be explained,” Gabriel
replied.\par

“I hope so,” she said, offering her hand to him, which he
took and pressed warmly.\par

When Darrell saw that friendly demonstration, he turned his
back upon all, and muttering that he was “to be made the
scape-goat of all,” walked home.\par

Mrs. Darrell then asked Gabriel to explain everything to
her, which he did, while she listened to him very attentively.\par

“If you only had heard what those squatters said, and prevented
father from riding out,” Everett exclaimed.\par

Mrs. Darrell sighed, shook hands with the Alamares, and,
followed by her sons, walked home.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxvi-mrs-darrell-s-view-of-our-land-laws}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxvi-mrs-darrell-s-view-of-our-land-laws}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXVI.—{\scshape{Mrs. Darrell's View of Our Land Laws.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Of all the horrible tortures that the human mind is capable of
conjuring up with which to torment itself, none was greater to
William Darrell than the consciousness of being ridiculous—the
conviction that people were laughing at him. He had seen Victoriano
and his own Everett so convulsed with laughter, laughing
at him, laughing in his presence, laughing so heartily that
they could scarcely stand up. This laughter of the two boys
was the most vivid picture in the panorama of living scenes
which he himself had evoked. Surely if his own son laughed
so heartily, everybody else would do the same. And when on
his return home, Clementine had said to him most unceremoniously:\par

“Why, papa, what made you sit on your horse so stiff?
Why did you want to keep that rope? You looked so funny.”
And Clementine laughed heartily.\par

“Get out of my way,” said he, and went to the “colony”
straight and banged the door; which meant that he wanted no
one else within the precincts of that asylum. “So I looked funny
and stiff; they were all laughing at me,” he said, and with a
groan of mental and physical pain, flung himself on the lounge.\par

Presently, Tisha came to say that supper was on the table.
“I don't want any supper,” said he in the gruff tones he used
when he was angry, or pretended to be. Tisha retired, but in
about ten minutes she returned, carrying a tray, which she
deposited on a table, saying:\par

“Missus says that mayhap when you rested awhile you
might feel a little hungry.”\par

“Give me a cup of tea; I want nothing else,” he said,
and Tisha fixed his tea just as she knew he liked it with plenty
of rich cream and four lumps of sugar, for Darrell's teacup
held a pint; she placed the tea on a little table by the lounge
and retired.\par

The tea seemed to refresh him in spite of himself, and he
accepted the improvement with an inward protest as if setting
down an exception (as lawyers call it) by which he renounced
all obligation to be grateful.\par

Early the settlers began to arrive at the “colony” through the
side door of the back hall. Everett joined the meeting, as
Romeo came to request his company. Darrell gave his son a
withering look, but did not speak to him. He kept his reclining
position on the lounge and his satellites sat in a semi-circle
around him. He soon told them he had nothing satisfactory
to say, as the Don had refused to make any explanation, alleging
that he had promised Clarence to say nothing. When
Clarence returned he would clear the mystery. The settlers
again recommenced their conjectures, and discussed the motives
which must have actuated the Don to make a false entry,
to record having received money which he never got. Land
was the discussion, but there seemed no dissenting voice as to
the Don's culpability, and the sinister motives which actuated
him in acting in that underhand manner. When the altercation
was at the highest, and could be heard all over the house,
Mrs. Darrell walked in and, bowing to the astonished squatters,
came slowly forward and stood about the middle of the
semi-circle, though outside of it. Darrell sat up and all the
others stood on their feet and stared as if they had seen some
Banquo spectre or other terrible ghostly apparition.\par

“Be seated, gentlemen, I beg of you. I have but a few
words to say. Please sit down,” she reiterated, seeing that
every one remained standing.\par

Slowly all one by one dropped into their seats and all the
faces were turned towards her. No one thought of offering her
a chair, and she did not want one either. When all had resumed
their seats, she said:\par

“All those amongst you, gentlemen, who think that Don
Mariano Alamar induced my son Clarence to purchase land
from him are much mistaken; and all those who think Don
Mariano made a false entry of a land sale, do him an injustice.”\par

“Who made the entry then?” Darrell asked, sharply.\par

“That is what I came to say. The land was bought and
paid for at {\itshape{my}} request. If there is any blame, or crime, or
guilt in the matter, {\itshape{I}} am the criminal—{\itshape{I}} am the guilty one.
I told my son, Clarence Darrell, that if he did not pay for the
land which his father had located, I would never, {\itshape{never}} come
to live upon it. Moreover, I told my son not to mention the
fact of having paid for the land, because his father would
think we were interfering in his business, and I did not wish
him to know that the land was paid for until the question of
the Don's title was settled. Then we would have avoided
painful discussions, and the eloquence of facts (I trusted)
would clearly show to my husband that his wife and son had
acted right, when we had paid the legitimate owner for his
property.”\par

“And now, gentlemen, let me add this, only this, that I do
not mean to criticise anybody's actions or opinions, but, from
my point of view, I say, those laws which authorize you to
locate homesteads upon lands claimed as Mexican grants,
those laws are wrong, and good, just, moral citizens should
not be guided by them. Settlers should wait until the titles
are finally approved or rejected. See! look back and see all
the miseries that so many innocent families have suffered by
locating in good faith, their humble homes upon lands that
they were forced to abandon. Our law-givers doubtless mean
well, but they have—through lack of matured reflection, I
think, or lack of unbiased thought—legislated curses upon
this land of God's blessings. I love my country, as every true-hearted
American woman should, but, with shame and sorrow,
I acknowledge that we have treated the conquered Spaniards
most cruelly, and our law-givers have been most unjust to them.
Those poor, defenseless ones whom our Government pledged
its faith to protect, have been sadly despoiled and reduced to
poverty.\par

“I have only expressed my opinion, gentlemen; I mean no
slur upon yours. I hope you see now that I alone, {\itshape{I am}} the
one to blame for the purchase of the land which has given so
much offence. Good night, gentlemen.”\par

So profound was the silence following Mrs. Darrell's exit, that
a pin could have been heard drop. Romeo Hancock was the
first to find utterance to his amazement.\par

“By George,” he said, “but ain't she superb! I see now
where Clarence gets his good sense and correct ideas.”\par

At any other time, Darrell would have been proud of this
tribute paid to the wife he adored, with passionate, secret, unrevealed
tenderness, but now he was too angry. He even felt
angry at the longing to take to his heart that darling so resolute
and yet so gentle. This longing, when his pride clamored
that she was wrong and should be reproved, was an additional
torture to him. He remained silent.\par

“Well, I suppose that—in the language of the poets—‘this
settles our hash,’” Gasbang said, and laughed at his witticism,
as it was his habit to do.\par

Hughes and Miller laughed with him, but no one else. All
were deeply impressed with Mrs. Darrell's words.\par

“I wish she had told me this before,” Darrell said, and
resumed his recumbent position.\par

“Yes, why didn't she?” Gasbang asked.\par

“Because women are bound to do mischief,” Mathews replied.\par

“She stated her reasons very clearly,” Romeo said.\par

“What were they?” Mathews asked.\par

“Can your memory be failing you already, Mr. Mathews,
that you forget what you just heard, or are you getting hard of
hearing?” Romeo answered.\par

Mathews snorted and turned his back on Romeo. Everett
answered him, saying:\par

“My mother said that she wished the purchase to be kept
quiet until the Don should have his title. Then the fact of
the land being his, would prove the correctness of having paid
for what we took, and thus all discussions would have been
avoided. Unfortunately some busybody went to see the entry,
and came to herald his glorious discovery.”\par

“How did she know that the Don's title would not be
rejected?” Mathews inquired.\par

“Her good sense told her,” Romeo answered.\par

“I wasn't talking to you,” Mathews retorted, making all
laugh—and even Darrell smiled—but he looked very pale, and
Everett began to feel anxious, to see his pallor.\par

The conversation had now drifted to the subject of the coming
survey of the rancho.\par

“I heard that the surveyor will be on the ground by the first
of October,” Miller said.\par

“All right; that will give us plenty of time,” Gasbang observed.\par

Everett said something to Romeo, who then went and whispered
to his father, whereupon Old Hancock nodded an assent
and in a few moments said:\par

“Well, my friends, let us go home. For the present I don't
see that anything can be done. Mr. Darrell looks fatigued,
and I don't wonder at it, for we have bored him nearly to
death. Let him go to bed and rest.”\par

Evidently Mathews, Gasbang and others had no idea of
going home so early, but as Darrell said nothing, they reluctantly
arose and took their departure.\par

If Darrell had obeyed the impulse of his heart when he went
up-stairs to his bed-chamber, he would have taken his wife in
his arms and, with a kiss, made his peace with her; for he
knew her to be true, and always acting from the best motives.
But there was that streak of perversity within, which impelled
him to do or say the wrong thing, when at the same time an
inner voice was admonishing him to do the opposite.\par

“I am sorry, William, that I kept that matter of the land
purchase from you. Believe me, my husband, I did so out of
a desire to avoid discussions always painful to me. You seemed
so happy here, that I hated to bring up for argument any disagreeable
subject. It was a mistake; I regret it.”\par

“Yes, wise women generally put their foot in it,” said he,
turning his back on her.\par

“Can you forgive me? I am very sorry. And now I want
you to take a nice warm bath; after so much excitement it will
soothe you, and you will sleep sweetly. After all, it is better
that you know the whole thing now.”\par

“No thanks to you, though.”\par

“That is true, but you know my maxim.”\par

“Which one? Wise women have so many.”\par

“To accept blessings thankfully, even when they come in
disguise,” she replied, taking no notice of his sarcasm.\par

“I have yet to see the blessing in this.”\par

“You will to-morrow if you will only take care now of your
physical comfort—your health. Come, take a bath; it will
prevent your having a fever.”\par

“I don't want a bath; I feel badly.”\par

“That is why you should have it. I know your constitution
well—nothing would be better for you than warm bathing. Be
reasonable, please. I feel tired, too; I would like to go to
bed.”\par

“Why don't you, then?”\par

“Because I wanted first to see you resting for the night.”\par

“I don't know that I'll go to bed. I think I'll sleep in this
chair.”\par

“Very well, then, I shall go into Clarence's room and sleep
there! It would keep me awake to know that you were sitting
up.”\par

“Do as you please.”\par

“Can it be possible, William, that you refuse to go to bed
because you are too angry with me to have me lie by your
side?”\par

He said nothing, but looked very pale. She waited; he
never said a word.\par

“Very well, William, I am dismissed I suppose. If you
are sick or require anything, knock at Clarence's door. I
shall be there. Good night.”\par

“Good night.”\par

She went quietly into Clarence's room and lit a lamp. She
went to a hall closet and took a soft merino wrapper, came
back, locked her door, undressed herself, put the wrapper on,
and sat by the window to think.\par

“What fools men are? Such small vanity guides them. To
think that William should fling away happiness at the instigation
of a reptile like Gasbang! And you, my sweet boy, my
darling Clarence, how will this affect your happiness?” This
thought gave her the keenest pain.\par

While Mrs. Darrell was thus sadly meditating, her angry
lord was nearly choking with smothered rage—intensified a
hundred fold by his disappointment at being left alone without
his adored, worshipped Mary. Mrs. Darrell knew that her
husband loved her, but she had never guessed that torrent of
passion and devotion which rushed through that rugged nature
like a river plunging from Yosemite hights into unknown abysmal
depths.\par

Why would he not yield to her sweet entreaties to bathe and
take his comfort? Was it all perverse obstinacy? Partly, yes.
He had refused a warm bath and her sweet society, for the
very reason that those two were the things he most desired on
earth—he felt as if even his bones clamored for them. But
there was yet another equally strong motive in that very complex
nature—a motive stronger than obstinacy—compelling
him in spite of himself, and this was {\itshape{his bashfulness}}. He
feared that his wife might see the bruises on his arms and the
heavy welt that he knew there must be around his body, made
by the coil of the {\itshape{reata}}. He felt very sore, and his bruises
became more painful, but he would rather die than let any one
see his pitiful plight. And thus he sat up all night and would
not undress, or go to bed, or be comforted.\par

Towards morning he walked to the window and looked into
the valley, then his gaze wandered towards the Alamar house.
All the windows had the shutters closed and no light was seen
from them excepting one. He did not know what room that
was or who occupied it, but unconsciously he watched it—watched
the light he could see through the lace curtains. The
light became intercepted at regular intervals; so he concluded
that some one must be going and coming before that light.
He smiled, hoping that the Don might be as miserable as he
was—unable to sleep.\par

But the Don was sleeping. She who was awake, walking in
her solitary vigil, was Mercedes. Those beautiful blue eyes
had never closed in sleep all night.\par

She had been embroidering a {\itshape{mouchoir}} case for Clarence
that unfortunate afternoon of Darrell's performance, when she
heard loud talking in the piazza. At first she paid no attention
to it and went on with her work, hoping that Clarence would
return early, because her dream troubled her. The talking
becoming louder, and more voices being heard, she felt alarmed,
imagining that Clarence's horses had run away and he had been
hurt. She went out to inquire.\par

The entire Alamar family, as well as Mrs. Mechlin, George
and Lizzie, were in the veranda. All had seen Darrell's attempt
and subsequent steeple-chase. Now Gabriel and Victoriano
had returned and related what had passed in the hollow. Victoriano
was again overcome with laughter, which, being so
hearty and uncontrollable, became contagious. Even Gabriel
and Mr. Mechlin, who were less disposed to indulge in hilarity,
laughed a little. Mercedes was the only one who not even
smiled. She did not understand a word of what was said.
Gradually she began to comprehend, and she stood motionless,
listening, her pale lips firmly compressed, her eyes only showing
her agitation and how grieved she was; their dark-blue was
almost black, and they glowed like stars.\par

“Cheer up, little pussy. When Clarence comes he will undeceive
the old man, and all will be right,” said Don Mariano,
putting his arms around her yielding form and drawing her to
his heart.\par

“{\itshape{Palabra suelta, no tiene vuelta}},” Doña Josefa said. “Darrell
can never recall his insulting words.”\par

“But he can apologize for them,” Don Mariano said.\par

“And would that satisfy you?” Carlota asked.\par

“It would have to,” was the Don's answer.\par

“Oh! papa!” Rosario exclaimed.\par

“What then? Shall I go and shoot the old fool?”\par

“I believe he would enjoy that, he is so full of fight,” Victoriano
said, recommencing his laughing.\par

“I fear his anger will not abate as long as the bruises of the
{\itshape{reata}} remain painful,” Gabriel said, thoughtfully.\par

“Did you draw the {\itshape{lazo}} very tight?” Don Mariano asked.\par

“Not intentionally, but he himself did so by stooping forward
as his horse galloped. Every time he did so the noose became
more closely drawn until he could scarcely breathe.”\par

“This is a bad business, George,” the Don said to his son-in-law,
who had remained a silent listener to all.\par

“Yes, sir; but let us hope that between Clarence and Mrs.
Darrell they will pacify the old man. The thing now is to give
him time to cool off his anger,” George replied.\par

“If those squatters could be kept away, Darrell would come
to his senses much sooner,” Mr. Mechlin said.\par

“That's it exactly,” Gabriel added; “they make the mischief.”\par

“But why does he allow it?” Doña Josefa said.\par

“Because he loves the smell of gunpowder, and they are full
of it,” Tano explained.\par

“I think Mrs. Darrell ought to prevent those horrible creatures
from invading her house,” Carlota said.\par

“They only go to the ‘colony.’ The old buster wants them
there. He would smash the furniture if his pets were not
allowed to come to lick his boots,” Victoriano asserted, positively.\par

“You don't speak very respectfully of your future father-in-law,”
George said to Victoriano, laughing.\par

“Not at present. Not when I have just seen him running
away like a chicken thief, just caught with a turkey under each
arm,” Tano replied, lapsing into another fit of laughter.\par

“Oh, Tano! if you care for Alice, how can you so ridicule
her father?” Mercedes exclaimed, speaking for the first time.
And without waiting for a reply, she turned away and went to
her room.\par

There she remained inconsolable, her lovely face often
bathed in tears. She did not go to bed; she hoped that Clarence
might possibly have finished his business in town and
hurried back. She watched for the faintest sound all night.\par

In the morning Madame Halier came to see her, and immediately
went to report to Doña Josefa the state of Mercedes'
eyes. Don Mariano came in at once and took his pet in his
arms.\par

“Papa, you said you were going to-day. Please don't go,”
she begged.\par

“Why not, my pet? I shall go only a little ways with those
stupid Indians who keep letting the cattle turn back. I shall
return before dark,” he said, smoothing her golden hair.\par

“Papa, please don't go. I want you to be here when Clarence
returns. Let the cattle be. I want you here. You
may never see Clarence again in this world if you go.” And
she put her pale cheek against her father's and sobbed convulsively.\par

“What an idea! Why shouldn't I see Clarence again if I
ride one or two miles? My baby darling, you are too nervous.
You have cried all night, and now your mind is in a whirl of
sad visions. Do not exaggerate the mischief that Darrell
might do. He will probably say very insulting things to Clarence,
but Clarence is as true as steel, and has a very clear
head.”\par

“I know that. I am sure of him. He is so true. But,
papa, can I marry him after what his father said to you, and
when he tried to strike you? Can I marry him after that,
papa?”\par

“Why not, pray? What he said is an infamous lie, and because
Darrell chooses to indulge in mean thoughts and atrocious
language, is that a reason why you and Clarence should
be made wretched for life? If Darrell did not permit men
like Gasbang, and others influenced by Peter Roper, to come
near him, his ears would not hear such low, vulgar suggestions.
As long as we know that Clarence is a gentleman, and he behaves
as such, I shall not permit that you two be separated by
anything that Darrell may do or say.”\par

“But, papa, you will keep out of Mr. Darrell's way.”\par

“Certainly, my poor little darling. Don't be afraid; Darrell
will not attack me again.”\par

The Don talked in this consoling and reassuring way to his
favorite child until he saw that he had quieted her. She
promised to eat breakfast and then try to sleep.\par

“It won't do to look at Clarence through such swollen orbs.
You had better let Tano give you one of his graphic accounts
of the battle of Alamar, as he calls Darrell's performance, and
make you laugh.”\par

“No, I couldn't laugh. I wouldn't if I could.”\par

“Very well. To sleep is the best for you.”\par

He kissed her and soon after he and Gabriel went on their
way. They quickly overtook the herders, who were driving
the lot of cattle which had started at daylight. The Don was
confident of returning at sundown, and glad to leave Mercedes
more contented and hopeful, he rode away cheerfully.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxvii-darrell-astonishes-himself}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxvii-darrell-astonishes-himself}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXVII.—{\scshape{Darrell Astonishes Himself.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Mercedes felt so comforted by what her father had said,
that in less than ten minutes after he left she was sleeping like
the good child that she was. Madam Halier watched her
slumbers, coming to the door every few minutes. And when
she had slept and felt refreshed, she had a bath and a luncheon
of tea, cold chicken, fresh peaches with cream, and fresh
grapes just cut from the vines; then she was ready to dress
herself and take up her embroidery. She was afraid her eyes
would yet be too swollen for her to go into the parlor or
veranda, and perhaps meet George or Mr. Mechlin. So she
stayed in her room.\par

But she was missed, and George came to knock at her
door, and being asked to come in, he did so, making a profound
bow. Then counting on his fingers as he spoke, began:\par

“Doña Josefa, Doña Beatrice, Doña Carlota, Doña Rosario,
Doña Elvira, Doña Carolina, Doña Elizabeth, all request
the pleasure of your company at a canning performance to
take place this afternoon in the kitchen of Doña Beatrice.”\par

Mercedes laughed, asking: “Are they really going to do the
canning? Who knows about it?”\par

“They all know, theoretically, but as to practice, that ‘{\itshape{quién
sabe}}.’ However, they are going to peal peaches by the bushel
this evening, so they will all dine there.”\par

“Doesn't mamma expect papa to dinner?” asked she,
alarmed; “I hope so.”\par

“I'll go and inquire,” George said, going; but she followed
him, trembling—she did not know why. She took George's
arm, and both went to the piazza, where Carlota, Rosario
and Doña Josefa were waiting for George to go with them.\par

“Mamma, don't you expect papa to dinner?” asked she.\par

“Yes, but he might be late; so we will dine at Mrs.
Mechlin's, and he and Gabriel will take supper here on their
return.”\par

“I will wait for them here.”\par

“Will you not go to Mrs. Mechlin's?”\par

“No, please. I'll stay home.”\par

“Take my advice, and don't see Clarence yet,” Carlota
said.\par

“Why not, pray?”\par

“Because, after what his father did and said, the least you
have to do with the Darrells the more it will be to your honor,”
Rosario said, sententiously.\par

“And must I give up Clarence because—because his father
gets mad, and—and—”\par

“And insults your father, and insults you,” Carlota said.\par

“But that would be awful,” said she, looking at George,
who full of sympathy for his favorite sister-in-law, said:\par

“Do not worry about that now—you have suffered enough.
No doubt, Clarence will make it all right, if we only give him
time. All will be explained.”\par

“I doubt that,” Carlota said.\par

“I don't think Mercedes knows all that Darrell said. I
think Clarence himself will see the impossibility of his marrying
Mercedes as things are now,” Doña Josefa said.\par

“What are we to do?” Mercedes exclaimed, in low, tremulous
tones, that revealed all the desolation she felt.\par

“Try to be courageous, little sister,” Carlota said.\par

“What to do? Clarence himself ought to know—to separate
for the present. Will you marry the son of a man who
said of you and your father such horrible things?” Doña Josefa
asked.\par

“But Clarence is innocent, and so am I,” pleaded Mercedes,
with white lips.\par

“My daughter, do you not see that I {\itshape{must}} withdraw my permission
to your marriage now?”\par

“Will you tell that to Clarence?” asked Mercedes, frightened.\par

“Certainly, as soon as I see him.”\par

“And break our engagement?” she asked, with a voice
scarcely audible.\par

“Certainly. What else, my daughter?”\par

“I want to go to my room,” she said, slowly turning to go
back, walking as if in a dream.\par

George put his arm around her shoulder, and walked with
her.\par

“Don't be discouraged, my dear {\itshape{humanita}}. Doña Josefa is
justly indignant now, but her anger will pass off, and she will
see how absurd it will be to punish you and Clarence for the
sins of his ill-tempered, foolish father. The only thing now is
to drop the matter. ‘Least said, sooner mended,’ applies to
this case exactly.”\par

“I wish papa were here. He don't think as mamma does.
If mamma sees Clarence first, she will send him away. Oh!
that will be awful to me.”\par

“We will keep your mamma at our house until Don Mariano
returns. Tano will see Clarence first.”\par

When George left, Mercedes hurried to her bedside to
pray. In all the sad tribulations of her mind, her heart
turned to her Redeemer and the Blessed Virgin Mary. To
them she told all her grief, all her trials, and after begging to
be strengthened, she always arose from her bended knees
comforted.\par

This time, however, her convulsive sobs only became more
uncontrollable, as she poured out her great sorrow and terrible
fears before the pitying Mother of suffering humanity.\par

When her sobs were almost a paroxysm, Madame Halier,
who had come to the door to listen, went, and much excited,
told Doña Josefa that Mercita would certainly be ill if some
one didn't show a little humanity to her.\par

Doña Josefa hurried to Mercedes' room, and found her
still at her bedside sobbing and praying. Gently the mother
lifted her child and pressed her to her heart.\par

“Mercedes, darling, have courage. Your father and Clarence
will talk this matter over, and determine what is best to
do. Perhaps it might all be arranged.”\par

“You will not tell Clarence to—that—to go away?”\par

“Certainly not. But there must be some other arrangement
about the wedding. It will be postponed, perhaps. Darrell
could not be expected to be present, or he might wish the engagement
broken off.”\par

Carlota and Rosario came in to see how Mercedes felt, as
Madam Halier seemed to be so anxious and indignant with
everybody for their cruelty to Mercedes.\par

“If old Darrell wants the engagement broken off, then
my dear sister you must break it—else he will have a
good reason to say that papa wants to sell you, or to entrap
Clarence, for his money, into marrying you,” Rosario
said.\par

“Did Mr. Darrell say that?” Mercedes asked, blushing,
so that her pale face became suffused to the roots of her
hair.\par

“He said worse—but you had better hear no more.”\par

“That is awful!” the poor child exclaimed, clasping her
hands in eloquent protestation; then adding: “Mamma, I will
try to have courage. I don't know what I am to do. But
if my father has been so grossly insulted, I must feel for him.
I must not be selfish. I don't know what I'll do,” and the unhappy
girl pressed her hands to her forehead, as if to keep together
her distracted thoughts.\par

“I think the best thing for you to do is to go to bed. To-morrow
your father will see Clarence. That is George's
advice, and I think it is good,” said her mother, as she kissed
and embraced her, adding: “the sweet, blued-eyed baby is too
young to get married, any way, and can well wait four years,
and then be only twenty-two years old.” But seeing the blank
despair in those expressive eyes, Doña Josefa hastened to add:
“I don't say that you will wait that long, but that you are
young enough to do so.”\par

When Mercedes was again alone, she tried to think it was
her duty to her father to break her engagement. Her mind
utterly refused to see the matter in that light, but as her older
sisters had said her engagement ought to be broken off, and
her mother spoke of the wedding being postponed, it was
clear that she could not be married on the 16th. Would Clarence
be willing to wait? and these thoughts revolved around
her mind in a circle of coils, worse than the one which so enraged
and hurt Darrell.\par

Madam Halier and Victoriano ate their dinner alone—with
Milord for sole company. Poor Tano, though he had
laughed heartily at Darrell's plight, was scarcely less distressed
than Mercedes, and anxiously looked for Clarence's
return.\par

In the meantime this young gentleman was traveling at the
rate of twelve miles per hour, and would have come faster had
the road been better. He had been obliged to delay, because
Hubert had telegraphed that if he waited two hours he would
give him a definite answer about Gabriel's business. The answer
came, and it was all that could be desired. Gabriel could
go at any time, or wait until the first of October to take his
place at the bank. Clarence was delighted to have this good
news to carry to Mercedes, with the addition that Fred said
that the mines developed richer ores every day. He had an
offer of two million dollars for his mines—but both Hubert
and Fred advised him not to sell.\par

With these cheerful thoughts, he was getting into his
phæton, when the notary, who had made the entry of Don
Mariano's conveyance, came close to him, and said in a low
voice, and looking mysteriously around:\par

“Look here, it may be nothing, but those two fellows are so
tricky and slippery that I always imagine they are up to something,
and both have been twice to look in my books at
the entry of the land conveyance which Señor Alamar
made to you. They might mean mischief, though I don't
see how.”\par

“Of whom are you speaking?” Clarence asked.\par

“Of Roper and Gasbang. Why should they wish to know
about that conveyance?”\par

“I don't know; but I am sure it is for no good. When did
they look at the entry?”\par

“About two days ago, the last time. When they first looked
at it I was not at home. My wife was at my office when Roper
came and asked permission to see the date of a conveyance
which he himself had made. This was only a ruse.
Two days after he came and told me that one of his clients
wanted to buy land from Darrell, and wished to see what sort
of a title he had. I, of course, let him see it. Gasbang came
after, and that made me suspicious.”\par

Clarence thanked the notary, and drove home as fast as
the uneven road permitted. He felt that he must at last
disclose to his father all about that land transaction, and
feared that he would be angry. His fears, he saw, were only
too well founded as soon as he arrived home.\par

The family were at supper when he drove up to the door.
On hearing the sound of wheels, Everett left the table and
hastened to meet him. All his brothers and sisters would
gladly have done the same, but a look from their mother kept
them in their chairs.\par

In a few words Everett condensed the unfortunate occurrences
of the previous day and evening, ending his hurried
statement by saying that the entire family hoped that Clarence's
influence might appease their father's irritation when
nothing else would.\par

“No; I am sure that if mother has failed, I shall have no
effect at all,” Clarence said. “But are you sure that there is
nothing else to anger him? The fact alone of my having paid for
the land, and at my mother's request, would not so infuriate
him while in his normal state of mind. There must be some
{\itshape{other}} irritating circumstance.”\par

“None that we know of.”\par

“I am glad he did not strike the Don.”\par

“So am I, though I have a big bump to testify that he
struck {\itshape{me}}, and I suppose Tano has another to speak for
him.”\par

Clarence told the servant who came to take the horses to
the stable to leave them where they were, only throwing a
blanket on, as he had driven them very fast. He and Everett
then walked into the hall, carrying some small parcels which
he (as usual) had brought home—one of those parcels being a
beautiful pipe, for which he had paid forty dollars, and a lot of
fine tobacco, for his father.\par

Placing them on the hall table, he said to Everett: “I suppose
father would rather throw this tobacco into my eyes than
put it in his pipe and smoke it.”\par

Everett laughed at this, thinking it rather a witticism under
the circumstances, and was still laughing when both went into
the dining-room.\par

Clarence said good evening to all, kissing his mother as he
took his seat beside her. Darrell never lifted his eyes, paying
no attention to his son.\par

“What made you laugh just now, Retty?” Willie asked.\par

“Something that Clary said,” answered Everett.\par

“Was it anything funny?”\par

“It must have been; but you needn't hear it.”\par

“But I want to hear it,” he insisted.\par

“It must have been about your father, he is the funny man
now—the laughing stock,” said Darrell to Willie; then to
Clarence: “We have had circus performances. Your father
distinguished himself by performing {\itshape{in}} the tight rope, with
Don Gabriel—a very tight rope,” he said, making a semi-circular
sign around his body with both hands, and nodding his
head at Clarence by way of emphasis, or as if he challenged
him to contradict his statement.\par

“Oh, father! I am very sorry,” was all that Clarence could
answer.\par

The entire family were almost choking with suppressed
laughter, but none dare give vent to it.\par

“Why don't you laugh—all of you?” asked he, looking
around fiercely.\par

“Because you frighten their laughter away,” Mrs. Darrell
replied. “They fear to offend you.”\par

“Offend me? {\itshape{Me?}} And since when such consideration?
Since when, I say?”\par

“Since they were old enough to know you as their father,”
calmly replied Mrs. Darrell.\par

“Ah! I am glad to hear it. Well, sir,” he said, addressing
Clarence again, to the terror of all the family, “I have at last
learned that you have been making clandestine bargains
with your future father-in-law, placing me in a most ridiculous
position, for which I don't thank you.”\par

“I am sorry, father. My intention was most kind,” Clarence
answered, respectfully, but very calmly.\par

“You only thought that as I was a fool, you would be my
sense-bearer, and act for me—you, the man of brains.”\par

“No, sir. All I thought was, that as you seem to love
my mother, you would prefer to give her the kind of home
that she desires. I thought that when you came to know
all, you would approve of my having obeyed my mother's
wishes.”\par

“If you were so sure of my approval, why didn't you tell me
the whole thing before?”\par

“Because I was pledged to my mother not to do so. I was
bound to be silent.”\par

“By George!” said Darrell, striking the table with his fist,
making all the glasses and cups dance; “and for all that nonsense
I have been made a laughing stock, a ridiculous, trusting
fool—an ass!”\par

“No one will think that but yourself,” Mrs. Darrell said;
“and you will change your mind, I hope.”\par

“And how do you know that?”\par

“I was supposing that people reason in the way that in all
my life I have believed to be correct.”\par

“Yes, what {\itshape{you}} believe to be correct no one else has any
right to think differently.”\par

“Whether they have or not, I shall not interfere.”\par

“No, you only wanted to interfere with me.”\par

“Certainly. As my life is united to yours, I am obliged to
try and prevent such of your actions as will make me unhappy.”\par

“An excellent doctrine for wives—for mothers to teach their
children—and we see the result now.”\par

Mrs. Darrell was pleased that his attacks seemed directed to
herself instead of Clarence, but she felt prematurely relieved,
for now he came down upon Clarence. He said:\par

“Well, sir, since yourself and your mother have bought this
land, and since I am an unreclaimed {\itshape{squatter}}, I suppose I had
better leave this place, and go back to Alameda again. I suppose
I can have that place again?”\par

“You will not have to lease it, father; you can have it rent
free, as long as you live, if you prefer to reside there,” Clarence
replied.\par

“How is that?”\par

“I bought the place, and if you wish you can live in it.”\par

“You? {\itshape{You}} bought the place! Then, by George! {\itshape{you}}
have managed to coop me up,” said Mr. Darrell, drawing down
the corners of his mouth and elevating his shoulders deprecatingly,
as if he thought Clarence was a voracious land-grabber,
who wanted to appropriate to himself all the vacant land in the
United States.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{don-t-say-that-please-the-place-was-for-sale-hubert-telegraphed-me-and-i-telegraphed-back-to-buy-it}%
\hypertarget{don-t-say-that-please-the-place-was-for-sale-hubert-telegraphed-me-and-i-telegraphed-back-to-buy-it}{}%
\vskip 3.5ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Large\bfseries%
“Don't say that, please. The place was for sale, Hubert telegraphed me, and I telegraphed back to buy it.”}

\unskip\vskip 2.3ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
“I didn't know you were so rich,” he answered, sneeringly.\par

Clarence made no reply.\par

“Well, I must admit you have cornered me completely; but
as I don't want to live on the bounty of my rich son, I must
get out of this place.”\par

“You can refund me the price of one hundred and sixty
acres, father, if you are too proud to accept that from me,
which is little enough, considering your generosity to me all
my life. The other two claims, you know, you said would be
one for Retty and the other for myself. This house and the orchards
are all on your claim.”\par

“I have taken a dislike to the whole thing,” said he, waiving
his hand, as if to shift the position of the land in question.
“You can have it all, together with the Alameda farm. There
are other lands in California.”\par

Mrs. Darrell and Clarence looked at each other. The case
seemed hopeless. All were silent.\par

Mr. Darrell continued: “All I want before I leave here is
to give your greaser father-in-law a sound thrashing and another
to that puppy, Gabriel, who is so airy and proud,
and such an exquisite, that it will be delightful to spoil his
beauty.”\par

“But why should you wish to do that? What has Don Mariano
done to you? and if Don Gabriel threw his {\itshape{lazo}} on you,
it was to protect his father.”\par

“What has the old greaser done? He inveigled you into
that land business, and you together have made me ridiculous.
That is what the matter is.”\par

“Then you don't believe me?” Mrs. Darrell said.\par

“Don't you take so much credit to yourself, and throw
yourself into the breach like a heroine. If the Don hadn't had
that pretty daughter, Clarence would not have been so obedient
to his mother, perhaps.”\par

Clarence rose to his feet, very pale, but he sat down again,
and controlling himself, said as calmly as possible:\par

“I had never seen one, not one of Don Mariano's daughters
when I went to offer to pay for this land.”\par

“Do you mean that you wouldn't have done so if your
mother hadn't wished it?”\par

“No sir, not that. I think I would, for I felt great sympathy
with the Don for the contemptible manner in which
the squatters received the propositions he made them. I
was convinced then that the land belonged to him, and
nobody had a right to take it without paying for it.”\par

“Aha! I knew we would come to that,” said Darrell, sternly,
glaring at his son. “I was a thieving squatter, of course,
and that is what you said to your greaser father-in-law, who
to reward your high sense of honor, took you to the bosom of
his family. The cowardly dog, who will take insults and not
resent them, but has puppies at his heels to throw {\itshape{lasooing}} at
people.”\par

“Pshaw! I never thought you capable of—”\par

“Of what? Insulting those greasers?”\par

“They are gentlemen, no matter how much you may wish to
besmear them with low epithets.”\par

“Gentlemen that won't fight.”\par

“They told you they would fight {\itshape{like gentlemen}}.”\par

“Who told you that?”\par

“I did, father. I heard Don Mariano and Don Gabriel both
tell you that,” Everett said.\par

“If they are so ready to fight, why didn't they do it
when I told the old dog that the bait to catch you was his
daughter?”\par

“What! Did you say that?” asked Clarence, reddening to
the roots of his hair, his face quickly blanching again.\par

“I did—in clear language.”\par

“In dirty, low, nasty language, and it is you who are the
coward, to insult {\itshape{me}} under the shelter of your paternal privileges,”
said Clarence, rising. “You have been taunting me
until I can bear it no longer. I suppose you wish to drive me
from your house. Be it so. I leave now—never to enter it
again.”\par

“That suits me. You are too {\itshape{greasy}} for both of us to live
under the same roof,” said Darrell, contemptuously, with a
gesture of disgust.\par

“Good-by, mother; good-by, my sisters; good-by, boys—take
care of mother and the girls. God bless you.”\par

With a piercing cry, that rang through the house, Alice
ran to Clarence, and throwing her arms around his neck,
said:\par

“Kiss me, my darling, for if you leave us I shall be
wretched until you return. Oh! I can't let you go.”\par

Tenderly Clarence pressed his sister to his heart. He felt
her arms relaxing, her head fell back, and she closed her eyes.
Lovingly he then lifted her, and placing her upon a lounge,
said:\par

“Alice has fainted, mother. My sweet sister, how dearly I
love her, God only knows.”\par

He covered her face with kisses, while his own was bathed
in tears. Without lifting his eyes or saying another word, he
walked out into the darkness.\par

The delicious, fragrant air, loaded with the perfume of roses
and honeysuckle and heliotrope, seemed to breathe a farewell
caress over his heated brow, and the recollection of the loving
care he had bestowed upon these flowers when he planted
them to welcome his mother, flashed through his memory
with a pang. He sighed and passed into the gloom, overpowered
with a dread that made him feel chilled to the heart.
It seemed to him as if an unseen voice was warning him of a
dire misfortune he could not perceive nor avert. What could
it be? Was Mercedes to be taken from him? Would her
family object to him on account of his father's ruffianly behavior?
Could he claim to be a gentleman, being the son of
that rough? These thoughts flashed through his mind, filling
him with sickening dismay and inexpressible disgust. Would
he dare stand in the presence of Mercedes now? Or, would
he return to town at this late hour? Where could he go for a
shelter that night?\par

Mechanically he walked to the phæton, got into it and took
the reins to drive off.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxviii-shall-it-be-forever}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxviii-shall-it-be-forever}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXVIII.—{\scshape{Shall it be Forever?}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
Everett followed Clarence and got into the phæton with him.\par

“My dear brother,” said Clarence, in a hoarse voice that
sounded unnatural, as if coming from a great depth, “I would
like to have your company, but as I am not coming back, I
can't take you with me.”\par

“No matter; drive off. I'll go with you a little ways, and
will walk back,” said Everett. Clarence turned his horses and
drove away through the middle drive in the front lawn, and
was out of the gate before he fully realized that he himself was
driven away from the paternal roof.\par

“Retty, you did not tell me that my father had insulted my
darling so grossly. I wish you had, for I would not have gone
inside the house,” Clarence said, with a sigh.\par

“It was so horrible, I couldn't. Forgive me, dear Clary.”\par

“Certainly; I can't blame you.”\par

“Are you going to Don Mariano's?”\par

“Yes. I will ask Tano to give me a place to sleep; that is,
if Doña Josefa is not too disgusted to tolerate a Darrell under
her roof.”\par

“I am sure they feel nothing but kindness for you.”\par

“I hope so; but should she wish to break the engagement,
I will not stay. I'll drive to town to-night and take the boat
for San Francisco, which is not to leave until to-morrow at daylight.
I'll have time, I think.”\par

“Don't do that. Wait for the Don, if he is not in now.”\par

“I may, but I don't know. I dread to see Mercedes. I
feel so humiliated, so ashamed. What can I say to her?”\par

At the foot of the hill Clarence stopped his horses to send to
his mother and sisters—especially to Alice—loving messages.
He also said if he should miss seeing Don Mariano, Everett
would say that he would write from San Francisco, and would
return at any moment, if Mercedes called him.\par

“But you will see her yourself,” Everett said.\par

“I hope so,” said the disheartened Clarence, driving up
toward the house in which he felt his fate would be decided.
Victoriano had heard the phæton's wheels and came out to
meet it.\par

“I am so glad to see you, old fellow,” said he to Clarence;
“it seems an age since sundown.”\par

“I was detained in town about that business of Don Gabriel,
but it is all arranged. He can take his place at the bank now,
whenever he wishes, or wait until the 1st of October; it will be
kept for him. Then I had my own business about the mine.
That is all right, too. I only wish that things had gone on as
well at home.”\par

“So do I, but it has been awful. Retty told you.”\par

“Yes, I know it all now.”\par

“Unfortunately I did not tell him father's insulting remarks
about Miss Mercedes,” sadly observed Everett.\par

“Yes, had I known that, I would not have gone into the
house. But I went, and father had the satisfaction of saying it
to me himself; and on my telling him what I thought about it,
he expressed himself willing that I should take myself off. So
here I am, driven from home, and I came to ask you for a bed
to-night, as I am very tired.”\par

“And hungry, too. Father spoiled his supper with his courteous
remarks,” added Everett.\par

“Come, my dear boy; no one is more welcome to this whole
house,” Victoriano said, with true Spanish hospitality, much
intensified by present circumstances. “Come; father will soon
be here. At present, Mercedes, Madame Halier Milord and
myself only are at home. Mother and the rest are at the
Mechlins. Come in; come, Retty.”\par

“No. I'll say good-by to Clary now and walk home.”\par

“But this is awful,” Victoriano said, as if beginning to realize
the situation. “For Heaven's sake, where are you going?
And why must you go?”\par

“I will not if Mercedes does not send me away. If she
does, I shall go first to San Francisco, and thence God only
knows where,” was Clarence's reply.\par

“She won't send you away; she shan't. If you only knew
how the poor little thing cried, so that this morning literally
she could not see out of her eyes, you would then know how
she feels. She told me that if she lost all hope of being your
wife she would lie down and die. She felt better this morning
when father left, as he told her he would arrange everything
with you so that the wedding should not be postponed. Then
she was comforted and went to sleep. But—” And Victoriano
stopped.\par

“But what? Better tell me all, dear Tano,” said Clarence.\par

“Well, I was going to say that she is again unhappy because
Lotte and Rosy told her what your father said. She had not
heard that part of the trouble before.”\par

Clarence stood silent with one foot upon the first step. He
was calculating the chances against him. He turned to Victoriano,
and, with a sickly smile that was truly painful to see,
said:\par

“My heart misgives me, dear Tano; I cannot blame her if
she considers my father's words unpardonable.”\par

“But they were not {\itshape{your}} words,” Everett interposed. “You
are not to blame if your father forgets {\itshape{himself}} and makes a
brute of {\itshape{himself}}. I almost hate him. Courage, dear Clary.”\par

“Yes, remember, ‘Faint heart never won fair lady,’” Victoriano
added, and the quotation brought such sweet recollections to
poor Clarence's troubled mind, that he staggered as he went
up the steps. But, with a renewed effort over himself, he
managed to stand firmly, and to say to Everett:\par

“I suppose we must part now, dear brother.”\par

Everett threw his arms around him, and for a few moments
both brothers held each other in close, silent embrace.\par

“Cheer up, boys. Don't think you are to part,” said Victoriano,
with assumed cheerfulness. “You must come to breakfast
with us to-morrow Retty. When father comes he and
Clary will concoct some plan so as not to postpone the wedding.
Come, I'll take you home. I'll let Mercedes know first
that Clarence is here.” So saying he walked into the house.
Returning in a few moments, he said:\par

“Walk in, Clary. Mercedes will be in the parlor in a minute.
Now, Retty, I'll take you home.”\par

While both drove to the Darrells, Clarence went in the parlor
to wait with beating heart Mercedes' coming. He walked
about the room looking at every object in it without seeing
anything. When he heard the rustle of her dress, he stood by
the piano with his arms crossed over his breast as if trying to
compress the wild throbbing of his heart. He was pale to the
lips and his eyes had an expression of longing, of beseeching
tenderness, that was far more sad and eloquent than tears
would have been. Mercedes came in, followed by her faithful
Milord, who, seeing that Clarence paid no attention to him,
turned up his nose in mild resentment and went to lie down
upon the rug in front of the fire-place. She offered to Clarence
her hand in silence. In silence he took it, kissed it and led
her to a sofa, sitting down by her side. She was the first to
speak. Looking into his eyes, she said:\par

“Clarence, must we part? I have such, faith in your truth
that I believe you will candidly tell me your opinion, even if it
kills both of us. Am I right?”\par

“My darling, what is it? Do not put me to a test that may
be too hard, for I tell you frankly I can give up my life, but
not my love. Not you! my own! Oh, no; anything but
that. Not that.” So saying, he took both her hands—the
beauty of which he so loved—and kissed them warmly, all the
time fearing that if she said to him that she must break off
their engagement, he must submit, as he could not blame her
if she considered him beneath her love. “What is it you wish
to ask me? Oh, my angel! be merciful!”\par

“I wish to ask you what must I do when your father has
said such frightful things to my papa? Am I obliged and in
duty bound to decline a tie which will create any relationship
with him?”\par

Clarence was silent, still holding the dear little hands. His
face flushed with shame, but became pale again as he replied:\par

“It would have been more difficult to solve that problem if
my father himself had not done so by driving me off. I am
exiled now—driven away from home. I doubt whether he
would consider you related to him by being my wife now.”\par

“I am glad of that,” said she, quickly, but then checking
herself, and a little abashed by what she thought the hasty expression
of a selfish feeling, she said: “Forgive me; I don't
mean I am glad he should drive you away, but that since he
has cut you off—and yet—he cannot do that. How can he?”\par

“He has done so. That proves he can, doesn't it?”\par

“No, Clarence. No matter what he does he is still your
father.”\par

Clarence leaned his head back on the sofa and looked at
the chandelier in silence for some moments, then said:\par

“Yes, he is my father, but not the father he used to be. There
are different kinds of fathers. Some are kind and good, others
are most unnatural and cruel. Are they entitled to the same
love and respect?”\par

“But was he ever cruel to you before?”\par

“Never. He has been always most kind and indulgent to
all his children, but especially so to Alice and myself.”\par

“Then, Clarence, for this one fault, all his life of kindness
and devotion must not be forgotten.”\par

“Oh, my darling! are you going to plead for him and
forget my misery? My heart is bleeding yet with the pain
of leaving home, and if your indulgence to him means that I
must bear the burden of his fault, {\itshape{I then—I must suffer
alone}}!”\par

“I do not wish you to suffer at all. If there is to be any
suffering, I shall share it with you. No. All I say is that if
Mr. Darrell is so angry at my papa and myself, we had better
postpone our wedding until—”\par

Clarence sprang to his feet, and with hands pressed to his
forehead, began pacing the room, greatly agitated, but without
speaking a word.\par

“Clarence, hear me. It will only be for a little while.”\par

He shook his head, and continued his walk—his mind a
prey to the wildest despair.\par

“Would it not be very unbecoming for us to marry now,
and your family not be present at the wedding?”\par

“Why shouldn't they be present? All would be but father,
and in the furious state of his feelings he had better be away—a
great deal better—far, far away.”\par

“Since he is so furious, I don't think he would like his wife
and children to be at our wedding.”\par

“Mercedes, tell me frankly,” said he, resuming his place
at her side: “tell me, has my father's outrageous conduct
made me lose caste in your estimation? If so, I shall not
blame you, because when a man acts so ungentlemanly, so
ruffianly, it is fair to suppose that his sons might do the
same.”\par

“Never! Such an idea never entered my mind. How
could it?” said Mercedes, with great earnestness.\par

“If it did not, it is because you are good and generous.
Still, perhaps, it is selfish in me to keep you to your engagement
with the son of such a rough. I release you, Mercedes.
You are free,” he said, and he closed his eyes and leaned his
head again on the back of the sofa. A sensation of icy coldness
came over him, and he thought that death must come
like that. But for all that mental agony, he still thought Mercedes
would be right in rejecting him.\par

The whole scene as described to him by Everett, when his
father was uttering those low insults to Don Mariano, came
vividly before him, and he thought it would be impossible for
Mercedes not to feel a sense of humiliation in uniting herself
to him—he, the son of that brutish fellow—that rough. He
arose, and his pallor was so great that Mercedes thought he
must be ill.\par

“Mercedes, we part now. Heaven bless you.”\par

“Clarence, you are ill. What do you mean? Will you not
wait for papa?”\par

“No. I had better go now.”\par

“You misunderstood me, I think, else how could you think
of going?”\par

“Did you not say that our wedding had better be postponed?
And does that not mean that it may never, {\itshape{never}}
be?”\par

“Why should it mean that?”\par

“Because, how can we measure the duration of an anger so
senseless? It might last years. No, Mercedes, I feel that you
have the right to reject me. I shall be so very wretched without
you, that I would beg and entreat, but—”\par

“Clarence, I do not reject you, and I have no right, no wish,
to do so. Please do not say that.”\par

“Will you be mine—my wife—after all the ruffianly words
my father has said?”\par

“Certainly. Why should I blame you?”\par

“My own, my sweet wife. Oh! how dearly I love you!
The strength of my love makes my heart ache. Will you call
me when you think you can consent to our wedding?”\par

“What do you mean by asking if I will {\itshape{call}} you?”\par

“I mean that if our marriage is to be postponed, I shall
leave you, but shall be ready to obey your call, and I pray I
may not wait for it a long time. And I say this, also, that if
upon reflection you decide to cast me off, I shall not complain,
because—because my father has lowered me. I am not
the same Clarence I was two days ago. You cannot feel proud
of me now.”\par

“But I do. Please do not say those dreadful things. Why
should you go away?”\par

“Because it is best, as long as our marriage is to be postponed.
My presence here will be a cause of irritation to my
father, and goodness knows what he might not do in his angry
mood. If you would not feel humiliated by marrying me, the
best thing would be to have a quiet wedding immediately, with
only the members of your family present, and not invite guests
at all, and then we would take the steamer to San Francisco,
and go to our home there.”\par

“I don't think mamma would consent to that.”\par

“Then, my darling, I must leave you now. I will return to
town, and take the steamer which leaves at daylight, I shall
abide implicitly by what you decide. Make known your wishes,
and I shall obey.”\par

“You are offended, Clarence, and I do not know how I
have incurred your displeasure,” she said in those tones of her
voice which were the most thrilling to him—most sure of going
straight to his heart.\par

Silently he approached her, and kneeling at her feet, he put
his arms around the slender and graceful form he idolized so
fervently. He rested his head on her shoulder for a few moments,
then with a sigh, that seemed to come from his very
soul, he said:\par

“I am not offended, my sweet rosebud, but I am very miserable.
Pity me. You see, on my knees I beg you to marry
me now—immediately—in two days. If not, I must go now—to-night.
Say, will you marry me, as I {\itshape{beg}} of you?”\par

“Oh, Clarence, why do you ask me? How can I tell? You
will have to ask papa and mamma.”\par

“Will they consent?”\par

“Papa, perhaps; but I fear mamma will not approve of such
a hasty marriage.”\par

“That is so. Perhaps I am unreasonable. Good-by, my
beloved. Will you call me back soon?”\par

“Clarence, you are not going? How can you?”\par

“I must. Do not ask me to remain, under the circumstances,
unless it is to make you my wife. I cannot.”\par

He pressed her to his heart in a long, tender embrace. He
arose, and gazed at her sweet face so sadly, that she felt a pang
of keen distress and apprehension.\par

“Clarence, do not look at me so sadly. Please remain until
papa comes. Do not go. You might never see him.”\par

“I must, or I will lose the steamer. Farewell, my own
sweet love.”\par

He clasped her to his heart, and wildly covered her face
with kisses. Then, without daring to look back, hurried
out of the room into the hall, across the piazza and down
the garden-path to the gate, where his phæton had been left
by Victoriano, after having taken Everett home.\par

“She must naturally hesitate to marry the son of a man who
can act and has acted as my father did. I cannot blame her.
I ought to respect her for it. Oh, pitying God! how wretched
I am! Farewell, happiness for me.”\par

Muttering this short soliloquy, Clarence drove quickly
down the incline leading to the main road.\par

When the last sound of his footsteps died away, a feeling of
utter desolation rushed upon Mercedes. The silence of the
house was appalling. In that silence it seemed to her as if a
life of lonely misery was suddenly revealed. To lose Clarence,
was to lose happiness forevermore. Shocked and terrified
at her loneliness, with no hope of seeing him again, she
rushed out and ran to the gate, calling him. She saw that
he was driving fast, and would soon be crossing the dry bed of
the brook to take the main road. Once there he would be too
far to hear her voice. She ran out of the gate and turned to the
right into a narrow path that also led to the main road, going
across the hill through the low bushes and a few elder trees
near the house, thus cutting off more than half the distance.
Loudly she called his name, again and again, running in
the narrow path as fast as her strength allowed. She heard
the sound of the phæton's wheels as they grated harshly
on the pebbles of the brook, and then all was silent again.\par

“Oh, my darling is gone,” said she, and the ground swelled
and moved under her feet, and the trees went round in mad
circles, and she knew no more. She had fallen down fainting,
with no one near her but her faithful Milord, who had followed
her, and now nestled by her side.\par

Clarence had heard her voice call to him, and tried to turn
his horses immediately, but they were going down the hill too
fast to turn without danger of upsetting; he saw he must first
get to the foot of the hill, and turn when he reached the
brook. He did so, and with heart-throbs of renewed hope,
he re-ascended the hill and hurried to the house. At the door
he met Madam Halier, who was blinking at the hall lamp as
if just awakened from a sound sleep. Clarence asked for Miss
Mercedes.\par

“I think madamoiselle has just gone down to Madame
Mechlin's. I heard her calling Tano, and that woke me up.
I had just dropped off into a short nap of five minutes—{\itshape{just}}
five minutes.”\par

“I thought I heard her voice in this direction,” said Clarence,
pointing to the opposite side.\par

“Oh, no. I think she was afraid to go to Mrs. Mechlin's
alone, and she called her brother. But she has been
anxious to see you all day. I will send a servant to say
you have come. Walk in. Had you a pleasant drive from
town?”\par

“Madam, I have seen Miss Mercedes since my return
from town. I had said farewell, and was driving away,
when I thought I heard her voice calling me. Perhaps I
was mistaken, but I think not. Where has she gone, I
wonder?”\par

“To Madam Mechlin's, monsieur.”\par

“Be it so. Good-by, madam,” said he, extending his
hand.\par

“But will you not wait for madamoiselle?”\par

“No, madam; if she did not call me, I need not wait.”\par

This time Clarence drove slowly down the hill, looking at
both sides of the road, peering under the trees and bushes,
still impressed with the idea that he might see her form or
hear her voice. The moon was just rising, casting long
shadows as it arose, but the shadow of that beloved, graceful
form was nowhere to be seen. This added disappointment was
added bitterness to his cup of misery, and he began to feel sick
in body and mind, and he saw in himself a most wretched outcast.\par

Tano and Doña Josefa now came and saw the phæton
ascending the hill on the other side of the brook.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxix-hasty-decisions-repented-leisurely}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxix-hasty-decisions-repented-leisurely}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXIX.—{\scshape{Hasty Decisions Repented Leisurely.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
When Victoriano had left Everett at his front door, exacting
the promise that he would come to breakfast with Clarence
next morning, he merely delayed long enough to learn that
Alice was quiet, and Mrs. Darrell thought that with a night's
rest she would be well next day. He then drove back home,
and thinking that Clarence was going to stay, left the phæton
at the front gate to run down through the side gate to Mrs.
Mechlin's, to call his mother and say to her that Clarence had
been sent off by his father, and had come to their house to
pass the night. But as he hurried through the front garden,
Victoriano remembered that the horses had to be put in the
stable and taken care of, so he went in the kitchen to tell a
servant he must attend to the horses immediately.\par

“Yes, {\itshape{patroncito}}, I'll do it right away,” said the lazy Indian,
who first had to stretch himself and yawn several times, then
hunt up tobacco and cigarette paper, and smoke his cigarette.
This done, he, having had a heavy supper, shuffled
lazily to the front of the house, as Clarence was driving down
the hill for the second time, and Doña Josefa and Victoriano
returning from Mrs. Mechlin, came in through the garden side
gate.\par

“Who is going in that carriage?” was the first question put
by Victoriano to Madame Halier.\par

“It is Monsieur Clarence.”\par

“And where is Mercedes?”\par

“She called you to go to Madame Mechlin's.”\par

“No such thing,” said Victoriano, going to look in the parlor;
returning immediately to renew his questions.\par

But the madame could do no more than repeat all she
knew, which was little enough, and that little thoroughly
mixed in her mind.\par

All that Victoriano and Doña Josefa could ascertain, with
some clearness, was that Clarence was going, and had come
back, thinking that Mercedes had called him, but that on being
told that Mercedes had called Tano to accompany her to
Mrs. Mechlin's, he had gone away.\par

“I must overtake Clarence. There is some misunderstanding
here, that is plain,” said Victoriano, going to the back
piazza to call a servant.\par

This time Chapo came a little quicker, not knowing whether
he would be to blame, because the {\itshape{Americano}} went off with
his horses before he had time to put them in the stable.\par

“Bring me my bay horse, saddled, in two minutes, do you
hear? Two minutes—not two hours—go quick.”\par

“We cannot find Mercita. She is not in the house,” said
Doña Josefa to her son, much alarmed.\par

“She must be, mother. Call the other girls. Look again
for her. I must run after Clarence, and learn why he is going,
instead of passing the night here.”\par

Fifteen minutes after Clarence had left, Victoriano was galloping
behind him, wondering why he could not see him anywhere
on the road.\par

Madame Halier and Doña Josefa continued looking for
Mercedes most anxiously, but in vain. George now came up,
and joined in the search for the missing girl.\par

As Victoriano crossed the brook and ascended the hill beyond
it, Don Mariano and Gabriel came up into the court-yard.
They immediately hurried into the house, Don Mariano
knowing that Mercedes would be anxious for him to talk
with Clarence.\par

Doña Josefa and the madame met them at the door, and
related as well as they knew all that had occurred. They all
agreed that the matter had better be kept from the servants, if
possible, and they all went out by the front gate again, since
it was useless to search in the direction of Mrs. Mechlin's
house. Don Mariano and Gabriel saw George follow the
path to the right and disappear. They followed him. George
had heard the barking of a dog in the distance, and at first
paid no attention to it, but when the barking would be followed
by most piteous howls, he listened, and thought he recognized
the plaintive whining of Milord. He followed the
path, and as he did so, came nearer to the barking, and soon
after Milord himself met him, with demonstrations of great
satisfaction.\par

George had no doubt now of finding Mercedes. He let
Milord be the guide, and run ahead, he following. In a few
minutes he saw something white on the ground, and immediately
after recognized Mercedes' form lying motionless across
the path, as she had fallen. In a moment George had lifted
her insensible form in his arms, calling out he had found her.\par

Don Mariano ran to him, but Gabriel, being more active,
passed him, and was quickly at George's side, gazing anxiously
at his sister's face.\par

“Give her to me, George,” said Don Mariano, in a hoarse
whisper, for he was so agitated he could scarcely speak. “Give
my baby to me.”\par

“Wait a little while. I'll carry her a little longer,” said
George, holding the unconscious girl.\par

“Father is too agitated to be steady enough just now,” said
Gabriel. “I'll carry her.”\par

“Let me see her face, for God's sake! Has she no life?”
Don Mariano exclaimed.\par

“Oh, yes. She has fainted only. We will soon restore her
to consciousness. Don't be alarmed. I think the parting with
Clarence has nearly killed her—but she is alive,” George
said.\par

“But why did they part? Why did he go?” Don Mariano
asked.\par

“That is as much a mystery to me as to you,” George replied.\par

The fainting girl was tenderly placed in her bed, and all the
care that loving hearts could bestow was lavished on her. But
nearly two hours elapsed before she returned to consciousness.
Then, after looking vaguely about the room for some
minutes, an expression of pain came over her face, and looking
at her father, she asked for Clarence.\par

“Victoriano has gone to call him,” Don Mariano replied,
hoping that this little fiction would come true, and believing it
would if Victoriano could overtake the fugitive.\par

“I am so glad,” she said, and with a sigh closed her eyes,
lying so calmly that it was difficult to see whether she had
relapsed into a swoon, or lay so quiet from sheer exhaustion.\par

In the meantime, he for whose love all this misery was suffered—and
who shared it fully—was flying onward as rapidly
as a couple of fast thoroughbreds could take him. Victoriano
followed at full gallop, confident of overtaking him, or if not, of
being in town before the steamer left. But the fates decided
it should not be as the heart of the anxious rider wished, and
when he rode up to the wharf the steamer was leaving it. He
could see its lights moving swiftly away, and hear the shaking
and revolving of the wheels on the smooth bay, as the black,
floating mass glided off, like a cruel monster swimming away
with the happiness of so many loving hearts.\par

Victoriano stood looking at the steamer with a disappointment
so keen that it seemed unbearable. He could have rebelled
against any power. Then a sense of realization of the
inevitable came like a revelation to him, and he felt overpowered,
surrounded by dangers that he might not avoid, because
they would come upon him unawares.\par

In this perturbed state of mind he was still looking at the
steamer passing over the moonlit bay, when the freight agent
for the steamer came to say that Mr. Darrell had left a note
for him, and he would bring it if he waited. Victoriano not
only would wait, but followed to the door of the freight office.\par

The agent said, as he handed the note, that Mr. Darrell had
left orders at the stable to keep the two horses and phæton
until Don Victoriano sent for them. Eagerly Victoriano read
the note. It ran thus:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\scshape{Dear Tano}}:\par

Forgive me for not waiting to bid you good-by. I feared to miss the
boat; and since Doña Josefa desired to postpone the wedding, I thought
it was best for me to be away, under present circumstances. It would be
too unendurable in my painful humiliation to be constantly dreading some
other unexpected outbreak from my father. My presence would be a source
of irritation to him, which might lead to worse results.\par

Say to Don Mariano and Don Gabriel I will write to them as soon as I
reach San Francisco, perhaps before. My love to all of you, my good and
beloved friends. Heaven bless you all.\par

I don't ask you to think kindly of me, for I know you will. I feel sick
in mind and body; and how I wish I could have slept under your hospitable
roof.\par

Tell Retty to write or telegraph how Alice is. I was so disappointed
not to find Miss Mercedes when I drove back. I had felt so sure I heard
her voice calling me, that I was faint with disappointment and thoroughly
heartsick.\par

Good-by, dear Tano, again. God bless you all.\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}
Ever your true friend,\par}
{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}{\vl Clarence.\par}
}
\end{verse}
}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
P. S.—I leave you my horses and phæton\par}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
There was nothing for Victoriano to do now but return
home. He went to the stable, ordered fresh horses put to
the phæton, and leaving his own horse with the other two,
said he would send for them when they were thoroughly
rested. He went to see Clarence's horses himself to be sure that
they were well groomed. Two men were rubbing them down,
and he saw that neither of the two fine animals had been hurt
by their furious drive. He patted them, and they turned their
pretty heads and intelligent eyes, expanding their nostrils as
they recognized him.\par

Victoriano was so depressed that he felt a presentiment of
never more seeing Clarence. He looked at the two horses as
if they were a last token of his friendship, and he hurried out
of the stable and out of town quickly, to be alone with the
silent moon and his own thoughts; his thoughts of Alice,
of Clarence and Mercedes going with him, as he drove home.
But Victoriano's thoughts of those three interesting persons
were shared by many others.\par

Don Mariano and Doña Josefa sat by Mercedes' bedside.
Her heavy slumber began to alarm them. She lay motionless,
with closed eyelids, but she was not sleeping, for she would
open her eyes when they spoke to her.\par

About midnight Doña Josefa asked her if she had been
sleeping. She shook her head and whispered:\par

“I am waiting for Clarence. He is coming, sitting on a
water lily. I see him. I am waiting.”\par

The look of dismay that Doña Josefa exchanged with
her husband, revealed to each other their terrible anxiety
and dread.\par

“We must wait for Victoriano, and if Clarence does not
come, then we must send for a doctor,” Don Mariano whispered.\par

But Mercedes heard him, and said, scarcely audibly: “He
will come. I am waiting. He loves me. He don't want to
kill me.”\par

When Victoriano arrived it was near daylight, but Don Mariano
was up and came out to meet him. Seeing the phæton
with only one occupant, he knew the sad truth. Victoriano
gave him Clarence's letter, which he read with the keenest regret,
feeling that if he had stayed at home, as Mercedes had
begged, Clarence would not have felt compelled to go, but
would have been made happy under that roof, as he deserved
to be. Vain regrets now. He was gone, and there was nothing
to be done but wait until he arrived at San Francisco. It
would only be a matter of three days, Don Mariano tried to
argue to himself, but the experiences of the last two days had
taught him how much mischief might be effected in a very
short space of time.\par

When he returned to Mercedes' room he found that she
was sleeping, but her sleep was restless, and now a high fever
had set in. Her cheeks were like red roses, and her pulse
beat with telegraphic velocity. She moaned and moved
her head, as if it pained her, but did not awake. It was
evident that a doctor must be sent for immediately.\par

Victoriano never drove or rode past Darrell's house without
looking at a certain window next to that of Clarence's room.
As he came from town now, before driving into the court of
his own house, he looked towards the well-known window. His
heart beat with alarm, seeing a light through the shutters.
Alice must be ill, he thought, and that light has been burning
all night. The lover's heart had guessed the truth. Alice was
ill with a raging fever, and when daylight came, instead of the
fever passing off, as Mrs. Darrell had hoped, she became delirious.\par

Victoriano did not go to bed. He preferred to walk out
to the front piazza and have another look at that window of
Alice's room. Yes the light was still burning. He felt sure
that she was ill. Was she to be sick, and he not able to see
her? or inquire for her? How angry he felt at old Darrell.
Poor Tano, he was a prey to contending emotions. He now
wished to see Mercedes, and had told his father that he would
lie in one of the hammocks in the veranda, instead of going to
bed, so that he would be called to Mercedes' room as soon as
she awoke.\par

Presently Don Mariano came and said to him: “Victoriano,
Mercedes is awake, but so entirely out of her head that she
does not know any one of us. We must send for a physician.”\par

“I will go at once,” Victoriano said, jumping to his feet.\par

“No, you have been up all night. We don't want too many
sick to take care of. Gabriel will go.”\par

Victoriano looked towards the fascinating window, and hesitating
a little, said:\par

“I am afraid Alice is sick too. Evidently a light has
been burning in her room all night. She fainted when Clarence
was leaving them, and for the last two days she has
been so nervous, Everett says, that she was almost in convulsions.”\par

“There is some one going out in Clarence's buggy. Perhaps
they are sending for a doctor,” Don Mariano said.\par

“I believe it,” Victoriano said, watching the buggy. “It
is Everett. Alice is ill, I am sure. Retty is coming this
way.”\par

Everett was driving fast, and in a very few minutes was at
the gate, and coming to the piazza.\par

“I ventured to come up,” he said, “because I saw you
here. It is a most unchristian hour to go into a neighbor's
house.”\par

“Is Alice sick, Retty?” Victoriano asked, without heeding
Everett's apology for coming.\par

“Yes, she has a high fever, and is very delirious. I am going
for a doctor, but as she has been calling for Clarence
most piteously, mother thought he would come to see her.”\par

Don Mariano and Victoriano turned several shades paler
than they were before, but they related to Everett what had
happened, as far as they knew. Still the reason {\itshape{why}} Clarence
left must yet remain a mystery to them until Mercedes could
explain it.\par

Everett was greatly disconcerted and pained. He had
hoped to find Clarence, and as his father seemed moved and
grieved at Alice's illness, all the family inferred that he would
be only too glad to see Clarence restored to them.\par

“I must hurry for a doctor,” said Everett, with trembling
lips, “and when Clarence arrives in San Francisco he will find
a telegram awaiting him there.”\par

“He will find two,” said Don Mariano.\par

“He can never stay away if he knows that Miss Mercedes
and Alice are sick—sick with grief at his going from us,” Everett
said; adding: “are you not going to send for a physician
for Miss Mercedes?”\par

“Yes; Gabriel will go very soon,” Don Mariano replied.\par

“Who is your doctor? Can't I call him for you?”\par

On being told the doctor's name, Everett said that he was
the one he proposed to bring for Alice. Don Mariano then
wrote a line asking the doctor to come, and Everett hurried off
on his sad errand.\par

Clarence had passed the night on deck, walking about in
the moonlight, or sitting down to muse by the hour, with no
one near—no company but his thoughts. He felt ill and
weary, but wakeful, and could not bear to lie down to rest.
He must be moving about and thinking. He felt convinced
that his father had some {\itshape{other}} cause of irritation than the
mere fact of the land having been paid for, but what that
cause could be he had not the remotest idea. Then his
thoughts would go back to their center of attraction, and pass
in review, over and over again, the last scene at the Alamar
house, and every word that Mercedes had said. The more he
reflected upon them, the clearer it seemed to him that Mercedes
could not help thinking it would be humiliating to marry
him, for how could a lady marry the son of a man who used
such low language? And if she did, out of the purest devotion
and tenderest love, could she avoid a feeling of loathing
for such a man? Certainly not; and such a man was his father;
and Clarence's thoughts traveled around this painful circle all
night.\par

On arriving at Wilmington, he heard the puffing of the
little tug boat, coming to ferry the passengers to Los Angeles.
He had nothing to do at Los Angeles, but he would go with
the passengers, rather than wait all day in the steamer at
anchor, rolling like a little canoe, and whose fate was too
much like his own—as he, too, was tossing over a broad expanse,
a boundless ocean, like a block of wood, helpless, compelled
to obey, as though he was an infant. He took a cup
of coffee, and joined the passengers on the little tug boat,
which was soon meandering over the shallow, muddy creek,
or rather swamp, with its little crooked channels, which is to
be made into an harbor, with time, patience and money.\par

At Los Angeles a surprise awaited Clarence, an incident
which, coming after those of the previous night, was delightful,
indeed. He was sauntering past a hotel, when he
heard the well known voice of Fred Haverly, calling him.\par

“You are the very man I came to see. I am now expecting
at any moment, a dispatch from Hubert in answer to my inquiry
for your whereabouts,” Fred said, conducting Clarence to
his room, where they could talk business without being interrupted.\par

The business which brought Fred up from the mines was
soon explained, and in conclusion Fred said:\par

“I wish you could go with me, see the ores yourself, and
talk with the men who wish to buy the mines. But the weather
is frightfully hot, and you are not looking well. What is the
matter? May I inquire?”\par

Clarence soon told Fred all that had happened at home, and
how he was exiled, and did not care where he went. Fred was
truly distressed, for he had never seen Clarence take anything
so much to heart and be so cast down.\par

“I'll tell you what we had better do to-day. Let us take
a carriage, and go for a drive among the orange groves. Then
we will come back to dinner. After dinner we will kill time
somehow for a couple of hours, then you go to bed. To-morrow
you will decide what to do.”\par

“But to-morrow there will be no steamer to take me to San
Francisco.”\par

“Then wait for the next. The matters you have under consideration
are too important to decide hastily.”\par

“That is true. I wish some one had reminded me of that
fact last evening. I'll let the steamer go, and if I do not decide
to go with you, I'll take the next boat. But now, as to
our drive, I think I would rather have it after I had some
breakfast, because I begin to feel faint, having eaten nothing
for twenty-four hours.”\par

Clarence sat down to a very nice breakfast, but did not succeed
in eating it. He had no appetite. All food was distasteful
to him. They had their drive and dinner, and he
managed to get some sleep. This, however, did not refresh
him, and he felt no better. Still, he decided to go to see his
“{\itshape{bonanza}},” and talk with the men who wished to buy the
mines. If he did not sell them, Fred thought stamp mills
ought to be put up, as the ore heaps were getting to be too high
and too numerous and very rich.\par

Clarence devoted that day to writing letters. He wrote to
his mother, Alice and Everett, to George, Gabriel and Victoriano;
but his longest letters were to Mercedes and Don
Mariano.\par

On the following day he and Fred took the stage for Yuma.
When they reached that point, the river boat was about to start,
thus Clarence and Fred lost no time in going up the river to
their mines. But as the navigation up the Colorado River,
above Fort Yuma, was rather slow, having to steam against the
current following the tortuous channel of that crooked, narrow
stream, and the mines were more than three hundred miles
from Yuma (about thirty from Fort Mojave), they did not
arrive as soon as they would have wished, and Clarence had
been stricken down with typhoid fever before they reached
their camp.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxx-effect-of-bad-precept-and-worse-example}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxx-effect-of-bad-precept-and-worse-example}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXX.—{\scshape{Effect of Bad Precept and Worse Example.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The whir of threshing machines was heard in the valleys
of the Alamar rancho, and wagons loaded with baled hay
went from the fields like moving hills. The season had been
good, and the settlers, forgetting their past conduct, were beginning
to calculate on the well-known good nature and kind
heart of the Don, to get their lands by purchasing them from
him at a low price and easy terms when he got his patent.\par

Gasbang and Mathews were the only ones who still slandered
the entire Alamar family, in the vilest language, having
for their instigator and legal adviser the little lawyer, Peter
Roper, {\itshape{protegé}} of Judge Lawlack and partner of Colonel
Hornblower.\par

Everybody in San Diego knew that Roper had made for
himself a most discreditable record, unblushingly vaunting of
his degradation, but because he managed first to become a
partner to the pompous Colonel Hornblower, and then—“for
some secret service unexpressed”—to be a special favorite of
Judge Gryllus Lawlack, Roper was not only tolerated but well
treated. Even among the respectable people of San Diego
Roper had clients who, when he was intoxicated, or when he
was obliged to keep his bed because, as it often happened, he
had been too severely whipped in some drunken brawl, would
patiently wait for him to get sober and on his feet again. Why
did those respectable people employ such a low, disreputable
character? strangers in town asked. The answer was: “{\itshape{Because
Roper says he has so much influence with the Judge}}?” And
verily Roper, intoxicated or sober, won his cases, for when in
ignorance of the law, he made any mistakes, which he generally
did, being only an amateur lawyer, the Judge, with his
rulings, would remedy the harm done, thus unwittingly, or not,
assisting Roper, giving him a seemingly good cause to boast
that he had {\itshape{retained the Judge}}, and by so boasting get clients.
Of course, many of Judge Lawlack's decisions were constantly
reversed, but the serene majesty of the law in his Honor's
breast was not in the least disturbed by this; on the contrary, he
spoke jestingly about being constantly reversed, and said jokingly
to lawyers that if they desired to win their suits they
should not wish him to decide in their favor, as the Supreme
Court was sure to reverse him.\par

Nevertheless, on the strength of his vaunted influence with
the Judge, Roper had gone to the Alamar rancho to solicit the
patronage of the settlers. He was willing to take contingent
fees, he said, as he was sure to win.\par

“But what if your friend, the Judge, is reversed, as he always
is?” Roper would be asked.\par

“Well, then we will make a motion for a new trial, or
we will call the same suit by some other name, and file a
new complaint, or do something else, so as to keep in
possession of the property. Possession, as long as it lasts, is
ownership.”\par

“But in the end you don't win?”\par

“Who says we don't? Isn't it to win if you keep in possession
as long as you live? Or, any way, as long as {\itshape{my Judge}}
is in office? And in office he shall be, for I shall keep him
there, if I have to swill whisky by the barrel in election times,
see if I don't.”\par

And with this low bragging and bar-room swagger Roper
managed to impose upon people, saying that his influence
kept the Judge in office, because he had advocated his cause
and worked to have him elected. So, with his delusive sophistry,
Peter got clients among the Alamar settlers. While
making inquiries about the Alamar lands he came across the
entry made by Don Mariano of the land sold to Clarence.
This discovery he communicated to Gasbang, and we have
seen what resulted.\par

Now these two worthies were rejoicing at the effect they
had caused, and would have been happier had they known the
full extent of the misery they had inflicted. They guessed
enough, however, to furnish them with matter for their coarse
jests, and Roper got intoxicated to celebrate his triumph. He,
of course, came out of the tavern with a black eye, but being
the chosen friend and political {\itshape{factotum}} of the Judge, this
public degradation was kindly condoned, and San Diego threw
its cloak over the prostrate Roper, as usual, when overcome by
whisky.\par

It would have seemed unbearable to Darrell if he had known
how amused and pleased Roper and Gasbang were to know
that they had brought trouble to the Alamares, and made him
ridiculous. This additional misery, however, was fortunately
spared to the already much-afflicted, proud spirit. But, indeed,
he suffered enough to have satisfied the most relentless
{\itshape{Nemesis}}. No one guessed the extent of his misery. In fact,
Clarence was the only one who suspected the existence of some
secret source of irritation goading him, and had that kind son
been permitted to remain at home, he would have coaxed and
persuaded his father to say what was torturing him. For torture
it was—mental and physical. A band of purple and black
encircled his body, and his arms were of that same hue from
the elbow to the shoulder. The bruises made by the tight
coil of the {\itshape{reata}} had left a narrow ring, which became blacker
as it grew daily wider and wider. He had done nothing to relieve
the soreness, and he went about aching so much that he
could scarcely walk, and with a fever to intensify his pains, he
was indeed a wretched man. But all this physical suffering
was nothing compared to the mental distress of being bereft
of his wife's cherished society. He knew that Mrs. Darrell
was grieved to think that he was the cause of all the unhappiness
brought upon two innocent families, and this thought
almost made him crazy.\par

He was willing to accept his bodily aches as a retributive
penance for his cruelty to Clarence, but to endure the loneliness
of his room when his infirm body could hardly bear the
weight of his bitter remorse, that indeed seemed beyond human
strength. He would go to his solitary bedroom, close
the door, and extend his aching, bruised arms in silent appeal,
in mute supplication to the adored wife who was now in another
room, at the bedside of Alice, forgetful of the entire
world except the suffering child before her, and the exiled
one, for the sight of whom her heart yearned with aching
pulsations.\par

And where was he, the best beloved, now? He lay on a
sick bed, delirious, with a raging fever that seemed to be drying
the very fountain of his young life. They had not made
a very quick trip to Yuma, for the hot sands of the desert
seemed to burn through the very hoofs of the horses, and they
were obliged to stop at ten o'clock A.M., and not resume their
journey until past three in the afternoon. The exposure to
this excessive heat was more than Clarence had strength to
endure, for he was already ill when he arrived at Los Angeles.
He was only partially conscious when they arrived at the mine,
and Fred now gave all his time and attention to the care of his
friend. By a great effort of his mind, Clarence had succeeded
in impressing upon Fred that he was, on no consideration
whatever, to tell to his family or write to anybody in San Diego
that he was ill. “They must not be made anxious,” he whispered.
“If I get well, I'll tell them myself; if I die, they'll
know it soon enough.” He closed his eyes, and in a short
time delirium had come to make him forget how miserable he
was.\par

Immediately Fred telegraphed to Hubert to send the best
physician he could induce to come to that terribly hot climate.
No money or trouble was spared, for the two brothers valued
Clarence too highly to neglect anything that might be for his
benefit. The doctor went at once. The sum of five thousand
dollars was paid down to him, and five thousand more he would
get on his return after leaving Clarence out of danger, if he
lived.\par

In the meantime, his letters, sent from Los Angeles, had
arrived at Alamar, and were answered immediately. In his
letters to Gabriel and George, Clarence had explained that his
absence must not make any difference in the business arrangement
they had made, and the projected bank would be established
by George whenever he thought fit to do so—whenever
the prospect of the Texas Pacific Railroad justified it. For
this purpose, and to pay for the cattle sent to the mines, he
had instructed his banker to pay to Don Mariano three hundred
thousand dollars.\par

Gabriel replied, thanking him, and saying that he would
adhere to the original plan of going to San Francisco by the
first of October, when he hoped Mercita would be out of danger.
If Clarence could only have read these letters!\par

George answered him that he did not intend returning to
New York until Mercita got better (Elvira not wishing to leave
home while her sister was yet in danger), but that he would be
ready to return to California and establish their projected bank
at any time that the business outlook justified it; that the
chances seemed much in favor of the Texas Pacific, and all
were hopeful. If Clarence could only have read this!\par

Don Mariano wrote a cheerful letter, telling him to return
at once. The fact of the matter was that he confidently expected
to see Clarence's bright face very soon; to see those
eyes of his, with their brilliant glow of kindness, emanating
from a generous, manly heart. How could it be otherwise
when all that was necessary would be to recall him, and recalled
he had been?\par

But days and days passed, and Clarence did not come, nor
any letters from him either, and the month of September,
which was to have brought so much happiness, had been passed
in sadness, and was now ending in gloom.\par

Mercedes and Alice were no longer delirious, but their condition
was still precarious, and the anxious parents could not
lay aside their fears.\par

Thus the month of October passed, and November came,
bringing the United States Surveyors to measure the Alamar
rancho in accordance with the decree of the United States
District Court. This advent, though fully expected, did not
fail to agitate the settlers of Alamar. It brought before their
minds the fact that the law, though much disregarded and
sadly dilatory, did sometimes, as if unawares, uphold the right.\par

Gasbang and Mathews, inspired by Roper, were very active
in trying to urge the settlers to some open demonstration.
Roper wanted lawsuits, and he saw a chance now to originate
several; but the settlers were rather disposed to be quiet, and
disposed to wait until the survey was finished and approved,
for, after all, what had they to do? The Don took no steps
to eject them. What pretext had they to complain?\par

“I expect we will have to kick {\itshape{him}} out of his own house,”
said Peter Roper, and laughed, thinking it would be such a
good joke to do that; “and by ——, if you only show me the
ghost of a chance, we'll do it!”\par

“Why are you the Don's enemy, Roper? Did he ever do
you any injury?” Romeo asked.\par

“Oh, my! No; why should he? I am nobody's enemy;
but if I can make any money by kicking him out of his house,
don't you suppose I'd do it? You don't know me if you think
I wouldn't,” was Roper's characteristic reply.\par

But his sharp yellow eyes clearly saw that Gasbang and
Mathews were the only ones really anxious to be aggressive,
yet aggressive only according to the natural bent of their dispositions.
Mathews was unscrupulous, vicious and murderous;
Gasbang, unscrupulous, vicious and cowardly—he would use
no weapons but the legal trickery of Roper, aided by the indulgence
of Judge Lawlack's friendship. In fact, Judge Lawlack
was a host in himself, and when that host was led on to battle
by the loquacious Roper against clients who had only justice
and equity on their side, everybody knew that Roper's brow
would be crowned with honorable laurels of fraud and falsehood
and robbery, while innocent people were cruelly despoiled
and left homeless. This, however, was (according to Roper)
the {\itshape{secret bargain}} between Judge Gryllus Lawlack and his favorite.
This shameful debauchery of judicial power was the wages
of the {\itshape{political factotum}}; and Roper unblushingly acknowledged
it, and {\itshape{boasted}} of it—boasted openly, in his moments of exultation,
when he had imbibed more whisky than was consistent
with discretion; when he would become loquacious, and following
the law of his being, which impelled him to swagger and
vaunting, he longed to make known to people his “{\itshape{influence
with the Court}}.” Wishing at the same time that he was facetious,
to be considered a wit, he would relate several stories
illustrative of {\itshape{his power over the Judge}}. One of these stories
was that of two litigants, who had had a lawsuit for a long time;
at last, one litigant came to the other and said:\par

“See here; you had better compromise this suit. Don't
you see, on my side I have the law, the equity, the money and
the talent?”\par

“Very true,” answered the other. “You have the law, the
equity, the money and the talent, but {\itshape{I have the Judge}}.”\par

And Roper would laugh, thinking himself very funny, and
with a wink would say: “Didn't I tell you I run this whole
town? Of course I do, because {\itshape{I have the Court in my pocket}}.
Give us another drink.” And he staggered for more whisky.\par

Could the Judge ignore that his name and office were thus
publicly dragged in the mire? Certainly not, but he would
merely remark that “Mr. Roper was joking,” seeing no disgraceful
reflection upon himself.\par

In the full reliance of secured power, Gasbang and Roper
decided that they would do nothing while the survey of the
rancho was going on, but would watch and wait for developments,
and then, relying upon the Judge's friendship to serve
their purpose, start some plot to rob the Alamares or the
Mechlins.\par

“Yes, we will watch and pray, brother John,” Roper said,
with a nasal twang. Gasbang was a church deacon.\par

But Mathews had no Judge Lawlack to bedraggle justice for
his sake. So while Gasbang and Roper were jubilant, he became
gloomy and morose. He could not give vent to his ill
humor by shooting stray cattle now; not that he liked Clarence
any better than he liked the Don, but he had promised Darrell
not to shoot his son's cattle, and he could not afford to break
his promise and make an enemy of so useful a man as Darrell.
So Mathews went back to his old love of whisky, and as his
whisky was of the cheapest, burning poison circulated in his
veins. Miss Mathews, his maiden sister, was seriously alarmed,
observing her brother's ways of late, and would kindly remonstrate
against his drinking such poor liquor.\par

“For you see, William, all liquor is bad, but bad liquor is
worse,” the poor old maid would say, in unconscious aphorism,
pleading with her hardened brother to the best of her ability.\par

One morning, when Mathews had been on a debauch of several
days' duration, Miss Mathews walked over to Mrs. Darrell,
and apologizing for not having been to see Alice, because she
had had so much trouble at home, said she wished to speak to
Mr. Darrell. On being told by Jane—who received her—that
her father had gone to the fields where grain was being threshed,
she left word that she would thank Mr. Darrell to call on her
that evening. Agreeable to this request, Mr. Darrell started
for Mathews' house after supper.\par

Slowly Darrell went over the field and across the little hollow
where Gabriel had taken him off his horse. Then he followed
the path he had galloped with the {\itshape{reata}} around his body, and
came to the road where he had met the Don and tried to strike
him. This was the first time Darrell had been over this ground
since that memorable day which was now recalled to his mind
so painfully. He wondered how he could have been so blind,
such a fool, not to take the right view of Clarence's actions. Ah!
and where was Clarence now, that beloved first-born boy, of
whom he was so proud? In this sad meditation, with head bowed
down most dejectedly, Darrell followed the path until he came
to a fence. He looked up and saw this was the south side of
Mr. Mechlin's garden. He turned around the southeast corner
and followed along the fence, remembering that going by
that path he would shorten the distance to Mathews' house.
For a few rods Darrell walked in the path, but not wishing to
be seen by the Mechlins, he left the path and walked close to
the fence, hidden by a row of olive trees. Presently he heard
a man's voice, talking and walking up and down the piazza.
On the next turn he saw it was George Mechlin carrying his
baby boy in his arms, kissing him at every few words.\par

Darrell was pleased to see the young man kissing his child
so lovingly. It reminded him of his young days when he held
his own first boy like that. Then he felt a pang shoot through
his heart as he thought that if it had not been for his wicked
folly, Clarence in another year might have held his own child,
too, in his arms, as George was now holding his, and that baby
would have been his own grandchild! Darrell trembled with
the strength of his keen remorse—a remorse which now constantly
visited him, invading his spirit with relentless fury, like
a pitiless foe that gave no quarter. He leaned against the
fence for support and stood still, wishing to watch George
caressing his baby. Meantime, George continued his walking,
his talking and caressing, which Darrell could hear was
occasionally reciprocated by a sweet little cooing from the
baby. Elvira came out on the piazza now, and he heard her
say:\par

“Indeed, George, that baby ought to be in bed now.
See, it is after seven, and he is still awake. You keep him
awake.”\par

Mr. Mechlin also came out and took the baby, saying he,
too, must have a kiss. Then Mrs. Mechlin followed, and
Caroline, and all caressed the baby, showing how dearly they
loved the little thing, who took all the petting in good part,
perfectly satisfied.\par

At last Elvira carried him off to bed, and Darrell saw
George and Mr. Mechlin go into the library and sit by the
center-table to read. He then, with down-cast eyes, continued
his walk towards Mathews' house.\par

He found Miss Mathews alone, with eyes that plainly
showed sad traces of tears, she was sitting by the lamp darning
her brother's stockings, which, like those of Darrell himself,
had always holes at the heels, for the tread of both was alike,
of that positive character which revealed an indomitable
spirit, and it soon wore out the heels of their socks.\par

After the customary inquiries for the health of the family, and
the usual remarks about the crops being good, Miss Mathews
went on to say that she could no longer bear the state of her
mind, and thought it was her duty to tell Mr. Darrell her fears,
and prevent mischief that might occur, if her brother was not
spoken to by somebody.\par

“What mischief do you fear?” Darrell asked.\par

“Well, you see—I can scarcely explain—for, after all, it
might be all talk of William, when he has drank that horrible
whisky.”\par

“What does he say?”\par

“Well, you see, he is awful sore about the appeal being
dismissed, and he blames it all on Mr. George Mechlin, and
says he ought to be {\itshape{shot dead}}, and all other horrible talk.
And now, since the surveyors came, he is worse, saying
that the Don will drive us off as soon as the survey is finished!”\par

“He will do nothing of the sort. He is too kind-hearted,”
Darrell said, and he felt the hot blush come to his face—the
blush of remorseful shame.\par

“That's what I think, but William don't, and I wish you
would talk encouragingly to him, for he is desperate, and
blames Congress for fooling settlers. He says Congress ought
to be killed for fooling poor people into taking lands that they
can't keep, and Mr. Darrell I hope you will talk to him. What
is that?”\par

She started to her feet, and so did Darrell, for the report of
a rifle rang loud and distinct in the evening air.\par

“That is William's rifle. I hope he did not fire it,” she said.\par

Darrell went to the door to listen for another shot, but
none was heard, so he came back and resumed his seat.\par

“Three times I have taken that very rifle from William. He
was going to shoot cattle, he said, and I had to remind him that
the cattle now belong to your son.”\par

Steps were heard now, and Mathew's face peered through
the window. Miss Mathews gave a half-suppressed shriek,
and dropped her sewing. Her brother's face looked so
ghastly pale that it frightened her. He pushed the door and
came in.\par

“What makes the old maid shriek like a fool?” said he.\par

“Your death-like face,” Darrell replied.\par

“Nonsense!” he said, going to a side-table to pour out
whisky from a demijohn he took from under it.\par

“Oh, William! for pity's sake! don't drink more,” she
begged. “It will make you crazy, I am sure.”\par

“Anybody might suppose I have drank a river, to hear the
old hag talk like that,” he snarled.\par

“You have not said good evening to Mr. Darrell.”\par

“You don't give me a chance, with your infernal chatter.
Mr. Darrell knows he is welcome,” he said, without looking
at him.\par

“Where is your rifle, William?” she asked.\par

With an oath he turned and glared at her, with distorted
features.\par

“It is none of your business where it is. Have I to give you
an account of everything?”\par

“I thought you might have loaned it to somebody, for we
heard it fired a little while ago.”\par

“Is there no rifle but mine in this valley?”\par

“I am sorry to say there are plenty, but I know the report
of yours. I never mistake it for any other.”\par

Mathews became so enraged, hearing this, and so violent
and abusive in his language, that Darrell had to interfere to
silence him.\par

“If you talk like that to your sister, I would advise her not
to stay alone in this house with you,” Darrell said; “her life
might be in danger.”\par

“I wish the devil would take the old hag,” he retorted. “She
torments my life. I hate her.”\par

“What is the matter with you, Billy?” Darrell asked. “Why
are you so excited?”\par

“It makes me mad to hear her nonsense,” he said, in a
calmer voice, but still much agitated, and he again went to pour
himself another drink.\par

Miss Mathews whispered hurriedly to Darrell: “Take away
his rifle.”\par

“Neighbor Mathews,” said Darrell, “I want to send my rifle
to have it fixed, will you lend me yours for a few days?”\par

“Take it,” said he gruffly, then folding his arms on the table
and leaning his head upon them, immediately sunk into a
heavy sleep.\par

“Take the rifle with you now, Mr. Darrell, he might change
his mind when he awakes. I'll bring it directly,” said Miss
Mathews, hurrying out of the room. Presently she returned,
and in her dejected countenance keen disappointment was
depicted. Dropping into her seat she whispered: “The rifle
is not in the house. Somebody has taken it and fired it. I
am sure that was the shot we heard. I know the ring of it.”\par

“I'll go and see. Perhaps I'll find out who fired it,” Darrell
said, walking towards the front door, followed by Miss
Mathews, who preferred to make a few parting suggestions
outside, not sure of Billy's soundness of sleep.\par

As both stepped outside the first object that met their eyes
was Billy's rifle, peacefully reclining against the window.\par

Darrell took it up and looked at Miss Mathews perplexed.
She was looking at him aghast.\par

The undefined fears that neither one expressed were only
too well founded. The rifle had been fired, and fired by
Mathews with murderous intent. For several weeks, instigated
by Roper and bad whisky, Mathews had been watching an
opportunity to shoot George, because he had the appeal dismissed.
This evening he at last saw his chance when George
was walking the porch caressing his baby. He could not take
good aim while he was walking, but when Elvira at last took
the baby away and George walked into the library, then, as he
went to put the window down, Mathews aimed at his heart
and fired. Fortunately the ball struck the window sash, deflected
and glanced down, striking the hip-bone instead of the
heart.\par

Darrell and Miss Mathews were still looking at the rifle, as
if expecting that by a close examination they might guess who
fired it, when they were startled by Mathews uttering frightful
curses and smashing the furniture. The noise brought two
hired men, who were smoking their pipes by the kitchen fire,
and they helped Darrell to grapple with the maniac and pinion
his arms, tying him to a chair.\par

Miss Mathews was greatly shocked to see her brother crazy,
but she had been expecting it. She quietly consented to have
him taken to an insane asylum.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxi-a-snow-storm}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxi-a-snow-storm}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXI.—{\scshape{A Snow Storm.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
George Mechlin's wound was not mortal, but it made it
necessary to convey him to town to have medical attendance
near at hand, and no doubt it would be of a long and painful
convalescence, with the danger, almost a certainty, of leaving
him lame for life. This danger was to him far more terrible
than death, but he concealed in the deepest recesses of his
heart the horror he felt at being a cripple, for he knew the
keen anguish that Elvira suffered at the thought of such a probability.
Her lovely black eyes would fill with tears, and her
lips would tremble and turn white, when he or any one else
spoke of the possibility of his being lame. So he had to be
consoler, and soothe her grief, and be the one to speak of
hope and courage.\par

There was no possibility of his being able to return to his
duties at their bank in New York at present, and he, to cheer
Elvira's desponding heart, would say that he could attend to a
bank in San Diego.\par

“Don't be despondent, my pet,” he said one day, when she
looked very sad; “things will not be so bad, after all, for in
the spring I will be well enough to attend to bank business
here, even if I cannot stand the trip to New York. With the
money that Clarence sent, and with what I will put in myself,
we can start quite a solid bank. Gabriel will have learned a
good deal by that time, and though I will not walk much, I can
be a very majestic President, and give my directions from my
arm-chair. All we want is the success of the Texas Pacific—and
my uncle writes that Tom Scott is very confident, and
working hard.”\par

“But will he succeed?” Elvira asked.\par

“He has powerful enemies, but his cause is good. The
construction of the Texas Pacific ought to be advocated by
every honest man in the United States, for it is the thing that
will help the exhausted South to get back its strength and
vitality.”\par

“Will it really help the South so much?”\par

“Certainly. Don't we see here in our little town of San
Diego how everything is depending on the success of this
road? Look at all the business of the town, all the farming
of this county, all the industries of Southern California—everything
is at a stand-still, waiting for Congress to aid the
Texas Pacific. Well, the poor South is in pretty much the
same fix that we are. I am sure that there are many homes
in the Southern States whose peace and happiness depend
upon the construction of the Texas Pacific. Look at our two
families. All the future prosperity of the Alamares and Mechlins
is entirely based upon the success of this road. If it is
built, we will be well off, we will have comfortable homes and
a sure income to live upon. But if the Texas Pacific fails,
then we will be financially wrecked. That is, my father will,
and Don Mariano will be sadly crippled, for he has invested
heavily in town property. For my part, I'll lose a great deal,
but I have my bank stock in New York to fall back upon.
So my poor father and yours will be the worst sufferers. Many
other poor fellows will suffer like them—for almost the entire
San Diego is in the same boat with us. It all depends on
Congress.”\par

“But why should Congress refuse to aid the Texas Pacific,
knowing how necessary the road is to the South? It
would be wicked, George, downright injustice, to refuse aid.”\par

“And so it would, but if rumors are true, the bribes of the
Central Pacific monopolists have more power with some Congressmen
than the sense of justice or the rights of communities.
The preamble and resolution which Luttrell introduced
last session were a ‘flash in the pan,’ that was soon forgotten,
as it seems. In that document it was clearly shown that the
managers of the Central Pacific Railroad Company were guilty
of undeniable and open frauds. Enough was said by Luttrell
to prove those proud railroad magnates most culpable, and
yet with their record still extant, their power in Congress seems
greater every year. Still, uncle writes that Tom Scott is to
make a big fight this winter, and that his chances are good. I
am bound to hope that he'll win.”\par

“But why has he to {\itshape{fight}}? What right have those men of
the Central Pacific to oppose his getting Congressional aid?
Does the money of the American people belong to those
men, that they should have so much to say about how it
should be used? Is it not very audacious, outrageous, to
come forward and oppose aid being given, only {\itshape{because they
don't want to have competition}}? Isn't that their reason?”\par

“That's all. They have not an earthly {\itshape{right}} to oppose the
Texas Pacific, and all their motive is that they {\itshape{don't want competition}}
to their Central Pacific Railroad. They have already
made millions out of this road, but they want no one else to
make a single dollar. They want to grab every cent that
might be made out of the traffic between the Atlantic and
Pacific Oceans, and they don't care how many people are
ruined or how many homes are made desolate in the South or
in California.”\par

“Oh, George, but this is awful! If those men are so very
rapacious and cruel, what hope have we? They will certainly
sacrifice San Diego if their influence in Congress is so great!
Poor San Diego! my poor, little, native town, to be sacrificed
to the heartless greed of four or five men.”\par

“And what claim have these men upon the American
people? Think of that! Have they or their fathers ever rendered
any services to the nation? None whatever. All they
rely upon is their boldness in openly asking that others be sacrificed,
and backing their modest request with money earned
out of the road they built with Government funds and Government
credit. But they have tasted the sweets of ill-gotten
gain, and now their rapacity keeps increasing, and in a few
years—if they kill the Texas Pacific—they will want to absorb
every possible dollar that might be made on this coast. The
only thing that will put a check upon their voracity is the
Texas Pacific. If this is killed, then heaven knows what a
Herculean work the people of this coast will have to destroy
this hydra-headed monster, or in some way put a bit in each
of its many voracious mouths.”\par

“I am awfully discouraged, George. I am so sorry that papa
put all his money into town property.”\par

“Let us yet hope Tom Scott might succeed.”\par

And thus this young couple went on discussing San Diego's
chances of life or death, and their own hopes in the future.
They were not the only couple who in those days pondered
over the problem of the “{\itshape{to be or not to be}}” of the Texas Pacific.
It is not an exaggeration to say that for nearly ten long
years the people of San Diego lived in the hope of that much-needed
and well-deserved Congressional aid to the Texas Pacific,
which {\itshape{never came}}! That aid which was to bring peace
and comfort to so many homes, which at last were made forever
desolate!\par

Yes, aid was refused. The monopoly triumphed, bringing
poverty and distress where peace might have been!\par

Yet in those days—the winter of '74-'75—everybody's hopes
were bright. No clouds in San Diego's horizon meant misfortune.
Not yet!\par

And of all of San Diego's sanguine inhabitants, none surpassed
in hopefulness the three friends who had invested so
heavily in real estate, viz.: Mr. Mechlin, Señor Alamar and
Mr. Holman. They exhorted all to keep up courage, and
trust in Tom Scott.\par

\begin{container}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\centering
――――
\endgraf}
\par
\end{container}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
Many of the cattle sent to Clarence's mines had returned to
the rancho from the mountains, and now it was necessary to
collect them again and send them back.\par

Don Mariano himself, accompanied by Victoriano and two
of his brothers, would start for the Colorado River, intending
to see that the cattle got to the mines safely.\par

The evening before leaving Victoriano enjoyed the great
happiness of seeing Alice by herself and talking to her of his
love. For three long months her illness had kept her a close
prisoner in her bedroom, and she had not seen Tano.\par

Now they enjoyed a two hours' {\itshape{téte-â-téte}}, which was very
sweet to them, and which pleasure they had not had since
Clarence left.\par

Mercedes' convalescence was very slow. Her despondency
at Clarence's absence retarded her recovery. The wounding
of George had also impressed her painfully, for she was devotedly
attached to him; and now she was worrying about her
father having to go away.\par

Don Mariano told her that as soon as the cattle were on
the other side of the mountains he would not feel any apprehension
of their running away; that once in the desert they
would go straight to the river, but that while in the mountains
there was danger of their “{\itshape{stampeding}}” and being lost. She
heard all this, but still she dreaded her papa's going out of her
sight. She could not forget that had he been at home when
Clarence came that last evening all might have been right.
She had no faith in human calculations any more. She was
sick, and wanted her papa near her.\par

“I think the best thing you can do is to send Mercita to
town, to remain with us while you are away,” George had said
to Don Mariano, hearing how badly she felt at his going.\par

“Yes, you are right. The surroundings at the rancho bring
to her painful thoughts which will be gloomier when Tano and
myself are away. She will have the two babies, of whom she
is so fond, to amuse her here,” said Don Mariano.\par

“Besides all of us, the Holman girls will be good company
for her,” added George.\par

Mercedes, therefore, was told by her papa that she was to
remain with Elvira and Lizzie in town during his absence.\par

“Papa, darling, I shall not cease to be anxious about you
and Tano until I see your dear faces again. I am a thoroughly
superstitious girl now. But still, I do agree with you and poor,
dear George, that the babies will be a sweet source of consolation
to me. Yes, take me to them. I'll play chess or cards
with George, and we'll amuse each other. He will read to
me; he is a splendid reader; I love to hear him.”\par

Mercedes, therefore, was conveyed to town by her loving
father, who went away with a much lighter heart, thinking that
she would be less desponding.\par

The {\itshape{mayordomo}}, with about twenty {\itshape{vaqueros}}, were nearly at
the foot of the mountains with twenty-five hundred head of
cattle, when Don Mariano and Victoriano overtook them, and
as the cattle had been resting there for two days, their journey
to the Colorado River would be resumed at daybreak.\par

The weather had been intensely cold for the last two days,
so that the benumbed animals could scarcely walk in the early
morning, but now the air felt warmer.\par

“I fear it is going to rain. We must try to reach the desert
and leave the storm behind us,” said Don Mariano to his
{\itshape{mayordomo}}.\par

A good day's journey was made that day, and night overtook
them as they descended into a small valley, which seemed to
invite them to rest within its pretty circumference of well-wooded
mountain slopes, from which merry little brooks ran
singing and went to hide their music among the tall grasses
that grew in rank solitude.\par

The bellowing of cattle and shouts of the {\itshape{vaqueros}} soon
awoke the mountain echoes, and the silent little valley was
noisy and crowded with busy life. Camp-fires were quickly
lighted, from which arose blue columns of smoke, making the
lonely spot seem well populated.\par

“With a good supper and good night's rest, we will make a
long march to-morrow,” said the {\itshape{mayordomo}} to Don Mariano.
“There is plenty of feed here for our cattle.”\par

“But the weather looks so threatening. I wish we were
out of this,” said Don Mariano.\par

“And I, too. We are going to get a wetting,” added Tano.\par

About midnight Don Mariano awoke, startled; he had heard
nothing, and yet he awoke with a sense of having been summoned
to arise. He sat up and looked around, but saw nothing.
The darkness of the sky had changed from inky black
to a leaden hue, and the clouds hung down among the tall
trees like curtains of ashy gray, draping them entirely out of
view. The fires were out, and yet he did not feel cold. He
thought it strange that all the fires should have burned out,
when they had put on such heavy logs before going to sleep.
He struck a light to look at his watch, for he had no idea what
the hour might be. By the light he saw that his blankets
seemed covered with flour. He brushed off the white dust,
and found that snowflakes had invaded even their retreat under
the shelter of oak trees.\par

“There must have been some wind to blow this snow under
the thick foliage of these oaks,” said he, hurriedly putting his
coat and shoes on, these being the only articles of his dress he
had removed, “and I did not hear it. How stealthily this
enemy came upon us. I fear it will be a winding-sheet for my
poor cattle.” He now proceeded to awake everybody, and a
hard task it was, for the treacherous drowsiness spread over
them with that snow-white coverlet was hard to shake off. But
he persisted, and when he made believe he was losing his
patience, then all arose, slowly, reluctantly, but they were on
their feet.\par

“Come on, boys, let us build fires, fires! Fires under every
tree, if we have to put up barricades to keep off snow-drifts.
Come on; we must drink coffee all night to keep us awake.”\par

In a short time several fires were started under oak trees
which had widely-spreading branches or under pines which
clustered together.\par

Don Mariano had a consultation with his {\itshape{mayordomo}}, and
both agreed that it would be best to drive the cattle back for
a few miles and wait until the snow had melted sufficiently for
them to see the trails, else all might plunge unawares into hidden
pitfalls and gulches covered over by snow-drifts.\par

“Yes, this is our only course,” said Don Mariano, “and now
we must start them up. Sleep under snow cannot be any better
for cattle than it is for men. Let us have some coffee, and
then we must whip up and rouse the cattle; they seem dead
already; they are too quiet.”\par

He was going back to the tree where he had slept, when he
was met by his brother Augustin, who came to say that Victoriano
wished to see him.\par

“What? Still in bed?” said he, seeing Victoriano lying
down. “This won't do. Up with you, boy.”\par

“Come here to me, father,” said Victoriano's voice, very
sadly. His father was quickly by his side.\par

“What is the matter, my boy?” asked he.\par

“Father, I cannot stand up. From my knees down I have
lost all feeling, and have no control of my limbs at all.”\par

“Have you rubbed them to start circulation? They are benumbed
with the cold, I suppose.”\par

“I have been rubbing them, but without any effect, it seems.
I don't feel pain though, nor cold either.”\par

This was the saddest perplexity yet. There was nothing to
be done but to wait for daylight to take Victoriano home. In
the meantime, a fire was made near his bed. His limbs were
wrapped in warm blankets; he drank a large cup of warm coffee
and lay down to wait for the dawn of day to appear.\par

As soon as all the herders had drank plenty of warm coffee,
all mounted their horses, and the work of rousing the cattle began.\par

The shouts of the {\itshape{vaqueros}}, bellowing of cattle and barking of
dogs resounded throughout the valley, the echo repeating them
from hill to hill and mountain side. In a short time everything
living was in motion, and the peaceful little valley seemed the
battle-ground where a fiercely contested, hand-to-hand fight was
raging. The great number of fires burning under the shelter of
trees, seen through the falling snow as if behind a thick,
mysterious veil, gave to the scene a weird appearance of unreality
which the shouts of men, bellowing of cattle and barking of
dogs did not dispel. It all seemed like a phantom battle of
ghostly warriors or enchanted knights evoked in a magic valley,
all of which must disappear with the first rays of day.\par

Don Mariano and his two brothers also mounted their horses,
but remained near Victoriano's bed to keep him from being
trampled by cattle that might rush in that direction.\par

About four o'clock the {\itshape{vaqueros}} had a recess. They had put
the cattle in motion, and could conscientiously think of cooking
breakfast. By the time that breakfast was over, daylight began
to peep here and there through the thick curtains of falling snow.
Giving to the {\itshape{mayordomo}} the last instructions regarding the management
of the cattle, Don Mariano got Victoriano ready to start
on their forlorn ride homeward. It was no easy task to put him
in the saddle, but once there, he said he was all right.\par

“I am a miserable chicken from my knees down, but a perfect
gentleman from my knees up. Don't be sad, father; I'll be
all right again soon,” said he, cheerfully.\par

The snow had not ceased falling for one moment, and if the
{\itshape{mayordomo}} had not been so good a guide they might not have
found their way out, for every trail was completely obliterated,
and no landmarks could be seen. After a while, Don Mariano
himself, aided by a pocket compass, got the bearings correctly.
The entire band of cattle were driven back, so that all began
their retreating march together, preceded by Victoriano, with his
limbs wrapped up in pieces of blanket, an expedient which he
found very ridiculous and laughable, suggesting many witticisms
to him.\par

About ten o'clock they came to a grove of oak trees which
covered a broad space of ground and afforded good shelter for
man and animals. Don Mariano told his {\itshape{mayordomo}} that he
thought this would be a good place for him to stay with the stock
until the storm had passed, for although the snow might fall on
the uncovered ground, there would be shelter for all under the
trees.\par

After resting for an hour and eating a good luncheon, Don
Mariano, aided by his brothers, again put Victoriano on horseback
and started homeward, all the country being still enveloped
in snow. About nightfall the snow was succeeded by rain, and
this was much worse, for it came accompanied by a violent wind
which seemed as if it would blow them away with their horses.
Having left the {\itshape{mayordomo}} and all but one {\itshape{vaquero}} with the
cattle, Don Mariano had with him only this one {\itshape{mozo}} to wait on
them, and his two brothers to assist him in the care of Tano.
The night was passed again under the friendly shelter of trees,
but in the morning it was found necessary to ride out into the
storm, for now Victoriano's limbs ached frightfully at times, and
it was imperative to reach home. This was not done until the
following day, when Victoriano's malady had assumed a very
painful character, and when Don Mariano himself had taken a
severe cold in his lungs. A doctor was immediately sent for,
and now Doña Josefa had two invalids more to nurse.\par

For six weeks Don Mariano was confined to his bed with a
severe attack of pneumonia, followed by a lung fever, which
clung to him for many days. In the latter part of January, however,
he was convalescing. Not so Victoriano; his strange malady
kept him yet a close prisoner. When his father was out
already, driving and riding about the rancho, poor Tano had to
be content with sitting by the window in an arm-chair, and looking
at that other window which he knew was in Alice's room.
Everett came daily to sit with him, to read to him, or play chess
or cards, and he helped the invalid to take a few steps, and little
by little, Tano began to walk.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxii-a-false-friend-sent-to-deceive-the-southerners}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxii-a-false-friend-sent-to-deceive-the-southerners}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXII.—{\scshape{A False Friend Sent to Deceive the Southerners.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“Great men are the Fire Pillars in this dark pilgrimage of
mankind; they stand as heavenly signs, ever living witnesses of
what has been, prophetic tokens of what may still be—the revealed
embodied Possibilities of human nature,” says Carlyle.\par

If conspicuousness or notoriety could mean greatness, we have
our {\itshape{great men}} in California. But are they the Fire Pillars in
our dark pilgrimage? Verily, no. They are upas trees, blighting
life, spreading desolation, ruin, death upon all they overshadow.
Only the cruelist irony could designate them as {\itshape{heavenly
signs}}, for surely they march before us in the opposite direction
from that in which heavenly Fire Pillars would be expected
to stand.\par

And who are the most conspicuous in our State? The {\itshape{monied
men, of course}}—the monopolists. They are our {\itshape{Fire Pillars}}!
Unfortunate California! if thou art to follow such guides,
thy fate shall be to {\itshape{grovel for money}} to the end of time, with
not one thought beyond, or above, money-making, and not one
aspiration higher than to accumulate millions greedily for rapacity's
sake—without once remembering the misery that such rapacity
has brought upon so many innocent people—the blight it has
spread over so many lives. Thy ambition shall be to control
the judiciary and utterly debauch the legislative branch of our
Government; to contaminate the public press and private individual
until thy children shall have lost all belief in honor, and
justice, and good faith, and morality. Until honesty shall be made
ridiculous and successful corruption shall be held up for admiration
and praise.\par

And are not {\itshape{our}} “Fire Pillars” dragging us already in that
direction? blinding us instead of guiding and enlightening?
Yes, alluring, tempting, making rapacity and ill-gotten wealth appear
justifiable, seen through the seductive glamour of Success!\par

The letter Mr. James Mechlin received one morning about
the latter part of November, 1875, would seem so to indicate.
He and Mr. Holman met often at the postoffice each winter
since 1872, always hoping to get railroad news from Washington.
These two gentlemen religiously went to the postoffice
every day again this winter—particularly since the Mechlins
had taken their temporary residence in town—and religiously
they expected that {\itshape{good news}} would come at any time while
Congress was in session—news that a bill to aid in the construction
of the Texas Pacific Railroad had been passed. But days
and days went by and no news came. This morning, however,
Mr. Mechlin received two letters from his brother, the first he
had got since he brought the wounded George to town.\par

One of these letters said that early in that month (November)
Mr. C. C. had taken east from California in his special car ex-Senator
Guller, for the purpose of being sent South {\itshape{to persuade}}
the Southern people into believing that the Texas Pacific Railroad
would be injurious to the South; that it was being built
for the benefit of Northern interests, but that {\itshape{the Southern Pacific}},
of Mr. Huntington and associates, was truly the road for
the South. Mr. Huntington instructed Senator Guller in all the
fictions he was to spread in the South, and with that burden on
his soul (if the old man has one), the hoary headed ex-Senator
started from Washington about the 12th of November, 1875, on
this errand to deceive, to betray. To betray cruelly, hiding under
the cloak of friendship and good will, the worst, blackest, most
perfidious intent. “He is going about the South making public
speeches,” Mr. Mechlin said, “and using his influence to mislead
Southern newspapers and Southern influential men; trying
to convince all that the Texas Pacific will do the South great
harm. The Southern people and Southern Press have fallen
into the trap. They never doubted, never could doubt, the
veracity of ex-Senator Guller, who had espoused their cause
during the war of the rebellion, and had always held Southern
sentiments. Who could believe that now, {\itshape{for money}}, he would
go to deceive trusting friends? That, {\itshape{for money}}, he would
cruelly mislead Southerners to their ruin? Who would believe
that this old man, calling himself a friend, was the veriest, worst,
most malignant Mephistopheles, holding in the heart so wicked a
purpose, such an infamous design?”\par

In the second letter Mr. Lawrence Mechlin spoke of ex-Senator
Guller being still at work in the South, and that his patron,
Mr. Huntington, seemed to think that the old man was not telling
as many fictions as he (Huntington) wished. But that what
more false statements he desired, it did not appear, for in reality
Dr. Guller had prevaricated and misrepresented all that he could
within the limits of possible credibility.\par

“And now,” Mr. Mechlin's letter added, “old man Guller
will soon return from his Southern trip. Let us hope that the
old man will be well paid for his unsavory work. I cannot believe
that in making his public speeches he does not occasionally
feel a pang of regret, of remorse, when seeing the faces of
those unfortunate, betrayed Southerners upturned to him, listening
in the sincerity of their hearts to the atrocious concoctions
which he is pouring upon their unsuspecting heads.”\par

Mr. James Mechlin read to Mr. Holman this portion of his
brother's letter, and both looked at each other in dismay.\par

“Come with me,” said Mr. Mechlin. “Let us go and talk
with George about this.” When they had walked in silence a
few minutes, Mr. Mechlin turned suddenly around and said:\par

“I have an idea. Let us (you, Don Mariano, and myself)
go to see Governor Stanford and find out from him directly
whether they really mean to kill the Texas Pacific, or whether
those tricks of Huntington are intended only as a ruse to bring
Tom Scott to terms.”\par

“But would Stanford tell us?”\par

“Whether he does or not, by talking with him we will find
out the truth.”\par

“I don't think the sending of Guller to the South can be a
ruse only; it must have cost them money.”\par

“True. You are right,” said Mr. Mechlin, sadly, resuming
his walk. “And it proves conclusively that these men of the
Central Pacific Railroad will stop at nothing to obtain their end;
and yet, I have always thought so well of Governor Stanford
that I am unwilling to believe he is a party to any trickery of
Huntington's.”\par

On arriving home, Mr. Mechlin, followed by Mr. Holman,
went directly into George's room to lay before him his idea of
interviewing Governor Stanford. After listening attentively,
George said:\par

“I have not the slightest doubt that the railroad men of the
Central Pacific wish to establish an iron-bound monopoly on
the Pacific slope, to grasp all the carrying business of the entire
coast, and to effect that, they will do anything to kill the Texas
Pacific, or any other road that might compete with them. Still,
as you are going to San Francisco to escort Lizzie, you can
then, for your own satisfaction, have a talk with Governor Stanford,
and Mr. Holman and Don Mariano can join you.”\par

“Yes, after I see him, I shall know the truth whether he tells
it to me or I see it myself,” said Mr. Mechlin.\par

“Well, I shall join you at any time. Let us go to see Don
Mariano to-morrow and find out when he thinks he will be well
enough to travel,” said Mr. Holman.\par

“Very well; I shall call for you about nine A.M.,” said Mr.
Mechlin. Mr. Holman then arose, and, saying he wished to
speak with the ladies and try to forget railroads, went into the
parlor. Mr. Mechlin followed him, saying to George as he was
leaving the room:\par

“Here is a lot of letters and papers that came this morning
which I was almost forgetting to give to you.”\par

Among the various letters of less interest to George, there
was one from his uncle, one from Bob Gunther and (would he
believe his eyes!) one from Clarence! The sight of that writing
made George start, and he immediately thought of the effect it
would have on Mercedes. He hastily tore open the envelope
and found four letters besides the one for himself. One was
for Don Mariano, one for Gabriel, one for Tano, and one for
Mercedes. “The noble fellow forgets no one,” said George,
beginning to read his letter, and thinking it was best not to give
to Mercedes hers until all the visitors had left, was soon absorbed
in what Clarence said. Knowing that all would repeat
the contents of his letters to one another, Clarence related to
each different incidents of his travels, leaving for Mercedes alone
the recital of his heart's longings, and sufferings, and fears, and
hopes. To George he related his travels in the interior of
Mexico, speaking with great enthusiasm of the transcendent
beauty, the sublimity of the scenery in that marvelous country.
He had passed several weeks in the Sierra Madre, had ascended
to the summits of Popocatepetl and Orizaba, viewing from the
snow-clad apex of this last named mountain, at an elevation of
more than three miles above the sea level, a vast panorama of
the entire Mexico, bordered on each side by the Pacific and
Atlantic Oceans. Clarence also spoke in highest terms of
praise of the delta of the Sumasinta River, and beautiful scenery
of the Rio Verde and Rio Lerma, and Chapala Lake, so large
and picturesque that it looks like an ocean set apart by the jealous
gods so that men may not defile its beauty and break its
silence with the hurry scurry of commercial traffic. Clarence
dwelt, also, upon his visit to Yucatan, where he went more especially
to see the ruins of Urmal. Those ruins which are the
irrefragable witnesses of a past civilization, lost so entirely that
archæology cannot say one word about its birth or death. Clarence
found those ruins intensely interesting, and would have
spent much longer time than the month he passed there, examining,
studying and admiring them, had his traveling companions
been willing to remain longer, but they were anxious to
visit the City of Mexico, and so he was obliged to leave those
majestic ruins whose silence spoke to him so eloquently. They
seemed to him symbolical of his ruined hopes, his great love,
in fact, himself. Was he not like those crumbling edifices—a
sad ruin of lofty aspirations? Poor Clarence, his sad heart was
only made sadder when, upon his arrival at the City of Mexico,
he found no letters there. He inquired at the American Legation
whether any letters had come for him, and was told by the
Secretary that {\itshape{no letters}}, but one package, only one, had been
received, which had been kept for six months, at the end of
which time Mr. Hubert Haverly had written saying that if Mr.
Darrell did not call for the package soon, to return it to him
(Haverly) at San Francisco. This had been done about
two weeks previously. On hearing this, Clarence sat down,
wrote letters to all his friends, and then started for South America,
intending to cross that continent and embark at Brazil for
Europe. His letter to Mercedes he ended with these words.\par

“I do not blame you for renouncing me, for it must be repugnant
to you to unite yourself with one who has such rough
blood in his veins. But, Oh! Mercedes, can you not pity me
enough to say one kind word? What have I done to deserve being
the miserable outcast that I am?”\par

Mercedes was in despair. Where could all their letters be?
Why did he not get them? He wrote to his mother, to Everett
and Alice, and to them he made the same complaint, and yet,
all had written to him repeatedly.\par

Mr. Mechlin, accompanied by Mr. Holman, arrived at the
rancho about luncheon hour. Their drive had given them a
good appetite and they enjoyed their repast. After it, they all
adjourned to the parlor to discuss, by the fire, their intended
visit to San Francisco. Don Mariano would have preferred to
sit out doors on one of the verandas, but Doña Josefa reminded
him that a whole year had passed since he was overtaken by
that disastrous snow-storm, and he had not yet regained his
usual health; neither had Victoriano. The injury to his health
seemed even greater and more difficult to remedy, for every two
or three months he had attacks more or less serious of the same
lameness which deprived him of the use of his limbs.\par

As for the cattle, the poor, dumb brutes who had never seen
snow, they became so frightened at the sight of that white pall,
enveloping everything, that they were absolutely unmanageable
after Don Mariano had gone in advance with Victoriano, and
the {\itshape{mayordomo}} thought they would wait until the storm had
passed. Next day the {\itshape{mayordomo}} went about in hopes of finding
such stray animals as might have ran less wildly, but none
were to be seen, excepting those which lay stiff in death under
the snow.\par

The loss of his cattle made it more imperative that Don Mariano
should look closely into land matters, into the prospects of
a railroad for San Diego. He therefore listened attentively to
what his friends said about Mr. Lawrence Mechlin having written,
and their proposed visit of inquiry to ex-Governor Stanford
as to what might be the fate of San Diego's railroad.\par

“It seems to me incredible that Doctor Guller should have
lent himself for such service, no matter how well paid,” said Don
Mariano. “If he had been sent to deceive the North, to fool
the Yankees, the errand would have been—if not more honorable—at
least less odious for a Southerner, not so treacherous;
but to go and deceive the trusting South, now when the entire
country is so impoverished, so distressed, that act, I say, is inhuman,
is ignominious. No words of reprobation can be too severe
to stigmatize a man capable of being so heartless.”\par

“Truly, but the instigators are as much to blame as the tool
they used. They should be stigmatized also as corrupters, as
most malignant, debasing, unscrupulous men,” said Mr. Holman.
“Men who are harmful to society, because they reward dishonorable
acts; because they reward, with money, the blackest
treason!”\par

“Can it be possible that Governor Stanford had any knowledge
that his associate was sending Doctor Guller on that disgraceful
errand?” Don Mariano queried.\par

“It looks like it, but let us hope he did not,” Mr. Holman
replied.\par

“Yes, let us hope also that Mr. Lawrence Mechlin was misinformed,
and Doctor Guller has not been guilty of anything so
atrocious,” the Don said.\par

It was finally decided that the three friends would go to San
Francisco at the same time that Lizzie would be going. She
had made a flying visit to her family at San Diego, and Gabriel
was calling loudly for her to return, saying that after banking
hours he felt lonely and missed her dreadfully.\par

Lizzie, therefore, had three gentlemen for her escort, and in a
few days they all steamed away for the city of the sand dunes.\par

The first day in the city Don Mariano devoted to raising a
sum of money by a mortgage on his rancho, as he needed the
money to pay taxes on the land occupied by the squatters; but
the day after, the three friends presented themselves at the railroad
office and inquired for Governor Stanford. They were
told that he had just left the office, but that he would be there
on the following day. As they were leaving the office, they met
a Mr. Perin, a friend whom they had not seen for some time.
When they had exchanged greetings, Mr. Perin asked them if
they had come to see Governor Stanford. On being told that
such was the case, he said:\par

“It is well that you did not see him, for he is not in a very
good humor to-day, and as for Mr. C., he is like a bear with a
sore head—furious at Tom Scott.”\par

“What is the matter? What has Tom Scott done to anger
his persecutors?” asked Mr. Holman.\par

“It seems they need money and can't raise as much as they
want, while Huntington keeps clamoring for more to kill Tom
Scott together with the Texas Pacific,” was the answer.\par

“The earnings of the Central Pacific this last year were seventeen
millions of dollars. How are they in such need of money?
Is not that enough to kill Colonel Scott?” Mr. Mechlin asked.
“Why do they want more?”\par

“Because, if their earnings had been seventy millions, these
men would still be in need of money,” Mr. Perin said.\par

“Why so?”\par

“Because, as they wish to absorb all the carrying business of
this coast—in fact, all sorts of business—they want money,
money, money. They want to buy steamboats, ferry-boats, ocean
steamers; street railroads and street cars; coal mines and farms;
in fact, they want everything, and want it more when some poor
devil loses his business thereby and goes, frozen out, into the
cold world. So you see, to go into such a variety of business
besides railroading and killing Tom Scott, it costs money. It
takes millions and millions to kill and freeze out so many
people.”\par

“I hope they'll be disappointed in killing Colonel Scott,”
said Don Mariano. “That would mean death to many others.”\par

“I hope so, too, but I hear that Mr. Huntington devoutly
prays that a kind Providence may enable him ‘{\itshape{to see grass
growing over Tom Scott}},’” Mr. Perin replied.\par

“Yes, my brother wrote me that Huntington does say that
he hopes to worry Scott to death, and ‘{\itshape{see grass growing over
his grave}}.’ I fear he will see grass growing over many graves
if he succeeds in killing the Texas Pacific,” said Mr. Mechlin.\par

“He is trying hard to do that, and his associates are backing
him up with millions,” Mr. Perin said.\par

“Then Heaven help us poor people who have invested our
all, believing that San Diego would have a railroad,” said Mr.
Mechlin, bitterly.\par

Next morning the three friends went again to the railroad
office and sent their cards to Governor Stanford. In a few
minutes the servant returned to say that the Governor was very
busy, but if the gentlemen could wait he would see them as
soon as possible. The gentlemen waited; they read the morning
papers and looked over railroad guides to while away time.\par

Yes, they waited, but they would have spared themselves
that trouble, and they would have never made that pilgrimage
from San Diego to consult the oracle at San Francisco, could
they have read what Mr. Huntington was about that time writing
to his {\itshape{associates}} concerning his {\itshape{modus operandi}} in Washington
to “{\itshape{convince}}” Congressmen to do as he wished, to defeat
the Texas Pacific; writing all about sending an ex-Senator to
“{\itshape{switch off the South}},” and there to pretend to be an anti-subsidy
Democrat, and to state falsely that the Texas Pacific would
injure the South. All this, however, was only known lately,
when Mr. Huntington's letters were made public. At that
time the three friends, thinking it impossible that the rights of
Southern California would be so utterly disregarded, did not
see any absurdity in interviewing the Governor.\par

While they waited they had an opportunity of hearing several
instructive matters freely mentioned. One of these was the way
of avoiding the payment of taxes, and how to fight the cases in
the courts. The gentlemen who discussed the subject evidently
understood it and were waiting to have an audience. Their
talk suggested a very sad train of thoughts to Don Mariano, as
he heard that the railroad people did not mean to pay taxes,
and would resist the law. He thought how those millionaires
would pay no taxes, and defy the law openly and fight to the
bitter end, whilst he was not only obliged to pay taxes upon a
too highly appraised property, but must also pay taxes for
the land occupied by the squatter and on the improvements
thereon! As a necessary sequence to such unjust, unreasonable,
inhuman taxation, Don Mariano had been obliged to mortgage
his rancho to raise funds to pay the taxes of the squatters.
With the yearly sales of his cattle he had always been able to
pay his own taxes as well as those of his unwelcome neighbors,
but as his cattle were now lost, his only resource was his land.
Not yet having the patent, he could not sell to advantage at all.
He must therefore mortgage.\par

“If I were a railroad prince, I suppose I would not be forced
to pay taxes for the squatters on my land,” said Don Mariano
to his friends, smiling sadly to hear how the taxes on railroad
property were to be fought.\par

“If you were a railroad prince, you would not pay your own
taxes, much less those of the squatters,” said Mr. Holman.\par

“I think you ought not to hesitate to use the money that
Clarence paid for your cattle. If they ran away, it was not your
fault,” Mr. Mechlin said.\par

“No, not my fault, but my misfortune; a misfortune which
I have no right to put on Clarence's shoulders. I did not
deliver the cattle; I don't take the pay. I am going to mortgage
my land, but I can't avoid it,” Don Mariano replied.\par

“It is certainly a very hard case to have to mortgage your
property to pay taxes for the squatters,” observed Mr. Holman.\par

“If these railroad men will only let us have the Texas Pacific
all will be right, but if not, then the work of ruining me begun by
the squatters will be finished by the millionaires—if they kill
our railroad,” said Don Mariano sadly, adding: “Our legislators
then will complete their work. Our legislators began my
ruin; our legislators will end it.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxiii-san-diego-s-sentence-is-irrevocable}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxiii-san-diego-s-sentence-is-irrevocable}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXIII.—{\scshape{San Diego's Sentence is Irrevocable.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
After waiting in the reception room for nearly two hours,
Don Mariano and his two friends were at last ushered into the
presence of ex-Governor Stanford. He was so well hid behind
his high desk, that looking around the empty room, Mr.
Holman observed:\par

“Well, I hope this is not to be a second stage of waiting.”\par

Mr. Stanford arose, bowing from behind his desk, said:\par

“Be seated, gentlemen. Excuse my having kept you waiting.”
Then seeing that there were but two chairs near by, and
only one more at the furthest corner of the room, he added,
going to bring the chair: “I thought that there were chairs for
you.”\par

Don Mariano, too, had started for the same chair, now that
its existence was discovered, but the Governor got there first,
and brought it half way, then the Don took it and occupied
it.\par

When all were seated, Governor Stanford said in his low,
agreeable voice, which any one might suppose would indicate
a benevolent, kind heart:\par

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”\par

Don Mariano laughed outright. The situation struck him
as being eminently ridiculous. Here was this man, who held
pitilessly their destiny in his hands—held it with a grip of
iron—and not one thought of the distress he caused; he,
through his associate, Huntington, was lavishing money in
Washington to kill the Texas Pacific, and thus snatch away
from them (the three friends) the means of support, absolutely
deprive them of the necessaries of life, and he asked them
what he could do? and asked it with that deep-toned, rich
melody of voice which vibrated softly, as if full of sympathy,
that overflowed from a heart filled with philanthrophy,
generosity and good will. This was a sad and cruel irony,
which to Don Mariano made their position absurd, to the
point of being laughable.\par

“This is like laughing at a funeral,” said Don Mariano,
apologetically. “Please pardon me. What made me laugh
was that I felt like answering you by saying, ‘Governor, you
can do for us all we ask.’ But—but—”\par

“Say it out. But what?” said the Governor, smiling.\par

“But will do nothing for us,” finished Mr. Holman.\par

“That is to say, for San Diego,” added Mr. Mechlin,
afraid that it might seem as if they came to ask a personal
favor.\par

“Ah! it is of San Diego that you wish to speak to me?
Then, truly, I fear I can do nothing for you,” the Governor
said.\par

“But you can hear what we wish to say to you,” Mr. Holman
interposed, with a sickly effort at smiling.\par

“Certainly. But really, gentlemen, you must excuse me for
saying that I am very busy to-day, and can only give you a
half hour.”\par

They all bowed.\par

Mr. Mechlin and Don Mariano looked at Mr. Holman, as
it was understood that he would be spokesman. But Mr.
Holman's heart was leaping with the indignation of a lion, and
then shrinking with the discouragement of a mouse into such
small contractions—all of which he in no way must reveal—that
for a minute he could not speak.\par

“I suppose the San Diego people wish me to build them a
railroad, isn't that it?” said the man of power, slowly arranging
some papers on his desk.\par

“Or to let some one else build it,” said Mr. Holman.\par

The Governor colored slightly, in evident vexation.\par

“Tom Scott, for instance,” said he, sneeringly. “Take my
advice, gentlemen, and don't you pin your faith on Tom Scott.
He'll build no Texas Pacific, I assure you.”\par

“Then why don't you build it?” asked Mr. Mechlin.\par

“Because it won't pay,” was the dry reply.\par

“Why won't it pay? We have plenty of natural resources,
which, if developed, would make plenty of business for two
railroads,” Mr. Holman said.\par

“Only the San Diego people say so. No one else thinks of
San Diego County, but as a most arid luckless region, where
it never rains.”\par

“That is the talk of San Francisco people, Governor, because
they want all the railroads to come to their city, and nowhere
else,” said Don Mariano.\par

“We have less rainfall in Southern California, on an average,
but on average, too, we get better crops than in the
northern counties in dry years. How it is I can't tell you, unless
it be that a given quantity of rain is all that crops require,
and above that it is superfluous, or else that for certain
soils a certain amount of rainfall is all that is required. It is
undoubtedly true that in dry years more crops have been lost
in some of the northern counties than in ours,” said Mr. Holman.\par

“Perhaps, but when we have such magnificent wheat country
in our northern valleys, it isn't to be supposed that we can
give any attention to San Diego.”\par

“If our county does not take the lead as wheat-growing, it
certainly can take it as fruit-growing. We have no capital to
make large plantations of vineyards or trees, but what has
been done proves, conclusively, that for grapes, olives, figs,
and in fact all semi-tropical fruits, there is no better country
in the world.”\par

“That may be so, but you see we are not engaged in the
fruit-growing business. We build railroads to transport freight
and passengers. We do not care what or who makes the
freights we carry.”\par

“Exactly. But surely there cannot be any reason why, if
San Diego should have freights and passengers to be carried,
that we should not have a railroad.”\par

“Certainly not. If you can get it, do so, of course.”\par

“Then, Governor, that is why we came to talk with you.
{\itshape{Is San Diego's death sentence irrevocable?}} Is it absolutely determined
by you that San Diego is not to have a railroad?”
asked Mr. Holman.\par

“Well, that is a hard question to answer. No, perhaps for
the present San Diego will {\itshape{not}} have a railroad,” said he, with
cool nonchalance.\par

“What do you call {\itshape{for the present}}? How long?”\par

“That is a harder question yet. You see, if we effect a
compromise with Mr. Scott, we will keep on building the
Southern Pacific until we meet his road, and then, as all the
Eastern freight can come by the Southern Pacific, there will
not be any necessity of another railroad.”\par

“In other words, San Diego must be strangled. There will
not be any Texas Pacific?” said Mr. Holman.\par

“No, not in California,” the Governor calmly asserted, passing
over the subject as of no consequence, if a hundred San
Diegos perished by strangulation.\par

“By the terms of the Southern Pacific charter were you not
to build to San Diego?” asked Mr. Mechlin.\par

“Yes; that is to say, through San Diego to the Colorado
River, but that wouldn't suit us at all. Still, I think that after
a while, perhaps, when we have more time, we might build to
San Diego from some point of the Southern Pacific that we
see is convenient,” said he, as if it didn't matter what the terms
of the Southern Pacific charter were, knowing that Congress
would not enforce them.\par

“A little branch road,” observed Mr. Holman.\par

“Yes; that is all we think is necessary for our purpose.”\par

“Then to sum up, what we must understand is, that San
Diego cannot hope to be a western terminus of a transcontinental
railway; that all we may hope to get is a little branch
road from some point convenient to the Southern Pacific Railroad.”
Mr. Stanford bowed. “And yet,” Mr. Holman continued,
“by right, San Diego is the terminal point of a transcontinental
railway, and San Diego ought to be the shipping
point for all that immense country comprising Arizona, Southern
California and Northern Mexico. We are more than five
hundred miles nearer to those countries than San Francisco,
thus you will be making people travel six hundred miles more
than is necessary to get to a shipping point on the Pacific.”\par

“So much more business for our road,” Mr. Stanford said,
laughing, in a dignified way, and slightly elevating his eyebrows
and shoulders, as if to indicate that really the matter
hardly merited his consideration.\par

“But without asking or expecting you to take any sentimental
or philosophic or moralizing view of our case {\itshape{as a benefactor}},
will you not take into consideration, as a business man, the
immense benefit that there will be to yourselves to have control
of the trade which will be the result of uniting Southern
California with Arizona, with the Southern States and Northern
Mexico, and developing those vast countries now lying
useless, scarcely inhabited.”\par

“Oh, yes; we have thought of that, I suppose, but we are
too busy up here. We have too much business on hand nearer
us to think of attending to those wild countries.”\par

“Then, Governor, let some one else attend to them. We
have only one life to live, and, really, much as we would like
to await your pleasure, we cannot arrest the march of time.
Time goes on, and as it slips by, ruin approaches us. We invested
all our means in San Diego, hoping that Colonel Scott
would build his railroad. Now we see plainly that unless you
withdraw your opposition to Scott we are ruined men, and
many more innocent people are in the same situation. So we
come to you and say, if you will not let any one else build us
a railroad, then do build it yourself. It will save us from ruin
and give you untold wealth. We will be glad to see you make
millions if we only secure for ourselves our bread and butter,”
said Mr. Holman.\par

“Our bread; never mind the butter,” said Don Mariano,
smiling.\par

“Why, you at least have plenty of cows to make butter,”
said Mr. Stanford, addressing Señor Alamar, evidently wishing
to avoid the subject, by turning it off.\par

“No, sir, I haven't. The squatters at my rancho shot and
killed my cattle, so that I was obliged to send off those that I
had left, and in doing this a snow-storm overtook us, and nearly
all my animals perished then. The Indians will finish those
which survived the snow.”\par

“Those Indians are great thieves, I suppose?”\par

“Yes, sir; but not so bad to me as the squatters. The
Indians kill my cattle to eat them, whereas the squatters did
so to ruin me. Thus, having now lost all my cattle, I have
only my land to rely upon for a living—nothing else. Hence
my great anxiety to have the Texas Pacific. My land will be
very valuable if we have a railroad and our county becomes
more settled; but if not, my land, like everybody else's land in
our county, will be unsaleable, worthless. A railroad soon is
our only salvation.”\par

“That is bad,” Mr. Stanford said, looking at his watch.
“But I don't see how I can help you San Diego people. If
Mr. Huntington effects some compromise with Mr. Scott, we
will then build a branch road, as I said.”\par

“And what if there is no compromise?”\par

“Then, of course, there will be no road for you—that is to
say, no Texas Pacific in California.”\par

“Why not, Governor? ‘Live and let live,’” Don Mariano
said.\par

“You don't seem to think of business principles. You forget
that in business every one is for himself. If it is to our interest
to prevent the construction of the Texas Pacific, do you
suppose we will stop to consider that we might inconvenience
the San Diego people?”\par

“It is not a matter of inconvenience—it is ruin, it is poverty,
suffering, distress; perhaps despair and death,” said Mr.
Mechlin. “Our merchants, our farmers, all, the entire county
will suffer great distress or ruin, for they have embarked their
all in the hope of immediate prosperity, in the hope that emigration
would come to us, should our town be the western
terminus.”\par

“You should have been more cautious; not so rash.”\par

“How could we have foreseen that you would prevent the
construction of the Texas Pacific?”\par

“Easily. By studying business principles; by perceiving
it would be to our interest to prevent it.”\par

“We never thought, and do not think now, that it is to your
interest to prevent it. But even if we had thought so, we would
not have supposed that you would attempt it,” Mr. Mechlin
replied.\par

“Why not?”\par

“Because it would have seemed to us impossible that you
could have succeeded.”\par

“Why impossible?”\par

“Because we would have thought that the American people
would interfere; that Congress would respect the rights of the
Southern people.”\par

Mr. Stanford laughed, saying: “The American people mind
their business, and know better than to interfere with ours.
All I can tell you, gentlemen, is that if Mr. Scott does not agree
to come no further than the Colorado River, he shall not be
able to get the interest of his bonds guaranteed by our Government,
which means that he will not have money to build his
road—no Congressional aid at all.”\par

“You seem very sure of Congress?”\par

“I am sure of what I say.”\par

“But, Governor, the Government helped you to build your
roads, why don't you let it help ours?”\par

“Who told you that?” said he, with an angry expression,
like a dark shadow passing over his face. “Who told you
that the Government helped us to build the Southern Pacific?”\par

“The Government gave you a grant of many millions of
acres to help build it, as the Central Pacific was constructed
with Government subsidies, and the earning of the Central Pacific
were used to construct the Southern Pacific, it follows
that you were helped by the Government to build both,” said
Mr. Holman.\par

“You are talking of something you know nothing about.
The help the Government gave us was to guarantee the interest
of our bonds. We accepted that help, because we knew
that, as private individuals, we might not command the credit
necessary to place our bonds in the market, that's all. As
for the land subsidy, we will pay every cent of its price
with our services. We do not ask of the Government to give
us anything gratis. We will give value received for everything.”\par

“That is certainly a very ingenious view to take of the
whole matter, and so viewing it, of course the killing of the
Texas Pacific seems justifiable to you,” said Mr. Mechlin.\par

“Carlyle, in your place, would not view your position like
that, Governor,” said Don Mariano, rising.\par

“Nor Herbert Spencer, either. His ideas of what you call
business principles are different,” added Mr. Holman.\par

“Pray, what would those great thinkers say?”\par

“Carlyle would think you are much to blame for flinging
away a magnificent chance to be great and heroic. Carlyle
worships heroes, but his idea of heroism is not only applicable
to warriors and conquerors, but to any one capable of rising
to a high plane of thought or heroic endeavor, doing acts
which require great self-denial for our fellow-beings, for humanity's
sake, with no view or expectation of reward in money,”
Mr. Mechlin said.\par

The Governor smiled, and with the least perceptible sneer
he asked:\par

“And how does Mr. Herbert Spencer differ with my ideas
of business principles?”\par

“He differs in this, that he thinks that commercial honor,
business morality, should be based on strict rectitude, on the
purest equity. That so soon as any one in the pursuit of riches
knowingly and wilfully will injure any one else, that he then
violates the principle upon which commerce should rest,” Mr.
Holman replied.\par

“But that is absurd. Would he stop competition?”\par

“Not at all. Competition generally has the effect of securing
the preference to whomsoever deserves it. No, what Mr.
Spencer maintains is that monopolies should not exist when
they have become so powerful that they defy the law, and use
their power to the injury of others. The fundamental principle
of morality is then subverted,” said Mr. Holman.\par

“Fundamental morality forbids us to injure any one because
we would be benefited by that injury,” said Don Mariano.\par

“The same old axiom of the French revolution, that ‘the
rights of one man end where those of another begin.’ Danton
and Marat sang that to the music of the guillotine,” said the
Governor, a little bit contemptuously.\par

“That is so; but you see, Governor, the devil might sing
psalms, and it won't hurt the psalms,” Don Mariano replied.\par

“We have made you waste your time talking to us, Governor,”
said Mr. Holman; “can we not hope that you will reconsider
this matter, and examine more carefully the advantages
of making San Diego the direct outlet for all that country
that needs a railroad so much? Believe me, sir, such road
will bring you more millions than the Central and Southern
Pacific Railroads. If you do not build it, and prevent Col.
Scott from building it, sooner or later some one else will, for
it stands to reason that such a magnificent enterprise will not
be left neglected after other less advantageous routes are tried.
Then you will have the regret of having spurned this golden
chance.”\par

“And besides the chance of making millions for yourselves.
Think of the blessings you will bring to so many hearts who
are now sadly discouraged, and will be desolate if our hopes
are frustrated,” Mr. Mechlin said.\par

“Corporations have no souls, gentlemen, and I am no Carlylean
hero-philanthropist. I am only a most humble ‘{\itshape{public
carrier}}.’ I do not aspire to anything more than taking care
of my business,” Mr. Stanford answered.\par

“But, Governor, you cannot be indifferent to the distress your
action will cause?” insisted Mr. Mechlin, with sad earnestness.\par

“As for that,” replied Mr. Stanford, smiling; “if I don't
cause distress some one else will. Distress there must be,
bound to be in this world, in spite of all that your philanthropists
might do or say to prevent it.”\par

“But do you not think that if all and every one of those who
have it in their power to be beneficent were not so indifferent
to human suffering, but were to be benevolent, that then the
combined result would be great alleviation and diminution of
human distress?”\par

“No; because those who have power to do good are very
few, and the improvident, the vicious, the lazy are in myriads;
and they and their folly and vices and improvidence will, forever,
more than counterbalance the good that the beneficent
might effect,” Mr. Stanford asserted.\par

Mr. Mechlin arose and turned towards the door. Mr. Holman
followed his example. Señor Alamar looked sadly at the
floor, saying:\par

“Well, Governor, I am sorry we have failed in bringing you
to our way of thinking. Time will show who is mistaken.”\par

“Oh, yes! Time will show. We can't cast any astrological
horoscope at the birth of a railroad. All we can do is to take
care that it thrives.”\par

“To clear away competition.”\par

“Exactly. The country is not settled enough yet to divide
profits. Besides, we think that Eastern people ought not to
build any roads to the Pacific Coast, when we of California are
ready to do it. Let Tom Scott keep away. We don't build
roads in Pennsylvania.”\par

“But are you sure you will always be able to prevent a competing
road? Would it not be cheaper for yourself to build
than to fight Tom Scott?”\par

“No indeed. For the present, it is cheaper to fight. It
don't cost so much money to make friends,” said he, smiling.\par

“You seem very confident of success.”\par

“Money commands success, you know.”\par

“Yes, money is everything! And it weighs not a feather, all
the ruin and squalor and death you will bring to a people who
never harmed you! Not a feather's weight, as against the accumulation
of money for yourselves,” said Mr. Mechlin, forgetting
his usual consideration for others' feelings.\par

“If I did not cause this misery you apprehend, some one
would. Be sure of it, for there will always be misery in the
world, no matter who causes it,” the Governor replied, with an
air of being satisfied with his philosophy, inasmuch as he was
to be exempt from human suffering, no matter who went under.\par

Mr. Mechlin, still lingering sadly, and veiling his great disapprobation
of Mr. Stanford's practical philosophy, said:\par

“Mr. Herbert Spencer also, in elucidating his principles,
reminds us of the fact that ‘Misery is the highway to {\itshape{death}},
while happiness is added life, and the giver of life.’ Think of
this, Governor. Surely, you do not wish to make us so miserable
that you cause {\itshape{death}}! Yes, death from poverty and
despair. Poverty, overwork and discouragement are the causes
of sickness and death oftener than it is supposed, and this Mr.
Spencer also maintains unswervingly.”\par

“You have a very vivid imagination; you color up things
too dark,” said the Governor, also rising.\par

“I hope you will not be sorry to have thought so. I hope
you will not regret that you closed your heart and your mind
against us, against justice, humanity and reason.” So saying,
Mr. Mechlin slowly walked off; then at the door he turned,
and lifting his finger, said to Don Mariano: “I feel a prophetic
warning that neither you nor I will ever see light in this world.
These men—this deadly, soulless corporation, which, like a
black cloud, has shut out the light from San Diego's horizon—will
evermore cast the shadow that will be our funeral pall.
But let them look to it, they might yet carry their heartless
rapacity beyond limit. The mighty monopoly, that has no soul
to feel responsibility, no heart for human pity, no face for manly
blush—that soulless, heartless, shameless monster—might yet
fall of its own weight.” So saying, Mr. Mechlin walked away,
as if he intended this prophecy to be a parting salutation to
the men who had blighted his life and made him utterly hopeless.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxiv-the-sins-of-our-legislators}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxiv-the-sins-of-our-legislators}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXIV.—{\scshape{The Sins of Our Legislators!}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“‘{\itshape{Assey de Bonaparte!}}’ cried France, in 1814. Men found
that his absorbing egotism was deadly to all other men,” says
Mr. Emerson. “It was not Bonaparte's fault. He did all
that in him lay to live and thrive without moral principle. It
was the nature of things, the eternal law of the man and the
world, which balked and ruined him; and the result in a million
experiments would be the same. Every experiment by
multitudes or by individuals, that has a sensual or selfish aim,
will fail. The Pacific Fourier will be as inefficient as the pernicious
Napoleon. As long as our civilization is essentially
one of property, of exclusiveness, it will be mocked by delusions.
Our riches will leave us sick; there will be bitterness in
our laughter, and our wine will burn our mouth. Only that
good profits which serves all men.”\par

Yes, only that good profits which does not represent the
misery of others; only that wine should be sweet which is
not drunk when the tears of those we have rendered desolate
are silently running over pale cheeks from eyes that have kept
the vigil of want, mourning for the beloved to whom poverty
brought death!\par

In heavenly-inspired words Emerson and Carlyle and Herbert
Spencer have repeated those burning aphorisms, but our
California “{\itshape{Fire Pillars}}” differ with them—differ widely and
differ proudly.\par

Mr. Stanford says that if {\itshape{he}} did not cause misery some one
else would, for “{\itshape{misery there must always be in this world}}!”
Sound philosophy, truly! Why should he recoil from adding
to the sum total of human misery when so many others do the
same!\par

Mr. Huntington was about the same time writing from
Washington that he {\itshape{would}} “{\itshape{see the grass grow over Tom Scott}}”
before he stopped his work of {\itshape{convincing}} Congressmen. And
he kept his word.\par

He carried {\itshape{conviction}} to Washington, distress to the South
and ruin to San Diego.\par

Mr. Crocker was answering, “{\itshape{Anything to beat Tom Scott!}}”
The thing was to prevent the construction of San Diego's railroad,
no matter to whom ruin came thereby. “No matter how
many were sacrificed.”\par

Nothing was more hopeless, therefore, than to suppose
that any of those men would swerve one iota from their
course of greedy acquisition, out of respect for equity or humanity.\par

Not a word was spoken until the three saddened friends
reached Don Mariano's parlors at the hotel. They had walked
silently out of the railroad building, silently taken the street
car and silently walked out of it, as it happened to stop in
front of their hotel.\par

“Well, we have failed sadly, but I am glad to have had the
chance of studying that piece of humanity, or rather I should
say inhumanity,” Mr. Mechlin exclaimed.\par

“How confident he is of their power over Congress! And
he certainly means to wield it as if he came by it legitimately.
He is proud of it,” added Mr. Holman.\par

“Yes, but he is wrong to be proud of a power he means to
use only for selfish ends. Sooner or later the people will get
tired of sending men to Congress who can be bought so
easily. I am disappointed in Governor Stanford. I thought
him much more just and fair; a much higher order of man,”
said the Don. “How coolly he laughed at us for quoting
Carlyle and Spencer! As if he would have said, ‘You quote
the philosophers, gentlemen, and I'll make the millions. You
might die in poverty, {\itshape{I}} shall revel in wealth.’”\par

“I ought to have quoted Emerson, when he says: ‘I count
him a great man who inhabits a higher sphere of thought into
which other men rise with labor and difficulty.’ This might
have pointed out to him how groveling it is never to rise above
the mere grubbing for money. No, he is not half as large-minded
as I had believed,” said Mr. Mechlin.\par

“How can he be if he is cognizant of the means employed
by Huntington to defeat all legislation in favor of the Texas
Pacific?” observed Mr. Holman.\par

“Yes, I fear now the Governor gives his sanction to Huntington's
work. I never believed it before. I am disappointed
in the Governor as much as in our fruitless errand,” the Don
said.\par

“How irksome and distasteful it is for him to hear about
‘{\itshape{the rights of others}}.’ He almost takes it as an insult that any
one but himself and associates should have {\itshape{rights}}; and he
seems to lose all patience at the mention of the distress they
have brought upon the people of San Diego and the financial
ruin that their rapacity and heartless conduct will cause the
Southern people,” said Mr. Holman. “Did you notice how
he frowned at the allusion to the fact that the Central Pacific
was built with Government money? The mere mention irritates
his nerves.”\par

“Does he suppose we don't know that they had no money,
and that it was with capital {\itshape{given}} as absolute gifts, or loaned
to them on the guarantee of the Government, that they built
and are building their roads?” said Mr. Mechlin. “I never
saw such complete subversion of the laws of reasoning as these
men exhibit. Good luck has made them think that to genius
they owe success. Thus their moral blindness makes them
take as an insulting want of proper deference any allusion to
those {\itshape{rights of others}} which, in their feverish greed, they trample.
For this reason they hate San Diego, because San Diego
is a living proof of their wrong-doing; a monument reminding
California of their deadly egotism, of the injury done by unscrupulous
men to their fellow-men. Hence, my friends, I
say that San Diego must have no hopes while those men live.”\par

“I am afraid you are right, and as I have invested in San
Diego all I have in the world, I see no hope; nothing but
hard-featured poverty staring me in the face,” said Mr. Holman,
sadly.\par

“If it were owing to natural laws of the necessities of things
that San Diego is thus crippled, our fate would seem to me less
hard to bear,” said Don Mariano; “but to know that the
necessities of commerce, the inevitable increase of the world's
population, the development of our State, all, all demand that
Southern California be not sacrificed, {\itshape{and yet it is}}, and our
appeals to Congress are of no avail! All this adds bitterness
to our disappointment. Yes, it is bitter to be reduced to want,
only because a few men, without any merit, without any claims
upon the nation's gratitude, desire more millions.”\par

Thus the disheartened friends discoursed, fully realizing their
terrible proximity to that financial disaster which was sure to
overtake them. In the generosity and kindness of their hearts,
they felt added regret, thinking of so many others who, in San
Diego, were in the same position of impending ruin; so many
good, worthy people, who certainly did not deserve to be thus
pitilessly sacrificed; so many who yet clung to the hopes of
'72, when all rushed to buy city lots; so many out of whose
hopes three years of disappointment had not quenched all
life. The failure of Jay Cook in the fall of '73 had made
the financial heart of America shrink with discouragement and
alarm, but San Diego did not realize how much her own fate
was involved in that sad catastrophe, and continued her gay
building of proud castles in the air and humble little cottages
on the earth—very close to the earth, but covered with fragrant
flowers, with roses, honeysuckles and fuchsias. These little
one-story wooden cottages were intended for temporary dwellings
only. By and by the roomy stone or brick mansions
would be erected, when the Texas Pacific Railroad—the highway
of traffic across the continent—should bring through San
Diego the commerce between Asia and the Atlantic seaboard,
between China and Europe. San Diego lived her short hour
of hope and prosperity, and smiled and went to sleep on the
brink of her own grave, the grave that Mr. C. P. Huntington
had already begun to excavate, to dig as he stealthily went
about the halls of our National Capitol “offering bribes.” But
such “foul work” was then only surmised and scarcely believed.
It was reserved for Mr. Huntington himself to furnish proof
that this was the fact. His letters were not published until
years after, but the world has them now, and the monopoly,
with all its power, cannot gainsay them.\par

The three friends were yet discussing this painful topic of
their pilgrimage, when Mr. Mechlin observed that Don Mariano
was looking very pale, and asked if he felt ill.\par

“Yes,” Don Mariano replied; “I feel very cold. I feel as if
I was frozen through and through. When we were at the
Governor's office I felt very warm, and when we came out my
clothing was saturated with perspiration. Now I feel as if I
had been steeped in ice.”\par

“This won't do. You must change your clothes at once,”
said Mr. Mechlin.\par

Mr. Holman also became alarmed at seeing the bluish pallor
of his face.\par

“Why, this is a congestive chill,” said he, hurrying off to call
the doctor, who resided at the hotel, and who fortunately was
at home.\par

Prompt and efficient medical attendance saved Don Mariano's
life, but he was too ill to leave his bed for several days.
His two friends remained with him, writing home that business
matters detained them.\par

Doña Josefa did not feel anxious; she thought that her
husband was busy negotiating a loan on his land, and this detained
him.\par

Gabriel and Lizzie also were in constant attendance, and
thus the sick man was kept in a cheerful frame of mind, a
thing much to be desired in sickness always, but more especially
in his case, accustomed as he was to be surrounded by a
loving family.\par

Still he was anxious to return home. Reluctantly the doctor
allowed him to do so, hoping that the salubrious climate
of Southern California would be beneficial. But he said to
him:\par

“I let you go on condition that you pledge me your word
to be very careful not to get into a profuse perspiration and
then rush out into the cold air. If your lungs had not been
originally so healthy and strong you could not have rallied so
soon, if ever; but they are yet filled with phlegm, and the least
cold might give you pneumonia.” To Gabriel the doctor repeated
the same words of warning, adding: “Not only is the
condition of your father's lungs very precarious, but also that
of his heart. He must not task either too much.”\par

Gabriel was thoroughly alarmed at hearing the doctor's
opinion, and immediately wrote to his mother how careful his
father ought to be, and how she should watch him.\par

Don Mariano tried to be careful, but having been very
healthy all his life, he did not know how to be an invalid, nor
guard against fresh colds.\par

About two weeks had elapsed since his return from San
Francisco, when a notice that many of his city lots would be
sold for taxes brought Don Mariano to town. He still held to
the belief that a railroad to San Diego would surely be built at
some future day, but had ceased hoping to see that day. However,
he would willingly have waited for a rise in real estate
before selling any of his city property, but he saw it was ruinous
for him to pay taxes—taxes for town property and taxes
for squatters—it was too much; so he reluctantly concluded
that it would be best to lose a great many lots (yes, whole
blocks), permitting them to be sold for taxes, hoping to redeem
them on the following year if Tom Scott was more successful
with the Texas Pacific. Mr. Mechlin and Mr. Holman
did the same, and many other unlucky ones followed their
discouraging examples. Thus city lots by the hundreds were
sold every year.\par

Don Mariano saw his city property thus sacrificed before his
eyes at public sale, just as he had seen his cattle buried under
the snow. He submitted in both cases to the inevitable
without a murmur; but this time the blow seemed heavier.
He was pecuniarily less able to bear it, and being in bad
health and discouraged, his misfortunes were more depressing.
He rode home saddened indeed.\par

Victoriano, who was now able to be about (but said he {\itshape{mistrusted}}
his legs), was with him.\par

“Father, why don't you use some of that money Clarence
sent you? I am sure he would approve your doing so, and
feel glad, {\itshape{very}} glad, indeed, that you did it,” said Victoriano,
when they had driven for a long time without uttering a word.\par

Don Mariano turned sharply and said: “Why should I use
Clarence's money? If I had delivered the cattle to Fred
Haverly, as it was agreed I should, then I would have a
right to take from Clarence's money the price of the cattle
delivered. But having delivered no cattle, I take no money.”\par

“Everett was saying that Clarence distinctly stated to his
father that the cattle in the Alamar rancho with your brand
were all his, and would be driven as soon as the weather permitted.
Mr. Darrell thinks that the cattle lost belonged to
Clarence, and not to you.”\par

“Mr. Darrell is wrong, then. I cannot expect to be paid
for cattle I did not deliver.”\par

“But he says you had sold them already. If they were lost
on the way it was neither your fault nor your loss.”\par

“No, but was my misfortune, not Clarence's.”\par

“The cattle were going to Clarence's mines, which goes to
prove that they had been bought by him.”\par

“I cannot view the matter like that,” Don Mariano said,
and Victoriano saw his mind was settled upon the subject, and
it was best not to annoy him by insisting in opposition.\par

When they arrived home they found that Doña Josefa had
received a telegram from Gabriel, sent the night before, saying
that he, Lizzie and the baby would spend Christmas and
New Year's Day at the rancho. This was glad news, indeed,
and most unexpected, for inasmuch as Lizzie had just been
down on a visit and hurried back, so that Gabriel would not be
all alone on Christmas, they did not think that Lizzie would
want to take the trip so soon again. But Lizzie would travel
many more miles to be with her family. And the reason that
Gabriel had for coming was, moreover, a most powerful one.\par

He had one day casually met the doctor who attended his
father, and after inquiring whether Don Mariano was better,
added:\par

“I tell you frankly, Don Gabriel, your father may yet live
many years, but he is in danger, too, of dying very suddenly.”\par

“How? Why so?” Gabriel asked, pale with alarm.\par

“Because his heart may give out if his lungs don't work
well, and as he is not very careful of himself, you see he might
task his heart with heavier work than it can perform. If he
is kept from excitement and gets rid of all that phlegm
which has accumulated in his lungs, he will be well enough.
So write to him to be careful in avoiding colds,” said the
doctor.\par

“I will go and tell him so myself,” Gabriel said.\par

“That is right. The case is serious, I assure you.”\par

This short dialogue brought Gabriel home.\par

From the time he had entered the bank he had never been
absent from it one minute during office hours, so a three weeks'
vacation was readily granted to him.\par

All the Mechlins would come to Alamar to pass the holidays.
George told his father that they might as well go back
to their home again since his lameness did not require daily
medical attendance.\par

Mr. Mechlin replied that they would decide upon that
after New Years, but he was evidently pleased at the prospect
of returning to Alamar.\par

The Alamar house looked once more as it had in the days
of old, before squatters invaded the place; it was full of people,
and music and laughter resounded under the hospitable roof.
Mercedes, however, sat silent, and though she smiled her own
sweet smile, it was too sad; it failed to deepen the cunning
little dimples as it did in other days. The Don and Mr.
Mechlin, too, were not as cheerful as they used to be. In that
visit to San Francisco “{\itshape{a change came over the spirit of their
dream}},” and it seemed to have come to quench the light of
their lives.\par

But the young people wanted to decorate the house with
green boughs and have a huge Christmas-tree, and the Don
himself went to help them to get pine branches and red
“{\itshape{fusique}}” berries. The tree would be in honor of his two
grandchildren; they were now eighteen months old, and the
proud mammas said they were so intelligent that they would
surely appreciate the tree.\par

Everett, Alice, Rosario and Victoriano were the committee
on decorations; Carlota, Caroline, Lucy and Webster were the
committee on refreshments. While the laughter of the young
people came ringing out through the parlor windows, Don
Mariano and Mr. Mechlin slowly walked up and down the
back veranda in earnest conversation.\par

“Yes,” Mr. Mechlin said, as if to reiterate some previous
assertion, “yes, I have lived my allotted term; my life is now
an incumbrance—nay, it is a burden on those who love me.
If I were not living, George could take his wife, his mother
and sister, to reside in New York, but because I cannot live in
that climate, all those dear ones remain in this exile.”\par

“But why should you call it exile? They don't think it is;
and even if it were, my friend, you have no right to cut your
life off at your will,” said Don Mariano.\par

“Why not? Life is a free gift, and often a very onerous
one. Why keep it, when to reject it would be preferable?
when it would release others from painful obligations?”\par

“But are you sure that the grief and horror of knowing that
you took your own life would not be a million times worse
than the supposed exile you imagine to be so objectionable?”\par

“Perhaps so; but I assure you, since I have lost all my
money, and when I am too old to make another fortune, my
health has begun to fail again. I hate life without health, and
these constant annoyances of financial difficulties will end by
prostrating me on a sick-bed again. Now, when I have lost
nearly all the money I invested in San Diego, now they come
down on me to pay a note of ten thousand dollars which I endorsed,
with five others. Why don't the others pay their share?
I am willing to pay two thousand dollars, but not the entire
sum.”\par

“I don't see why you should, either. What does your lawyer
say?”\par

“He shrugs his shoulders, caresses his side-whiskers, and
says he {\itshape{thinks}} that some of the other indorsers are insolvent,
because their property has depreciated so much that it would
bring nothing if sold; while those that have some means, no
doubt, put everything out of their hands, so I am left alone to
pay the entire sum.”\par

The sad dialogue of the grandpapas was now interrupted, as
they were called to witness the glee of the babies at the sight
of the illuminated Christmas-tree. When the surprise of first
sight was over, little Mariano Mechlin stretched out both hands
for the colored candles. His uncle Tano gave him a tin trumpet,
teaching him how to blow it; whereupon baby Mechlin
gave the company a blast, and looked so surprised at his own
performance, and gazed around so triumphantly and yet so
perplexed, that he made everybody laugh. Josefita looked at
her cousin distrustfully and gave her arms to her papa, as if
she thought Marianito was entirely too martial for the vicinity
of peaceful babies like herself. Gabriel took her near the tree
to select any toy she liked. She fancied a string of bright
balls, which her father gave her. The babies were allowed to
be in the parlor for nearly an hour, and they were so bright,
trying to repeat what was taught them, that it was really amusing
to watch them. Marianito sang for the company; all were
surprised to hear so young a baby sing so well. None enjoyed
more heartily their cunning ways than the two grandfathers,
especially Don Mariano, and both babies clung to him when
the nurses came to take them to bed.\par

When the babies had made their exit, the children of larger
growth had their music and dancing until ten, supper being
then announced. On returning to the parlor, after supper, the
clock upon the mantel struck twelve; at the same time a curtain
ran up, and an altar was disclosed to view, tastefully decorated
in the Roman Catholic style, having statues of the
Virgin Mary, the divine infant, enveloped in fleecy drapery,
and St. Joseph standing by his side. Behind the cradle were
three magi, and further off, the hills of Judea were seen. As
all the company were Roman Catholics, all entered into the
spirit of the commemoration, and joined with true feeling in
the carol led by Mrs. Darrell and Alice. Other sacred songs
were sung, and then all retired for the night; the Darrells
promising to come on the following evening to have another
dance, because—said Victoriano—it must be celebrated that
they had heard from Clarence, and that he had found his legs,
meaning that he (Tano) had again the use of his limbs.\par

Christmas Day was passed very happily, and in the evening
the young people assembled in the parlor for a dance. Don
Mariano excused himself to Mr. Mechlin, saying he felt badly,
and thought that he ought to be in bed.\par

At about eleven o'clock he sat up in bed and looked around
as if wishing to speak. Gabriel and Mercedes were sitting by
his bed, and promptly asked if he wished for anything.\par

“The sins of our legislators have brought us to this,” he
exclaimed, leaning back. Presently he said: “Call your
mother, my son.”\par

Gabriel called his mother, who being in the next room, talking
with Mrs. Mechlin, was quickly by his side.\par

“Call Elvira and Tano. Call Carlota and Rosario and
George. Call all, all, quickly! I fear, my beloved son, I fear
I am dying! Bring all my girls; I must bless them all!”\par

Mercedes had her arms around him. He looked at her lovingly.\par

“My baby, kiss me. Tell Clarence I bless him with my last
breath.” His voice began to fail him, but his eyes seemed
glowing with an intensity that was startling. He sat up again,
looking at each one of the anxious faces around his bed. “God
bless you all, my beloved ones,” said he, hoarsely.\par

“Papa, darling, can't we do something to relieve you?” asked
Mercedes. He shook his head and whispered:\par

“Too late. The sins of our legislators!”\par

“Do you feel pain, father?” Gabriel asked.\par

“Not now,” he whispered, extending his hand to George as if
to say good-by. He looked again to see whether every one of
his family was there; he forgot no one; he seemed anxious to
see them all for the last time. He extended his arms to his wife;
she came to him. “Pray for me,” he whispered, moving his
lips as if in prayer, and leaning on Gabriel, who held him, closed
his eyes and sighed. A few aspirations followed that last sigh,
and all was over—his noble soul had passed away.\par

For some moments no one believed that his lofty and noble
spirit had left the earth, but when the truth was at last realized,
the scene of grief, of heart-rending agony, that followed would
be impossible for me to describe.\par

Closely in the sad train of this mournful event, and as a fitting
sequel and a complement of such dire misfortune, another disaster,
more unexpected, more dreadful and tragic, followed,
which must now be related. It shall be told as briefly as possible.\par

A few days had passed after the funeral, and the Alamar family
were still in town. Doña Josefa and Mercedes were at the
Mechlins. Victoriano, Carlota and Rosario were at the Holmans;
that is, they slept there, but as Mercedes was again prostrated
with fever, they, as well as the Holmans, divided their
time between the two houses.\par

One morning Mr. Mechlin arose from the breakfast table and
said he was going hunting.\par

“Don't go far, James; you are too weak,” said Mrs. Mechlin.\par

“I think, papa, you ought not to carry that heavy gun. You
eat nothing, and walk too far, carrying it,” Caroline said.\par

“Will you carry it for me?” he said, smiling.\par

“I will,” Gabriel said; “I'll take George's, too, and go with
you, if you'll permit me.”\par

“It isn't necessary,” he replied, going towards his room.\par

“I think papa has taken to heart the death of Don Mariano
more than any one sees,” said Caroline.\par

“I know he has; he has hardly slept or eaten enough to sustain
life since that awful night,” Mrs. Mechlin said, “and constantly
talks about soon joining his best friend.”\par

“I have observed how very sad he is. I wrote uncle to come;
I think to see his brother will be great consolation to him,” said
George.\par

The report of a gun was heard in Mr. Mechlin's room, and
all jumped to their feet. Gabriel was the first to run and got
to the room in advance of the others. He found Mr. Mechlin
shot through the heart.\par

“Oh, God! Was it accidental?” Mrs. Mechlin exclaimed,
clasping her husband to heart. The dying man smiled, whispering:\par

“Do not mourn for me; it is best so; I shall be happier.”
He looked lovingly at the anxious faces surrounding him, and
closed his eyes forever.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxv-the-fashion-of-justice-in-san-diego}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxv-the-fashion-of-justice-in-san-diego}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXV.—{\scshape{The Fashion of Justice in San Diego.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
If those kind eyes of the Goddess of Justice were not bandaged,
but she could see how her pure white robes have been
begrimed and soiled in San Diego, and how her lofty dignity
is thus lowered to the dust, she would no doubt feel affronted
and aggrieved. And if she is so irreverently maltreated, can
she afford any protection to those who must rely on her alone,
having no riches to maintain protracted litigation or carry their
plaints to higher tribunals? To the moneyless laity Justice
thus defiled seems as helpless as themselves. She is powerless
to accomplish her mission upon earth whenever a Judge,
through weakness or design, may choose to disregard her dictates.
At present the dignity of a Judge's personality is more
sacred than the abstract impersonality of justice. Because the
accepted theory being that Judges are always just and incorruptible
(and generally the supposition is correct), there is a
broad shelter for a Judge who may be neither just nor impartial.
What mockery of justice it is in our fair land of freedom
to say that a bad Judge can be impeached when impeachment
is so hedged with difficulties as to be impossible—utterly ineffectual
to protect the poor, victimized laity! Who is the
poor litigant that would dare arraign an unjust Judge, well
sheltered in his judicial ermine, and the entire profession ready
to champion him? “{\itshape{Libel}}” would be the cry against any one
who would dare hold the mirror for such Judge to see himself!
Ah, yes, when the real libel is to distort the law and degrade
the mission of justice on earth!\par

Peter Roper, knowing well with what impunity he could
violate justice and decency, conceived the brilliant idea of taking
the Mechlin house at Alamar, now that the family were sojourning
in town. Peter did not like to divide the spoils, but as accomplices
were absolutely necessary, there was no alternative but
to take his friend and client Gasbang into the plot.\par

On a Sunday evening Peter proceeded to unfold his plan
before John, who had come from his farm to attend church
and was attired in a white vest and black coat, having just
come from evening service. For, as I have said before, John
Gasbang was a pillar of the church now, and never failed in his
attendance every Sunday. People knew that in old times,
when John was very poor, he used to play “{\itshape{monte}}” with the
Indians and cheat them out of their money. Many times he
had been known to spend almost the entire night sitting cross-legged
on a blanket with a tallow candle set in a bottle to
light his high-toned game, surrounded by the select company
of naked Indians, who were too fascinated to see how plainly
John was robbing them. Pitilessly would John strip his unsophisticated
tattooed comrades of everything they owned on
this earth. Their reed baskets, bows and arrows, strings of
beads, tufts of feather-tips, or any other rustic and barbaric ornaments.
All, all, John would gather up with his skillfully
shuffled cards. The spoils he thus collected he would sell to
other Indians from whom he would presently gather in (like
the good Sexton he was), gather in, with high-toned and highly
skillful shuffling. But John now was a rich man. Kindly San
Diego had forgiven John's petty thieving. The money won
from the poor Indians had helped him to thrive, and consequently
convinced him that, after all, cheating was no worse than
other sins, the gravity of which entirely depended upon the
trick of hiding them. He would now try to hide his humble,
predatory gambling, he said to himself, and seem respectable.\par

Yes, he would wear a white vest and try to look honest, but
on hearing Roper's project, his dull, fishy eyes revolved quickly
in their little sockets, and his square jaws expanded like those
of a snake before it shakes its rattle and coils up to spring.
His mouth watered in anticipation of the sweets of ill-gotten
gain as he listened attentively to all that Roper had to say.\par

“I'll see Hogsden the first thing in the morning,” said he,
joyously.\par

“But wait. Can you trust him?”\par

“Trust him? I should say I could, and if he weakens, there
is his wife to brace him up with her good advice. He owes a
big sum of money to old Mechlin; so old Hoggy will be only
too glad to get even by jumping the house. I suppose our
friend, the Judge, is with us.”\par

“Don't be silly. Do you suppose I would do a thing of this
kind if I wasn't sure of him? He won't fail me. He'll do as
I say. Be sure of that, and don't talk. Come to my house
now and I'll draw up the conveyance. Hog. must sign his quit-claim
deed, and then I'll see that his location of one hundred
and sixty acres is properly filed. But, mind, if Hogsden betrays
us, he'll spoil our game,” observed Roper.\par

“Leave that to me,” said John, rubbing his hands and giving
his vest a downward pull.\par

The result of this dialogue was that Hogsden quit-claimed
all his, “right, title and interest in a certain parcel of land, etc.,
etc., with a dwelling house and other improvements, etc., etc.,”
and the description of the property might have applied to
a hundred others in the county. This transaction accomplished
and recorded, they took the furniture that had been left
in the house by the Mechlins and put it temporarily in the barn;
Mrs. Hogsden taking only such articles as she wished to keep.
She stole them brazenly, saying she had bought them.\par

It was further agreed that they would work the farm in partnership,
dividing profits equally, and a contract in writing to
this effect was signed by them.\par

Roper now being a property holder, besides being so influential
with {\itshape{the}} Judge, thought he could soar to higher altitudes.
By the assistance of Gasbang and a few others, whom he said
belonged to his {\itshape{gang}}, he managed to get himself nominated for
Representative to Congress. Bursting with pride, puny Peter
started on his way to glory, to {\itshape{stump}} his district. He would
begin at San Bernardino and carry the county by storm, with
the force of his eloquence and personal magnetism, he said,
with characteristic modesty.\par

He made speeches at San Pascual, and Poway, and San Bernardo,
and Bear Valley, and Julian, but his greatest effort, the
achievement that would crown his brow with laurels, that effort
he reserved for Los Angeles. Quite a big crowd was marshaled
to hear him. He had paid a good deal of money in advertisements
so as to collect an audience. He succeeded; a crowd
was there ready to make up in quantity what it lacked in
quality.\par

Roper came forward. His face was red as usual, but he
seemed sober—he stood straight. He was as loquacious as
ever, of course, and talked incessantly for quite a while, making
the crowd laugh. After he had all his audience in a laughing
mood with his coarse anecdotes and broad jokes, he thought he
would capture their votes beyond a doubt if he then and there
proved himself—by his own admissions—to be {\itshape{low}}, the lowest
of the lowly—so very low, so very disreputable, that no one
could be lower.\par

“You cannot doubt,” said Peter, “that my sympathies as well
as my interests, are with you, the working people, the poor who
must work or starve. I have nothing in common with bloated
bondholders or pampered monopolists who have enriched themselves
with the earnings of the poor. I don't know how I came
to be a lawyer. I suppose it happened because I don't like to
work. I would rather talk and let others work. {[}Laughter.{]}
I am a child of the people, and {\itshape{for}} the people—the poor people
I mean. My mother was a cook, a poor cook—poor in
pocket I mean. Her cookery may have been rich {[}laughter{]},
but upon that point I couldn't enlighten you, for I have forgotten
the flavor of her dishes. But she was a cook by profession,
just as I am a lawyer by profession, and one is as good as the
other. {[}Laughter.{]} As for my father, of him I know nothing
to speak of—literally—{[}laughter{]}, so the less said on that head,
the sooner mended; for if the fact of my being here goes to prove
{\itshape{to you}} that I had a father, that is all the proof {\itshape{I}} ever had myself.”\par

Here Peter laughed, but he laughed alone. He thought that
a burst of laughter and applause would follow this last shameless,
revolting admission, but not a sound was heard. He had
overstepped the bounds of decency so far, that even such a
crowd as made his audience was silent as if unanimous disgust
was beyond utterance. Roper was evidently disconcerted.\par

“We don't want to be represented in Washington by a fellow
who exults in degradation and has no respect for the memory
of his mother,” said a loud voice, and the crowd began to disperse.\par

Soon Peter's native impudence came to his aid and he tried
to recommence his discourse. “Look here,” he cried, “where are
you going? You ain't going to send my mother to Congress!
Did you think I came to ask you to vote for her?” He went on
in this coarse, bantering style which had taken so well at first,
but in vain. Nobody wanted to hear him now. It seemed as
if the ghost of the poor reviled cook had come, like that of
Banquo, to frighten off the audience. In a few minutes only
about half a dozen of his supporters had been left, and they remained
to scold.\par

“Well,” said one, looking back at the receding crowd, “that
cake is all dough, Peter. I hope your mother would have
made a better job of it.”\par

“A delightful dough,” said another; “and his goose is well
cooked. I say, Peter, you cooked your goose brown, browner
than your mother ever cooked hers, and I bet on it.”\par

Peter answered with an oath.\par

“The worst of it is, that in cooking your goose, you burnt
ours to a cinder. We haven't the ghost of a chance now, and
the Republican candidate will have a walk-over to Congress,”
said a third supporter.\par

Alas for human delusions! This fiasco was the crowning
glory of Roper's political campaign. Like the celebrated ambitious
toad which cracked its sides by the force of its own inflation,
Peter came to grief, ignominious grief; that is to say, it
would have been ignominious to any one not thoroughly inoculated
with disgrace as he, {\itshape{according to his own version}}, must
have been from the day of his birth.\par

“Let me ask you a question, Roper,” said a fourth friend.
“Why did you bring out such a thing against your mother? It
was your misfortune as long as you kept quiet about it, but
now it is your shame. What was the good of telling against
your own mother? Don't you know that people, even the
humblest, must censure and despise you for it? Few, very few
decent men, like to have anything to do with a man who
reviles his dead mother, no matter if she was a poor cook.
What pleasure can you find in proclaiming your shame?”\par

Roper laughed loud and derisively, saying:\par

“What will you bet that I'll have just as good and just as
many friends in San Diego as I ever had before?”\par

“Do you mean to say that the people of San Diego {\itshape{approve}}
of language such as you used to-night? Approve your conduct?”\par

“Never mind about that, only will you take my bet?”\par

The henchman shrugged his shoulders and walked off, but if
he had taken that bet, he would have lost.\par

When Colonel Hornblower received the news of Roper's
fiasco, it occurred to him that he would take a trip to Europe.
He had now made money enough out of the troubles and distress
he and Roper brought upon others, to indulge in that luxury,
the pleasure of saying he had been to Europe.\par

“My dear,” said the Colonel to his wife, “I think now is the
best time to take that trip to Europe we have had in our hearts
for so long. Get ready; let us go.”\par

“What has happened?” Mrs. Colonel Hornblower asked.\par

“Nothing, except that that partner of mine made a fiasco of
his political campaign,” and the Colonel related to his swarthy
lady Roper's speech, and how it was received.\par

“How absurd! so unnecessary!” she exclaimed.\par

“Perfectly, but you see, for a man of {\itshape{my}} dignity the thing is
awkward. What will the town say of {\itshape{me}}, {\bfseries{ME}}?”\par

“The town will say nothing. As long as Roper has the
friendship of Judge Lawlack he can have clients; and as long
as he has clients the San Diego people will be indulgent to
him, no matter how debased he says he is. However, drop
him, and let's go to Europe. I wish we could get letters to
distinguished people abroad.”\par

“What for? Our American ministers can present us to the
best society, and besides, I am sure I am well known abroad.
My name—the name of Colonel Hornblower—must be as
familiar to Europeans as the names of other distinguished
Americans. I am the most prominent man in San Diego. All
the world knows San Diego, all the world must know Colonel
Hornblower.”\par

“Still, I would like to get letters.”\par

“Not at all necessary, I assure you. I'll tell our minister
in England that Mrs. Colonel Hornblower wishes to be presented
to Queen Victoria, and he'll present you. The Queen,
no doubt, will wish to make our acquaintance.”\par

“I would like to see other royal people. I would like to see
the Pope, also.”\par

“You shall see as many princes and princesses as you like.
We Americans are princes, all of us. We are the equals of
princes. As for the Pope, I would not take one step to make
his acquaintance, unless he met me half way; but if you like
to see him, we'll get an introduction easily. Perhaps he might
invite us to dinner. If he does, I hope it won't be on Friday,
as fish don't agree with me.”\par

“Does he ever invite people to dinner?”\par

“Distinguished people, of course.”\par

The Hornblowers sailed for Europe before Roper returned
from his stumping tour. He was detained at Los Angeles,
where he had been beaten so badly in a bar-room brawl that
he was obliged to keep in bed for several days. The Colonel
then wisely slipped off for Europe, to hob-nob with royal
people and take dinner with the Pope, perhaps.\par

Mrs. Hornblower conjectured rightly. Roper's disgrace was
condoned by San Diego, because he was under the patronage of
Judge Lawlack, and in San Diego everybody has a law suit.\par

But has the Judge no moral responsibility in this? {\itshape{Has he
the right to impose upon the community}} a man so self-debased
and noxious? If the Judge were to withdraw his support Peter
would collapse like a pricked gas-bag, to be swept off into the
gutter. But the Judge is the genii, “{\itshape{the Slave of the Ring}}” and
his power keeps the little gas-bag afloat, soaring as high as it is
in the nature of little gas-bags to soar. The Judge keeping in
his hand the check-string, kindly preventing him from going to
destruction.\par

With characteristic coarseness, amounting to inhumanity,
Peter Roper and Gasbang decided to throw down their masks,
and reveal their fraud in “{\itshape{jumping}}” Mr. Mechlin's house.
They came to this decision about ten days after Mr. Mechlin's
death.\par

Gabriel had returned that same day from San Francisco,
where he had accompanied the remains of his father-in-law,
and deposited them in a vault to await until Mrs. Mechlin
should be able to travel, when she, with all the family, would
go East.\par

Mr. Lawrence Mechlin had also arrived. He started from
New York on the day of his brother's death, two hours after
receiving George's telegram conveying the terrible news. He
reached San Francisco on the night before the steamer for San
Diego sailed. Thus he and George came together.\par

The Deputy Sheriff presented himself to announce to Mrs.
Mechlin that her furniture left at her country house had been
taken out by order of Peter Roper, and put on the road
about two miles from the house. As Mrs. Mechlin was too
ill to see any one, excepting the members of her family, the
Sheriff made his statement to George, in the presence of his
uncle and Gabriel, just arrived.\par

The proceedings seemed so atrocious that at first no one
could understand the Sheriff.\par

“Do you mean to say that Peter Roper claims to own our
house, and because he is the owner, has taken out the furniture
and left it lying on the road?” asked George.\par

“Yes; that's what I was told to say,” the Sheriff replied.\par

“But why? How is he the owner of our house?”\par

“Because he and Gasbang bought it from Hogsden, who located
a claim there after you abandoned the place.”\par

The trick was infamous. George and Gabriel saw through it.
There was nothing to do but to bring a suit in ejectment to get
rid of them, but in the meantime they would hold possession
(perhaps for years), and that was what they wanted, to get the
property into litigation.\par

Gabriel went to state the matter to the lawyer who had
attended to Mr. Mechlin's law business, and he corroborated
their opinion, that there was no other course to pursue but to
file a complaint in ejectment to dispossess the thieves.\par

“Is there no quicker way to obtain redress?” George
asked.\par

“No, sir,” the lawyer answered; “as the deed is done by
Peter Roper and John Gasbang, the Judge will decide in their
favor, and you will have to appeal.”\par

“But this is atrocious,” Mr. Lawrence Mechlin said; “Do you
mean to say that people's houses can be taken like that in this
country?”\par

“Not generally; but Peter Roper might, if there is the ghost
of a pretext, and if there is a dishonest servant, like Hogsden,
left in charge, who will steal and help to steal; then, you see,
the thing is easy enough, as long as the Judge befriends trespassers.
But the Supreme Court will put things to right
again. That is to say, if the Judge's findings are not a
string of falsehoods which will utterly mislead the Supreme
Court.”\par

This property, Mr. Mechlin had repeatedly said, he intended
should be a homestead for his wife, so the suit in
ejectment was brought in her name. She at the same time
filing a petition for a homestead before the Probate Court, and
asking that Gabriel Alamar be appointed administrator of her
husband's estate.\par

All this would, of course, involve the property in tedious
legal proceedings, there being the probate matters, beside the
suit in ejectment to litigate in the District Court. The attorney
employed in the case advised George to have a deed executed
by Doña Josefa, conveying the property to Mrs. Mechlin, as it
had been agreed before the death of their husbands that it
should be done. Doña Josefa cheerfully assented, remembering
that Don Mariano had said to her:\par

“If I should die before I get my land patented, the first
thing you must do is to make a conveyance of his place to Mr.
Mechlin.”\par

The shock caused by his father's death when that of Don
Mariano was yet so recent, acted most injuriously upon George's
health. It made him feverish, inflaming his wound again very
painfully, as the ball had never been extracted; now it chafed
the wound, and gave him as much pain as before.\par

Mrs. Mechlin, Doña Josefa and Mercedes were also in their
beds, suffering with nervous prostration and night fevers. It
seemed impossible that people could be more bereaved and
disheartened than these ladies, and yet exist. Mr. Lawrence
Mechlin saw that George must have skillful medical attendance
without delay, and wanted his own doctor to take him under
his care. So he and Gabriel arranged all business and other
matters in order that George should go East. It was heart-rending
to Elvira—the mere thought of leaving her mother and sister
sick, and all the family in such distress—but she must go
with her husband. Gabriel would attend to the lawsuits. He
had powers of attorney from George and Mrs. Mechlin, and
was the administrator.\par

The answer to Mrs. Mechlin's complaint was a masterpiece
of unblushing effrontery that plainly showed it had originated
in a brain where brazen falsehoods and other indecencies thrived
like water-reptiles growing huge and luxuriating in slimy swamps.
The characteristic document ran in the following manner:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\itshape{In the District Court of the —— of the County of San Diego,
State of California.}}\par

{\scshape{Beatrice Mechlin}}, {\itshape{Plaintiff}},\par

{\scshape{v.}}\par

{\scshape{Peter Roper}}, {\scshape{John Gasbang}}, and
{\scshape{Charles Hogsden}}, {\itshape{Defendants}}.\par

And now come the defendants, Peter Roper, John Gasbang
and Charles Hogsden, and for answer to plaintiff's complaint,
on file herein, they and each of them say:\par}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
That they deny that in the year of 1873, or at any other time
before or after that date, James Mechlin was owner of the premises
described in this complaint; deny that the said James Mechlin
ever purchased from William Mathews the aforesaid property or
any part thereof, or paid any money or any other valuable consideration;
deny that the said Mechlin ever built a house, or planted
trees, or resided on the said property himself, with his family, or by
agent or servant occupied said premises; deny that respondent,
Charles Hogsden, was ever put in charge of the aforesaid premises
or any part thereof, as the agent, or servant, or tenant of the
said James Mechlin; deny that the said James Mechlin ever was
in the possession of the said premises, but on the contrary, these
defendants allege that if James Mechlin had any kind of possession,
it was as a naked trespasser, and his title to said property
was at all times disputed and contested by other parties.\par

These defendants allege that defendant Charles Hogsden
was the rightful owner of the said premises; that defendants
Peter Roper and John Gasbang are the innocent purchasers of
the legal and equitable title, and are now in actual and lawful
possession of the said premises, having paid a just and fair
price to the rightful owner, Charles Hogsden.\par

These defendants further allege, that the plaintiff Beatrice
Mechlin wrongfully, unlawfully, fraudulently and maliciously,
and for the purpose of cheating and defrauding the aforesaid
innocent purchasers, Peter Roper and John Gasbang, out of
their rights in said property, entered into a fraudulent conspiracy
with one Josefa Alamar and one Gabriel Alamar, wherein
it was agreed by and between them that said Josefa Alamar, as
executrix of the estate of Mariano Alamar, and purporting to
carry out the wishes and instructions of her deceased husband,
the said Mariano Alamar, would execute a deed of sale or a
confirmatory deed of said property.\par

And these defendants aver, that in pursuance of the fraudulent
conspiracy aforesaid, the said Josefa did execute a fraudulent
deed of sale to the said Beatrice Mechlin, for the purpose
of cheating and defrauding these innocent purchasers, etc.\par

This string of prevarications ran on for about twenty pages
more, repeating, {\itshape{ad nauseam}}, the same falsehoods with all legal
alliteration and more than legal license.\par

Gabriel was left to attend this suit and other matters, and
with grief, which was too profound for description and too
heart-rending almost for human endurance, the two loving
families separated.\par

Elvira must leave her beloved mother in her sad bereavement;
Lizzie must see hers go to perform the painful duty of
accompanying the remains of a beloved husband.\par

In sorrow and silent tears the Alamar family returned to their
country house the day after the Mechlins left.\par

Mrs. Mechlin's suit in ejectment against the “{\itshape{innocent}} purchasers,”
Peter and John, was, as a matter of course, decided
in favor of these {\itshape{innocents}} of Judge Gryllus Lawlack. The
Judge knew, as well as any one else, that the allegations of
these men were brazen falsehoods strung together for the purpose
of robbery. Nevertheless, his Honor Lawlack made his
rulings, and set down his findings, all to suit the robbers.
Among the findings that his Honor had the hardihood to write
down, were these: That “James Mechlin had never possessed
the premises in question; had never lived there in person or
by proxy, and had never made any improvements, etc.” And
these premeditated falsehoods went to the Supreme Court.
The case was, of course, reversed and remanded for new trial,
but with additional misstatements it was {\itshape{again}} decided by
Judge Lawlack in favor of his friends. Thus, in fact, the Supreme
Court was {\itshape{reversed by Judge Gryllus Lawlack}}. The
case was the second time remanded by the Supreme Court, but
in a new trial it was {\itshape{again}} decided in favor of Peter and John.
This being the same as “reversing the Supreme Court,” but
Lawlack laughs at this, saying that the Supreme Court decides
according to their opinions, and he (Lawlack) does the same.\par

As for Peter Roper, he made no concealment of there being
a {\itshape{private bargain}} between himself and Judge Gryllus Lawlack.
Peter to render political or other services, Gryllus to
reward them with judicial ones.\par

At a political meeting a friend of Roper (a lawyer in
the pay of the monopoly), urged him to make a speech in
favor of the railroad. Peter declined, saying that as Gryllus
Lawlack wanted to run again for the Judgeship, and knew
how anti-monopolist San Diego County was, it would hurt the
Judge politically to have him (Peter Roper) speak for the monopoly,
as everybody knew that he (Peter) was the principal
support of the Judge, and exponent of his principles.\par

“And,” concluded Peter, “if I speak for the monopoly the
Judge will grant a rehearing in a suit I am opposing, and will
not decide my case as I want. That is understood between
us.”\par

This is the fashion of dispensing justice in San Diego, just
as Peter bargains for.\par

But this order of things (or rather disorder) could not have
been possible if the Texas Pacific Railroad had not been
strangled, as San Diego would not then be the poor, crippled
and dwarfed little city that she now is. In this unfortunate
condition it is that she submits to the scandalous debaucheries
of judicial favorites; debaucheries and violations of common
justice, social decorum, of individual rights; debaucheries tolerated
because the local power sanctions with his encouragement
such proceedings.\par

If San Diego had been permitted to grow, to have a population,
her administration of the laws would have been in
other hands, and outrages like breaking into the Mechlin
house could not have occurred. The voters of the county
would not then have elected a Judge that could reward such
vandalism, by allowing the thieves to keep the stolen premises.
Now, however, without a railroad, San Diego is at the bottom
of a bag, the mouth of which Mr. Huntington has closed and
drawn the strings tight.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxvi-clarence-and-george-with-the-hod-carrier}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxvi-clarence-and-george-with-the-hod-carrier}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXVI.—{\scshape{Clarence and George with the Hod-carrier.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The lawsuits forced upon the Mechlins, to resist the fraudulent
claims trumped up by Roper and Gasbang, obliged
Gabriel to delay returning to his place at the San Francisco
bank. It was very painful to leave his mother and Mercedes
still so sick and depressed, but they themselves urged him to
go, fearing that his place would be given to another, and now,
when their pecuniary circumstances were so embarrassed, he
could ill afford to lose his position. But he did, for as the
bank could not wait for him longer, they took some one else
instead. He wished to spare his family the regret of knowing
this, and tried to get anything to do to earn a living. Thus
he began that agony endured by so many young men of good
families and education, trying to find employment to support
themselves decently. Gabriel found the task most difficult.
He was dignified and diffident, and could not be too pressing.
He was persevering and patient and willing to work, but he
dreaded to seem importunate, and never urged his services
upon any one. But he tried everything, every means he could
think of or Lizzie suggest to him. At times he would find
some writing to do, either copying or translating English or
Spanish, but this did not give him permanent employment,
and between one job and another Lizzie's jewelry had to be
sold for their daily expenses. They gave up the nice little
cottage they had had before, and took two small rooms at the
house of a widow lady who kept a few boarders. Their living
was simple, indeed; but their landlady was kind and courteous
and obliging, and her house clean and very respectable. Thus
many months went by.\par

George and Elvira and Caroline wrote to them, constantly
telling them how and where they were. Now they were in
Germany, as Mr. Mechlin's physician advised George to try
some German baths in which he had great faith. His faith
was justified in George's case, for he began to improve rapidly
before he had been taking the baths a month, and he was confident
of regaining his health perfectly. This was cheerful
news, and Lizzie felt great reluctance in writing to George how
unsuccessful Gabriel had been, thus perhaps checking his recovery
by making him again despondent; for it was a noted fact,
well recognized by the two families, that misfortunes made
them all more or less physically ill.\par

The winter of 1876 now set in, and Gabriel thought he must
make up his mind to find some manual labor, and by that
means perhaps get permanent occupation; but here other obstacles,
no less insuperable, confronted him. He had had no
training to fit him to be a mechanic, and what could he do?
He did not know, and yet his family must be supported. He
had not been able to send to his mother any money, as his
scant earnings were inadequate to support his wife and babies.
There was now another little girl to provide for—a little darling,
eight months old. Poor people are bound to have children.\par

About this time he got a letter from Victoriano, telling him
how his miserable legs had failed him again, giving out in the
midst of his plowing. Everett had come to help him plow up
a fifty-acre piece of land he had intended to put in wheat, but
lo! before he had plowed two acres, his legs seemed to disappear
from under him as if the very Old Nick had unscrewed
his knees and carried them off. Tano added: “And here I
am, a perfect gentleman from my knees up, but a mean
chicken, a ridiculous turkey, a kangaroo, from my knees down;
and this, too, when we can so ill afford to have me lying in a
sick-bed, perfectly useless. If land was not so valueless now,
we might perhaps be able to sell some, although the price
would have to be very low, on account of the delay in getting
our patent and its being mortgaged; but as all hopes in the
Texas Pacific are dead, land sales are dead, too, and we might
as well all be dead, for as we have nothing but land to get a
living from, and that is dead, you can draw the inference.
However, don't worry about us; for the present, we are getting
along very well. Several of the cattle lost in the mountains
have come and keep coming, and Everett puts our ‘{\itshape{venta}}’
brand on, and pays mamma, on Clarence's account, cash down
for them. To-day he paid mamma three hundred dollars, and
he says he heard that more cattle are on the way here.”\par

Gabriel was very glad that his mother and sisters would
have this little pittance at least, but he was much alarmed and
anxious about Victoriano, and hastened to tell Lizzie he
thought they ought to go home.\par

“I am truly sorry for poor Tano. Really, my sweet husband,
you must let me write to George, telling him our circumstances.
He can and will help us, and we might go back
to the rancho.”\par

“No, don't write to him about that yet. I'll try to get
money enough to take us home. If Tano is sick, I certainly
should be there. If he was trying to plow, I think I can do
that, too. Yes, I ought to have stayed at home and worked in
our orchard, and we would not have suffered the distress of
mind at my repeated failures. As soon as I make money
enough to pay the board bill I owe and have enough left to
pay our fare to San Diego, we'll go home. Don't write
to George to help me, I don't like that. I can work and
help myself.”\par

“Forgive me, my darling,” said Lizzie, blushing crimson;
“I have already written to George. I told him I was going
to persuade you to go home. I wrote him a month ago. I
expect his answer very soon.” Seeing that Gabriel also
blushed, Lizzie added: “I am sorry if I offended you.”\par

“You have not offended me. I blushed because I, too,
have been keeping a secret from you, thinking you might not
approve of it, or feel humiliated.”\par

“What is it, pray?”\par

“I have been trying to learn a trade.”\par

“A trade! What trade, for gracious sake?”\par

“A very respectable one. That of a mason.”\par

“But can you learn that? Where?”\par

“Anywhere. I have been taking some lessons and earning
my two dollars per day besides.”\par

“Oh, Gabriel, why did you do that?” said Lizzie, her face
suffused with blushes.\par

“There! See how you blush because I want to learn an
honest trade, and yet see how your people, the Americans,
deride us, the Spanish, for being indolent, unwilling to
work. For my part, I am willing to prove that I will
work at anything that is not absolutely repulsive, to earn a
living.”\par

“But how did you come to select that trade?”\par

“Because to go down town I had to pass by the houses of
the railroad millionaires which have been in process of construction.
There are two Californians from Santa Barbara,
whom I know, working there, and to see them earning their
two dollars per day, while I have been losing months in search
of more gentlemanly work to do, suggested to me the idea of
also earning my two dollars a day while the gentlemanly occupation
is being found. Then I thought, too, that I might learn
to be an architect, perhaps.”\par

“That is why you have been reading those books on architecture?”\par

“Yes, and I think I understand a good deal about it already,
but I'll combine practice with theory. The thing now is, as
Tano is sick, I must go home.”\par

“Yes, let us go. I don't like the idea of your being a mason.
Give it up. I think I'd rather see you plowing.”\par

“Yes; in my own land, you mean. Don't be proud. Let
me work a little while longer at {\itshape{my trade}}, and we'll go home.”\par

But Lizzie was not willing he should, though she said nothing
more about it to him. She wrote to Doña Josefa, saying
that if she could spare fifty dollars, to, please, send that sum to
her to enable them to come home.\par

There would be ten days, however, before she could get
Doña Josefa's reply. This was not so agreeable, but Lizzie
thought she would get ready to start as soon as the money
came.\par

The cause of Victoriano's second severe attack of lameness,
of which he spoke in his letter, was again exposure—exposure
to cold and dampness. About the same time that Gabriel
was trying to be a mason, and working as a common day laborer
at two dollars per day, Victoriano had been pruning
trees, fixing fences, repairing irrigating ditches and plowing.
He had only two men to help him, so he worked very hard,
in fact, entirely too hard for one so unused to labor. Work
broke him down.\par

“Plowing is too hard work for poor Tano,” Doña Josefa said,
looking at Victoriano working in a field near the house, while
the sad tears ran down her pale cheeks.\par

“Yes, mamma, it is; and I begged him not to try to plow
again, but he insisted on doing so,” Mercedes replied.\par

“What is the matter? Did he fall down?” Doña Josefa
exclaimed, alarmed, drawing her chair close to the window.\par

Mercedes arose from hers, and came to look down the orchard.
Yes, there was Victoriano sitting on the ground, and
Everett standing by him. Presently Everett sat down beside
him, and an Indian boy, who had also been plowing with another
team, came up, leading his horses towards the house.\par

Doña Josefa thought that they wanted to put the boy at
some other work, and that Tano was resting, so she sat quietly
waiting to see whether he would walk.\par

Mercedes now sat by her mother, also to watch Victoriano.
She said:\par

“Mamma, tell Tano not to try plowing, the ground is very
damp. He will have that lameness again.”\par

“I have told him, but he says he must work now, since we
are so poor, and have only land with a title that no one
believes in, and no one will buy. So what is he to do but
work? And he has been working very hard all the fall and
winter, but I fear he is getting that lameness again. He walks
lame already.”\par

They now saw that the Indian boy had run to the house to
hitch his horses to Clarence's phæton and drive to where
Tano was sitting. Assisted by the Indian, Everett put Victoriano
in the phæton, and brought him to the house.\par

It was as his mother and sister had feared—Victoriano was
again unable to walk. With great difficulty, assisted by Everett
and the servant boy, he reached his bed.\par

“Don't write to George or Gabriel that I am sick. Wait
until I get better, or worse,” said he.\par

Seeing, however, that there was no change in his condition,
he wrote to Gabriel himself, telling him of his second attack.
Willingly would Gabriel have taken his little family and started
for home, but he did not have money enough to pay their fare,
and he owed for their last month's board. So there was nothing
to do but to wait and work as a day laborer yet for a while.
He knew what he earned in a whole month would scarcely be
enough to pay their board, and that to go home he must write
his mother to send him money for their fare. But his pride
revolted. He hated to do this. He could not bring his mind
to it. He hesitated.\par

About the time that Victoriano was taken sick and Gabriel
was trying to be a mason, George and family arrived in Paris
on their return from Germany. They would only spend a
week or ten days in that city, and then sail for New York.\par

The day before they were to start, a card was sent to Elvira
from the office of the hotel. Elvira took it very indifferently
and read the name, but the words she read seemed to be cabalistic,
for she started, turned red and then pale.\par

She handed the card to George, who read aloud, “Clarence
Darrell.”\par

“Ask the gentleman to please come up,” said George to the
servant, and followed him, going to meet Clarence.\par

The two friends met and clasped each other in a tight embrace;
to shake hands seemed to both too cold a way of greeting,
when they felt so much pain and joy that to express their
sentiments, words were inadequate.\par

When Clarence came in, he stretched both hands to Elvira,
and she, on the impulse of the moment, threw her arms around
his neck and sobbed. Mrs. Mechlin and Caroline were also
affected to tears. Clarence brought back to them vividly the
happy days at Alamar, when Mr. Mechlin and Don Mariano
lived so contentedly in each other's society.\par

All were so anxious to learn how Clarence came to be in
Paris, and where he had been in all these years, and Elvira
showered so many questions upon him, that George told him
he must remain with them and tell them everything.\par

The family of Mr. Lawrence Mechlin were also in the same
hotel, on their way to New York.\par

George said to Clarence: “Prepare yourself to be cross-questioned
by aunt, for she has been very anxious about
you.”\par

Clarence replied he was willing to be questioned, and began
his narrative by saying how he came to miss all the letters written
to him. He said:\par

“When I was delirious and at the point of death in a cabin
at the mines, all the letters that came addressed to me the
doctor put in a paper bag, and when he left he considered me
still too weak to read letters that might cause me excitement,
so he took the paper bag and placed it behind a camp looking-glass
which hung over a little table beside my bed. I was
so impressed with the conviction that I might not be considered
fit to marry Miss Mercedes, that when, upon asking if
any letters had come for me, and Fred Haverly, thinking that
I meant other letters besides those handed to the doctor, answered
in the negative. I did not explain that I had not received
any at all. I accepted patiently what I considered a
natural result of my father's conduct, and said nothing. I
went to Mexico, and there a fatality followed my letters again.
I missed them twice—once through the mistake of a clerk at
my bankers, the second time by a mistake of the Secretary
of the Legation, who misunderstood Hubert's request about
returning the letters to him. From Mexico I went to South
America, crossed to Brazil, and went to England. From England
I went to the Mediterranean, and since then I have been
on the go, like the restless spirit that I was, believing myself a
miserable outcast. It was almost accidentally that I came to
Paris. I got a letter from Hubert, and in a postscript he said
that he hoped I got my letters at last, for he had sent them
with a remittance to my bankers, requesting that my letters
should be kept until I called for them. I was far up the Nile
when I received his letter, but next morning I started for
Paris with a beating heart, I can assure you. Twenty-six letters
I found, and I am more grieved than I can express to you
to think that I did not get them before.”\par

Clarence arose and paced the floor in great agitation, and
his friends were much moved also, for they knew he was thinking
that never again, in this world, would he see his noble
friend, Don Mariano.\par

On the following morning the Mechlins, accompanied by
Clarence left Paris. Before leaving, Clarence telegraphed to
Mercedes:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
“I have just received your letters written in '73. I leave for New York
to-morrow with the Mechlins, thence for California.\par

\nopagebreak
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
―― {\scshape{Clarence Darrell.}}”\par}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
Everett, who had been to town, religiously, to see whether
there might be a letter from Clarence, or news about him,
brought Mercedes the cablegram.\par

Poor Mercedes, she read the few words many times over
before she could realize that they were from Clarence. When
she did so, she was seized with a violent trembling, and then
completely overcome by emotion. Ah! yes she would see
him again, but where was now her darling papa, who was so
fond of Clarence?\par

Mercedes sent the dispatch for Mrs. Darrell to see, and when
Everett brought it back, Carlota made a copy of it to send to
Lizzie in a letter next day. The Darrells were truly overjoyed,
thrown into a perfect storm of pleasure. The old man said
not a word. He went to his lonely room, locked the door,
and there, as usual since he lived the life of a half-divorced
man, battled with his spirit. This time, however, he allowed
tears to flow as he blessed his absent boy, and thanked God
that he was coming.\par

“If I had a decent pair of legs to speak of,” said Tano to
Everett, “I would dance for sheer joy, but having no legs, I
can only use my tongue and repeat how glad I am.”\par

When Gabriel came home in the evening of the day in which
Lizzie received the copy of Clarence's telegram, she said to
him:\par

“Darling, don't go to that horrid work again. Clarence is
coming, and now he and George will establish the bank.”\par

“Yes, but in the meantime I must earn enough to pay our
board; remember, we owe one month's board already. Be
patient for a few days longer.” And she was patient, but anxious.
A few days more passed, and she received Doña Josefa's
letter, inclosing seventy dollars, and saying she hoped they
would come immediately, for she wanted Gabriel at home.\par

“Now we have money enough to pay our board bill, and as
George will surely come to our assistance, why should you go
to work as a mason? Darling, leave that work,” Lizzie begged.\par

“Let us see; Clarence's cablegram was dated twenty days
ago. They must have arrived in New York a week ago, and
if he don't delay at all, he'll be here in two or three days,”
Gabriel said.\par

“Then why should you work like that?”\par

“I'll stop to-morrow, but I must give notice of a day or two,
at least, for the foreman to get somebody else in my place.”\par

When Gabriel arrived at his place of employment near Nob
Hill, he found that his occupation that day would be different
from what it had been before, and in the afternoon he was put
to work at another place in the building. He would have to
carry bricks and mortar up a ladder to quite a high wall. He
told the foreman that he would rather not do that, as he had
never done such work and was very awkward about it. The
foreman said he had no one else to spare for that job, and
Gabriel at last said he would try. He had carried many loads,
and was beginning to tremble with fatigue, when upon going
up, carrying a hod full of bricks, the ladder slipped to one side
a little. In his effort to steady it, Gabriel moved it too much,
and it fell to one side, taking him to the ground. As he fell,
the bricks fell upon him. He was insensible for some time.
When he regained consciousness he was being carried to a
wagon which would take him to the city hospital. Lizzie, to
whom the foreman had sent a message notifying her of the
accident, now met the wagon.\par

“Where are you taking my husband?” she asked the driver.\par

“To the city hospital, ma'am.”\par

“But why not take him home?”\par

“Because he will get attendance there quickly, Madam,”
said the foreman, who evidently felt he was to blame for a very
painful accident.\par

“If that is the case, let us go to the hospital,” Lizzie said,
getting into the wagon. She sat beside Gabriel, and placed
his head in her lap. Gabriel smiled, and his beautiful eyes
were full of love, but he could scarcely speak a word.\par

The jolting of the wagon gave him much pain, and Lizzie
asked the driver to go very slow. “He ought to be carried on
a stretcher, ma'am; he is too much hurt to go in a wagon,”
said the driver.\par

They now came to a street-crossing, and several wagons
were standing still, waiting for a line of carriages to pass first.\par

“Oh, why do we wait? He is suffering so much!” Lizzie
exclaimed. “He is bleeding; he might bleed to death!”\par

“We are waiting for them carriages to pass, ma'am. They
are carrying people to a reception on Nob Hill, ma'am,” said
the driver.\par

On the other side of the street, in a carriage which also had
been stopped that the guests for the Nob Hill festivities might
pass, sat George and Clarence, just arrived, and on their way
to see Lizzie and Gabriel. They saw that a man lay in a
wagon which stood in front of them, and noticing that a
woman sat by his side holding his head in her lap, bending
over him anxiously, Clarence said to the driver that there
seemed to be some one sick in that wagon, and that it should
be allowed to pass.\par

“Yes, sir; but he is a hod-carrier who fell down and hurt
himself. I suppose he'll die before he gets to the hospital,”
said the driver, indifferently, as if a hod-carrier more or less
was of no consequence. “The carriages must pass first, the
police says.”\par

As Lizzie raised her head to ask the driver to take some
other street, they saw her. Both uttered an exclamation of
surprise, and left their carriages immediately, walking hurriedly
to the wagon where she was.\par

“Lizzie, my sister, why are you here?” George asked.\par

“Oh, George! Gabriel fell down!” she replied, sobbing, her
courage failing now that she had some dear ones to protect
her. “Oh, Clarence, see how you find my darling! We are
taking him to the city hospital, but because those carriages
must pass first my darling may die here—bleeding to death!”\par

“Let me go for a physician immediately,” said Clarence.\par

“Wait,” George said, “Which is the nearest from here, Lizzie,
your house or the hospital? We must take him to the
nearest place.”\par

“The hospital is nearer, sir,” the driver answered.\par

“Then let us go the hospital,” George said, getting into
the wagon beside his sister, shocked to find Gabriel in a
situation which plainly revealed a poverty he had never
imagined.\par

“I shall go for a surgeon, there might not be one at the
hospital,” said Clarence. “I shall be there when you arrive.”\par

The wagon went so slowly that Clarence, with a doctor,
overtook them before they reached the hospital. Meantime,
Gabriel had whispered to Lizzie and George, in a few words,
how he had fallen down.\par

On arriving at the hospital he was carried to the best room,
with best attendance, two rooms adjoining were for his nurses,
one to be occupied by Lizzie and the other by George and
Clarence, for neither of them would leave Gabriel now.\par

The doctor would give no opinion as to his recovery. If
he had internal injuries of a serious character, they might
prove fatal, but of this it was impossible to judge at present.
About eight o'clock Gabriel seemed to be resting a little more
comfortably, and Lizzie took that opportunity to go to see her
babies. She found them already asleep. The kind landlady
had given them their supper and put them to bed. She told
Lizzie of a good nurse who could be hired to take care of the
baby, and that she would engage her to come the next morning.
Lizzie thanked her, and then returned to her husband's
bedside, and there, accompanied by George and Clarence, she
passed the night.\par

About daylight, with great reluctance, she was prevailed
upon to lie down on a lounge at the foot of Gabriel's bed,
and as the patient seemed to be resting quietly, George and
Clarence went into the next room to partake of a light
collation.\par

George poured a glass of wine for Clarence and another
for himself, and both drank in silence. Evidently they could
not eat.\par

“Was it possible to imagine that Gabriel could have become
so poor that he had to be a hod-carrier?” George said at last,
scarcely above a whisper.\par

Clarence being as much moved, took some time to reply.\par

“The thing is to me so shockingly preposterous and so very
heart-rending that it does not seem possible. And to think that
if I had not gone away, I might, yes, could, have prevented
so much suffering! Oh! the fool, the idiot that I was to go,”
said Clarence, rising and pacing the room in great agitation.
“I will never forgive myself nor my bankers either, and shall
take my money to some other bank. They should never have
given Don Gabriel's place to anybody else, for it was at my
request, and to oblige me that they employed him, and they
have had the use of my money all this time. Oh! how I wish
you could have established a bank here with the three hundred
thousand dollars I placed to Don Mariano's credit, since he
would not accept any payment for the cattle—{\itshape{my}} cattle, mind
you—lost in the snow. But perhaps three hundred thousand
dollars would have been rather small capital.”\par

“It would have been plenty to begin with, but as the understanding
was that the bank was to be in San Diego, none of
us felt authorized to change the plan. I doubt if Don Mariano
would have drawn any of the three hundred thousand dollars.
You know he mortgaged his rancho rather than take
any of your money.”\par

“His money, you ought to say, for I had already bought his
cattle. I wish he had not taken so different a view of the
matter. Really, the money was his from the moment I agreed
to make the purchase. But tell me, why is it that Mrs. Mechlin
lost her homestead. It might have been sold to help the
family.”\par

George related how Peter Roper “{\itshape{jumped}}” the Mechlin
house in true vandalic style, breaking open the doors with axes
and dragging out the furniture when the family were in great
grief, and how this outrage as well as others were indulgently
passed over by San Diego's august tribunal of justice. George,
however, did not know all. He did not know that Judge
Lawlack upon one occasion, when he had made a decision in
favor of Peter Roper and against the Mechlins, discovering
upon reflection that he had made a gross mistake, because the
authority upon which he based his decision, obviously favored
the Mechlins, had changed his decision. He actually called the
attorneys of both sides into court and then amended his own
decree and had an entirely different judgment entered—a judgment
based upon another authority, which, with his construction
of the law, favored Peter. Then again when the Mechlins tried
to file another complaint, Peter got up, and in his coarse loquacity,
vociferously exhorted his Honor to send all the plaintiffs
and their attorney to jail for {\itshape{contempt of court}} in daring to renew
their complaint when his Honor had decided that they
had no case; that the {\itshape{innocent purchasers}}, Roper and Gasbang,
were the legitimate owners of the Mechlin place. Whereupon,
his Honor Lawlack hurriedly slid off the judicial bench, under
the judicial canopy, in high tantrums, and shuffled off the judicial
platform, gruffly mumbling: “I have passed upon that
before,” and slouchingly made his exit.\par

The plaintiffs, their attorneys and their witnesses, were left
to make the best of {\itshape{such legal proceedings}}! They could not
even take an appeal to the Supreme Court, for they had no
record; they could make no pleadings; Judge Lawlack had
carefully and effectively done all he could to ruin their case.
Peter winked and showed his yellow teeth and purple gums in
high glee, proud to have exhibited his influence with the Court,
and, as usual, went to celebrate his triumph by getting intoxicated
and being whipped, so that he had a black eye and
skinned nose for several days.\par

It was obvious to George and Clarence that the position
of Gabriel and Lizzie in San Francisco must have been painful
in the extreme, and yet they did not know all. Lizzie
had never told anybody all the disagreeable, humiliating, repugnant
experiences she had had to pass through. She had
tried to help her husband to find some occupation more befitting
a gentleman than that of a day laborer. But she gave up
her sad endeavors, seeing that she was only humiliating herself
to no purpose. She met at times gentlemen and kind-hearted
men, who were courteous to her, but oftener she found occasion
to despise mankind for their unnecessary rudeness and
most unprovoked boorishness. More painful yet was the evident
change she noticed in the manners of her lady acquaintances.\par

Years before, when she was Lizzie Mechlin, she had moved
in what was called San Francisco's {\itshape{best}} society. Her family,
being of the very highest in New York, were courted and
caressed in exaggerated degree on their arrival in California.
Afterwards, for the benefit of Mr. Mechlin's health, they went
to reside in San Diego. When Gabriel came to his position
in the bank, she was again warmly received by all her society
friends. But this cordiality soon vanished. Her family went
back to New York, and she and Gabriel returned from San
Diego to San Francisco to find that he had lost his place at
the bank. Then he endeavored to get something else to do.
This was bad enough, but when {\itshape{she}} tried to help him, then her
fashionable friends disappeared. Nay, they avoided her as if
she had been guilty of some disgraceful act. The fact that
Gabriel was a {\itshape{native Spaniard}}, she saw plainly, militated against
them. If he had been rich, his nationality could have been
forgiven, but no one will willingly tolerate a {\itshape{poor native Californian}}.
To see all this was at first painful to Lizzie, but afterwards
it began to be amusing and laughable to see people show
their mean little souls and their want of brains in their eager
chase after the rich, and their discourtesy to an old acquaintance
who certainly had done nothing to forfeit respect. About
that time the fever for stock gambling was at its height. The
{\itshape{Big Bonanza}} was, in the twinkling of an eye, making and unmaking
money princes, and a new set of rich people had rushed
into “San Francisco's best society.” The leaders of the {\itshape{ton}}
then, who held title by priority of possession, not forgetting
that many of them had had to serve a rigorous novitiate of
years of probation before they had been admitted to the high
circles, were disposed to be exclusive and keep off social
“{\itshape{jumpers}}.” But the weight of gold carried the day. Down
came the jealously guarded gates; the very portals succumbed
and crumbled under that heavy pressure. Farewell, exclusiveness!
Henceforth, money shall be the sole requisite upon
which to base social claims. High culture, talents, good antecedents,
accomplishments, all were now the veriest trash.
Money, and nothing but money, became the order of the day.
Many of the newly created money-nobility lived but a day in
their new, their sporadic, evanescent glory, and then, with a
tumble of the stocks, went down head-foremost, to rise no
more. But some of the luckiest survived, and are yet shining
stars. Lizzie saw all this from her humble seclusion. Occasionally,
at the houses of those few friends who had remained
unchanged in her day of adversity, she met some of the newly
arrived in society as well as a few of the fading lights, taking a
secondary place. All the new and the old lights she saw, with
equal impartiality, shifting their places continually, and she
began to think that, after all, this transposing of positions perhaps
was right, being the unavoidable outcome in a new country,
where naturally the raw material is so abundant, and the
chase after social position must be a sort of “{\itshape{go-as-you-please}}”
race among the golden-legged.\par

Therefore, like the true lady that she was, Lizzie had quietly
accepted her fate, and forgiven fickle society, without a
murmur of complaint or a pang of regret. But what certainly
was a perennial anguish, a crucifixion of spirit to her,
was to see in Gabriel's pale face,—in those superb eyes of
his,—all his mental suffering; then courage failed her, and
on her bended knees she would implore a merciful heaven to
pity and help her beloved, her beautiful archangel.\par

What Gabriel suffered in spirit probably no one will ever
know, for though he inherited the natural nobility of his
father, he was not like him communicative, ready to offer or
receive sympathy. He was sensitive, kind, courteous and unselfish,
but very reticent.\par

But if Gabriel had never complained, the eloquence of facts
had said all that was to be said. In that hod full of bricks
not only his own sad experience was represented, but {\itshape{the entire
history}} of the native Californians of {\itshape{Spanish descent}} was
epitomized. Yes, Gabriel carrying his hod full of bricks up a
steep ladder, was a symbolical representation of his race. The
natives, of Spanish origin, having lost all their property, must
henceforth be hod-carriers.\par

Unjust laws despoiled them, but what of this? Poor they
are, but who is to care, or investigate the cause of their poverty?
The thriving American says that the native Spaniards
are lazy and stupid and thriftless, and as the prosperous know
it all, and are almost infallible, the fiat has gone forth, and the
Spaniards of California are not only despoiled of all their
earthly possessions, but must also be bereft of sympathy, because
the world says they do not deserve it.\par

George and Clarence entertained a different opinion, however,
and in suppressed, earnest tones they now reviewed the
history of the Alamares, and feelingly deplored the cruel legislation
that had ruined them.\par

Lizzie, unable to sleep, had again taken her place by the
bedside, and sadly watched the beautiful face which seemed
like that of slumbering Apollo. Would he recover, or was it
possible that her darling would die, now when relief had
come? Oh, the cruel fate that made him descend to that
humble occupation.\par

Lizzie shuddered to think of all the suffering he would
yet have to undergo. Oh, it was so inexpressibly sad to think
that his precious life was risked for the pitiful wages of a poor
hod-carrier!\par

\penalty-300%
\label{chapter-xxxvii-reunited-at-last}%
\hypertarget{chapter-xxxvii-reunited-at-last}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CHAPTER XXXVII.—{\scshape{Reunited at Last.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
The life of Gabriel hung by a very frail thread for several
days, and Clarence did not have the heart to leave him. He
did not telegraph to Mercedes their arrival, for he would then
have been obliged to give a reason for delaying. He wrote her
saying that Gabriel had accidentally fallen from a ladder, and
not knowing how seriously he might have been hurt, George
and himself had decided to remain with Lizzie, who was very
much frightened and distressed.\par

Mercedes answered, thanking him in the warmest terms of
gratitude for remaining with her darling brother, adding that
much as she wished to see the long-lost Clarence, she preferred
to endure the pains of waiting rather than to have him
leave Gabriel now.\par

The proudest man in America was Clarence. He knew
that in the gratitude of her heart she would allow him to
press her to his, and he longed to have that bliss. But faithfully
he kept his watch at the hospital, and Gabriel lived yet.
No doctor dared say whether he would die or survive his terrible
fall, or his health remain impaired. No one dare venture
a prophecy for so dark a future.\par

In the meantime Clarence got his house ready for occupation,
and as soon as Gabriel could be removed without danger,
they took up their residence there. In the silent recesses
of her heart Lizzie thanked God that her surroundings were
again those of a lady. She shuddered to remember the poverty
she endured for so long a time, and she would have felt
really happy could she have been sure that her beloved Gabriel
would live.\par

“George,” said she to her brother, as they walked towards
the library, when Clarence had relieved their watch, and was
sitting by Gabriel's bedside, “I have an idea in my head which
I think we might put into practice, if you will help me.”\par

“What is it, dear sister?” asked George, tenderly, observing
how thin and haggard she looked.\par

“It is this, that if you and I write to Mercedes that she
ought to marry right away, so that Clarence can bring her to
be with me, to help me take care of Gabriel, that she will
do so.”\par

“By, Jove! It is a splendid idea, little sister, and I'll write
to Mercita and to Doña Josefa at once.”\par

“It is little enough, George, for you and I to do, when Clarence
has been so devoted to my darling,” said she, her eyes
filling with tears of heart-felt gratitude.\par

“Of course it is, but it comes so natural to Clarence to act
always like the noble fellow he is, that it would surprise me if
he had acted otherwise than nobly.”\par

“But we ought to consult him about our project.”\par

“Certainly. I'll go and stay with Gabriel and send him to
you that you may disclose your plan.”\par

“No, let me go to Gabriel, while you tell him the plan,”
said she, hurrying off to the invalid, whom she found sleeping.\par

She whispered to Clarence that George wished to speak to
him, and took his place by the bedside.\par

Clarence could find no words to express to George his joy
and gratitude. He flushed and paled by turns, and finally,
stroking his mustache with trembling fingers, and trying to
bite it, in his agitation, sat down in silence, while George went
into the details of the matter.\par

“But will she consent?” Clarence exclaimed at last.\par

“I think she will, for you know how all of them love Gabriel,
Mercedes more than all,—and the thought that he is suffering,
and Lizzie's distress, and your kindness to him,—all that
will furnish a most excellent excuse to do what her heart has
been begging for,” said George. “I am going to write now
about it.”\par

“Oh, I shall be so grateful!” Clarence exclaimed.\par

“Send Lizzie to me, we both must write,” George said.\par

Clarence went back to the sick room, and said to Lizzie
that George wanted her.\par

Kissing her hand most fervently, he exclaimed in a tremulous
whisper: “You are my angel!”\par

George and Lizzie's letters were very pleading. Clarence
wrote also, imploring Mercedes to forgive the stupidity that
took him away, and beseeched her to yield to his prayer, and
be his wife, after so many years of suffering.\par

Mercedes kissed the letter, and cried over it, of course, as
women must, but referred the subject to her mother. Doña
Josefa must also cry a good deal before she said anything, for
the memory of her husband made such subjects most painful
to her.\par

But Victoriano stormed from his bed. He would have no
delay. He sent for Everett, so that he would in person
carry a dispatch to town, saying to Clarence, by telegraph, to
come in the very first steamer. Victoriano would have no
contradiction.\par

“If Mercedes don't marry Clarence, as George advises, I
want to be taken by the legs—my mean, cripple legs, my
ridiculous kangaroo legs—and dragged out of this bed, and
out of this house. I don't want to live under the same
roof with people that will refuse so just and reasonable a
request.”\par

“But who has refused it, Tano? Wait, won't you?” said
Rosario, seeing that Tano had hidden his head under the
covers.\par

Victoriano's head came out again, and said: “Nobody
says yes.”\par

But the {\itshape{yes}} was said.\par

Everett took a dispatch from Doña Josefa to George, saying
that whenever Clarence came, Mercedes would go with
him, as George suggested.\par

There would be five days only before another steamer
would arrive, but by telegraphing to Clarence on that day, he
would have time to take the steamer next morning, or go on
the cars to Los Angeles, and take the steamer at Wilmington.
And this was what Clarence telegraphed he would do, suggesting
that if Mercita would be ready, they could take the
same boat, and by again taking the cars at Los Angeles, be
with Gabriel in two days.\par

Was it a dream? To see Clarence within five days, and be
his wife, when she thought she might never see him on this
earth again! Thus ran Mercedes' reflections, when she had
gone to her room to open a wardrobe which had been locked
for three years. That wardrobe held the {\itshape{trousseau}} sent by
Mrs. Lawrence Mechlin in '74, and the jewelry which Clarence
had given her in New York.\par

Mercedes thought of those days, and the image of her
father arose before her vividly. She sat by the window to
think of him with loving tenderness and ever living regret.\par

“But, {\itshape{mon Dieu}}, mademoiselle,” said Madame Halier, coming
in, “why don't you come? Miss Carlota is waiting to begin
getting your things ready.”\par

“I beg pardon; I had forgotten,” said Mercedes, rousing herself
from her reverie. Carlota, Rosario and Alice now came
in, and soon the contents of the wardrobe were distributed all
over the room. Madame Halier was to pack in trunks all
Mercedes' things, leaving out only her bridal attire and traveling
dress. The madame did her work with pleasure, as she was
going with Mercedes, and had been wishing to visit the city of
San Francisco for a long time.\par

Everything was ready. A dispatch came from George saying
that Clarence had started; that Gabriel was a little better,
and anxious to see Mercedes. This made Doña Josefa feel
that it was her imperative duty to send Mercedes to her brother
at once.\par

Mrs. Darrell went to see the priest about going to the rancho
to perform the marriage ceremony there. The good man
would have preferred that it were solemnized in the church,
but, considering that Victoriano could not leave his bed and
Doña Josefa was still in very deep mourning, he consented.\par

There would be no invited guests except the Holmans and
Darrells. There would be no bridesmaids either, though there
were plenty of young girls that could act as such.\par

Everett went to town the night before the arrival of the
steamer to bring Clarence as soon as he landed, and they came
from town so quickly and noiselessly that no one knew when
they arrived at the rancho.\par

The ladies were all in Mercedes' room discussing the wedding
outfit and other matters, when it occurred to her to go
out and from the veranda look towards the road, as she might
perhaps see the carriage in the distance. What was her surprise
when, on passing by the parlor door, she saw Everett
coming through the gate, and there, right there, where Clarence
had stood on that terrible night when he left her, there he stood
again, looking at her with those same speaking, glowing, loving
eyes. He seemed to her like an apparition, and she uttered an
exclamation of surprise, turning very pale and tottering as
if about to fall. In an instant he was by her side pressing her
to his heart and covering her face with kisses.\par

Surely this was no ghost. His warm kisses and beating heart
spoke of the lover full of life and hope, trembling with the realization
of years of longing to hold her thus close, very close in
his loving, chaste embrace.\par

“Mercedes, my own, my sweet wife,” he said, and his voice
had so much the same tone and vibration as in that last memorable
night, that the rush of sad memories and painful emotions
made her for a moment feel confused, bewildered, almost losing
consciousness. As her yielding form relaxed in his arms he
carried her to the sofa and sat there holding her, scarcely realizing
it was not all a dream.\par

Everett had gone to Victoriano's room, and now that impatient
invalid was screaming for Clarence to come. His loud
calling brought Doña Josefa to him, and then all the family
learned that Clarence had arrived.\par

“Come here, you truant,” said Victoriano to Clarence, “come
here, you ugly man.” And as Clarence stooped to embrace
him, he clasped him to his heart, making him lie down by his
side. “There,” said he, “I have given you a good hugging;
now go and kiss the girls.”\par

Which Clarence did gladly, but his mother and Doña Josefa
he kissed first. He then went to the parlor, where he was
kindly greeted by no less than fourteen girls, counting thus:
three Alamares, three Holmans, four Darrells, and four other
Alamares, cousins of Mercedes.\par

Clarence was a brave fellow, so he never flinched and kissed
them all, very deliberately. “Not to give offence,” he said.\par

There was one duty which Clarence shrank from performing,
but which he submitted to quietly, and that was meeting his
father.\par

Darrell came to the Alamar house for the first time in his
life, and as he said he would like to be alone when he met
Clarence, Rosario conducted him to {\itshape{the office}}, a room used by
her father when he saw people on business and where he wrote
his letters, but where others of the family scarcely ever entered.\par

Clarence was shocked to see how aged his father was. When
he left, the auburn hair of the old man showed no white lines
at all. Now he was so gray that his hair was almost white.
The sight of that white hair swept from Clarence's heart all
trace of resentment, and his love for his father seemed to rush
back to him with pain, but with great force.\par

“Oh, father!” exclaimed Clarence, seeing the open arms
before him.\par

“My boy, my best beloved,” said the old man, with a sob
and a checking of breath, holding his son close to his breast.\par

“Father, why are you so gray?” Clarence asked.\par

“Because I did you a great wrong. Because I murdered
the Don, and he was the best man I ever saw.” When Darrell
said this he completely lost his self-control and wept like a child.
Clarence wept with him, for he felt deeply Don Mariano's death,
but thought he must speak kindly to his father.\par

“You did not murder him; don't think that,” he said.\par

“Yes, I did. My wickedness helped the wickedness of
others to kill him. And our wickedness combined brought infinite
misery upon this innocent family. But a merciful God
brought you back, and I know you will devote your life to repair
as much as it is possible the wrong your father did. I
know you will be a good husband, but for {\itshape{my sake}}, also, I beg
you to be a devoted son to the widowed lady whom I have
injured so frightfully. A wrong legislation authorized {\itshape{us squatters}},
sent us, to the land of these innocent, helpless people to
rob them. A wrong legislation killed the Texas Pacific, and
such legislation is the main cause of the Don's death. But I,
too, helped the wrong-doers.”\par

“Don't blame yourself so much,” Clarence remonstrated
gently, trying to soothe his father. “George and Lizzie told
me that all the family believe that the disappointment at the
failure of the Texas Pacific was what killed Don Mariano. It
preyed upon his mind; it saddened, worried and sickened him
until it utterly undermined his health and broke down his nervous
system. It did the same with Mr. Mechlin. So, you
see, those who defeated the Texas Pacific are to blame for the
death of these two most excellent men, but not yourself.”\par

“Yes, I am. No man can injure his fellow-man, and then
shift the blame on some one else's shoulders, because others
had a share in the wrong done. Each man must stand and
bear his proportion of blame. I could and should have prevented
the settlers from destroying the Don's cattle. If I had
done so, he would not have been obliged to take them all at
once. He could have sent them in small bands, but he was
afraid of the murderous rifles of {\itshape{my friends}}. So the poor,
dumb animals perished in the snow. But this was not the
worst; the saddest was yet to come. Victoriano lost his health,
and the Don lost his life. The good, the best of men, was
right when, in his dying moments, he said: ‘{\itshape{The sins of our
legislators brought me to this}}.’ That was a truth uttered by a
just and noble soul as it passed away. Still, I must feel I am
individually to blame for the sorrow brought upon this family.
I know that if the railroad had been built the Don could have
recuperated his fortune, but yet my share of wrong-doing stands
there all the same; I must bear it myself. If I had not driven
you away, you could have prevented their misfortunes. I was
a monster. So now I beg and entreat, for my own sake,
and as a slight reparation for my cruelty, that you be kind to
that lady, as kind as if you were her own child.”\par

“I will, father; I vow I will.”\par

“That is enough. I know you'll keep your word. Now,
my boy, heaven bless you, and your father's blessing will go
with you always. Now, go, and when the ceremony is to be
performed, send Willie to call me.”\par

As everything was ready, the marriage ceremony took place
as soon as the priest arrived. Victoriano was brought to the
parlor in an arm-chair, and managed to stand up, held by
Everett and Webster. Doña Josefa wept all the time and so
did her daughters, but everybody understood that memories of
the sad past, but no fears for the future, caused those tears to
flow.\par

The parting with her mother and sisters was most painful to
Mercedes. Clarence feared she would make herself ill with
weeping. He put his arms around her waist and said:\par

“Don't be disheartened. I have been thinking that Doña
Josefa and all the family had better come to San Francisco to
live. If she does, I think we can persuade George to bring
his family also to reside there.”\par

Doña Josefa shook her head doubtingly, but Mercedes
asked:\par

“Do you think George might come?”\par

“I do, and he can then carry out there our plan of establishing
a bank. San Diego is dead now, and will remain so
for many years, but San Francisco is a good business field. So
we can all locate ourselves there, and Gabriel and Tano go
into business easily.”\par

“Business without capital? See where my poor Gabriel is
now,” Doña Josefa answered, sadly.\par

“That is true, but if you will sell your rancho, they will have
plenty of capital. Even at two dollars per acre, your rancho,
being forty-seven thousand acres—if sold at that low figure—would
bring you ninety-four thousand dollars.”\par

“But who, who will buy mortgaged land, full of squatters,
and without a patent, in this dead place?”\par

“I will. I will pay you more than ninety-four thousand
dollars—more than double that amount—besides paying you
for the lost cattle, which will be no more than what is right.”\par

“Oh, no, I couldn't agree to that, but as for selling the land,
if my children are willing, I shall be, for this place is too full
of sad memories, and will be sadder yet if I cannot have my
children with me. When Gabriel and Victoriano get well, talk
to them about buying the rancho, though I don't think you
ought to pay any such high price. You are too generous to us.”\par

“Indeed, I am not. Don't forget I am a money-making
Yankee. I think four—or even three—dollars per acre is a
high price for land in this county {\itshape{now}}, but I can wait years,
and then I shall double the price paid now. So, you see, I
am not a bit generous. I am trying to make money out of you.”\par

“Talk to the boys. See what George and Gabriel say,”
Doña Josefa said, smiling sadly at Clarence's wily argument
and earnest manner.\par

The last adieux were said, but the parting was less painful
to Mercedes, with the new hope held out by Clarence of a
probability of being reunited soon in San Francisco.\par

When Clarence and Mercedes arrived at their home they
found that George and Lizzie had propped up Gabriel with
pillows, and he was sitting up to receive his sister. From that
day he began to improve slowly but perceptibly.\par

The letters from home spoke of Victoriano's marked
improvement, but still his malady was not cured; so Clarence
proposed that Doña Josefa, the two girls and Tano should
come up immediately. She could then make up her mind
whether she would like to make San Francisco her home,
and the change of climate would perhaps do Victoriano good.
The idea was highly approved by all, and that same evening
Mercedes wrote to her mother, begging her to come and see
whether she liked San Francisco for a home; that she and
Clarence were going to Europe on a visit in the fall, and she
wanted to leave her mamma and sisters and brothers all
together; that George and Gabriel liked the plan of selling the
rancho to Clarence very much, and wanted to talk to her and
Tano about it. Thus Doña Josefa was enticed and persuaded
to leave the home of her joys and sorrows, where she had lived
for thirty years. Carlota and Rosario were willing to go, and
Tano was most anxious to find a way of making a living, for
he was every day more in love with Alice, but could not think
of marrying her until he knew how he was going to support a
family.\par

Doña Josefa, Carlota and Rosario, therefore, escorted by
Victoriano, found themselves, on a bright morning, in the
Southern Pacific Railroad cars, on their way from Los Angeles
to San Francisco. There were only about a dozen persons
besides themselves on the entire train.\par

“I wonder why they put on so many cars. One would
carry all the passengers,” said Rosario.\par

“Half a car would be more than enough,” Carlota added.\par

“They must lose money running empty cars,” Tano observed.
“I am glad of it. They were so anxious to leave San
Diego out in the cold, I hope they will lose money with this
road.”\par

“Don't wish that, it is unkind, unchristian, ungenerous,” said
Doña Josefa, with a sigh.\par

“And why not? Didn't they kill our road, the Texas Pacific,
to build this road? What consideration had they for us?
I am glad that many years will pass before they will run crowded
cars over this desert. They are old men, they won't live to
see this, their pet road, with well-filled cars, running over it,
and I bet on that,” said Tano, exultingly.\par

“Perhaps they will,” said Carlota.\par

“I know they'll not,” Tano retorted, emphatically.\par

In the afternoon, Clarence and Mercedes met them in Oakland,
and together they crossed the bay.\par

And now on that same night as Doña Josefa looked from
her bedroom window upon the lighted city, she noticed that a
large mansion near by, was very brightly illuminated, and
Mercedes told her that one of the railroad kings, who had
killed the Texas Pacific, lived there, and was giving a “{\itshape{silver
wedding}}” party to the {\itshape{elite}} of San Francisco. Doña Josefa
sighed, and sat at the window to think.\par

Truly, San Francisco had been in a flutter for ten days past,
and the “best society” had stretched its neck until it ached to
see who got invitations for “{\itshape{The Great Nob Hill Silver Wedding
Ball}}” of one of San Francisco's millionaires. Mrs.
Grundy ascertained who were to be the best-dressed ladies,
what their pedigree was, and how their money had been made,
and then Mrs. Grundy went to the ball, too.\par

When all the elegance of San Francisco had arrived, nobly
sprinkled with a Baron or two, and ornamented with a Lord
and Lady and a Marquise or Count, the great millionaire proceeded
to astonish his guests in the manner he had conceived
to be most novel and startling.\par

The band struck up a wedding march, and Mr. Millionaire,
with his wife leaning on his arm, proceeded to the last of an
elegant {\itshape{suite}} of rooms, where, under a canopy of fragrant flowers,
a mock marriage ceremony was to be performed. After conducting
the blushing bride to the mock altar, and the ceremony
being over, the millionaire thought he would treat his guests to
what he imagined to be a real hymenean oration. He prefaced
his homily with what he believed to be witticisms and
quotations of his own. He then thought it was time to wax
eloquent and didactic, above prejudices, truly large-minded.\par

“But let me read to you a short, telling lesson now,” he said,
swelling with just pride; “I speak most particularly to the
young men, to those who have yet their fortunes to make. Be
not discouraged if you meet with hardships and trials. Go
ahead and persevere. Look at all these luxurious appurtenances
surrounding us! I might well say, look at this wealth!
Look at this splendor! Well, ladies and gentlemen, sixteen
years ago we were in Sacramento, so poor, that we had to put
tin pans over our bed to catch the water that leaked through
our roof, and keep our bed-clothes dry. I had not money
enough to get a better roof over our heads,” and the millionaire
looked around for applause, but none came, because the guests
possessed the good taste, or, perhaps, bad, which their host
lacked, and were pained and mortified; they did not see the
good of waking up memories of unsavory poverty. The foreign
nobility was not so proud, perhaps, as they had been at
the hour of receiving an invitation to all this so very newly
created splendor. But the rich man, still inflated with pride,
hurriedly wound up his peroration as best he could, feeling
vague misgivings that he had marred the {\itshape{eclat}} of his magnificent
illumination shining over his costly furniture, by trying to
rise above himself to make a high-minded, witty speech. “Be
plucky, and persevering, and go ahead, as I did,” said he to
close his oration, bowing to his foreign guests.\par

The company scattered in couples or in groups over the
luxuriously furnished and richly decorated rooms, and Mrs.
Grundy hurried about everywhere to catch the comments made
by the grateful guests upon “the brilliant speech of their amiable
host.” At the very first group she heard a young man say:\par

“Yes, I would be {\itshape{plucky and persevering}} if I had an associate
in Washington with plenty of money to bribe people so
that no other railroad could be built to start competition in
California.”\par

“I could be plucky, too, if the Government had given me
millions of money and more millions of acres to build two railroads,
and which millions I never intended to pay back,” said
another.\par

“And for which millions you never paid taxes,” added another.\par

“Taxes? Bah! Let the poor people pay taxes. Why
should railroad magnates pay taxes when they have money to
fight the law? Absurd!” said a fourth. “Let us go and take
ices; the brilliancy of our host's oration makes me thirsty.”\par

And while all this went on in the brilliantly lighted mansion,
Doña Josefa sat at her window in the dark, thinking of what
“{\itshape{might have been}}” if those railroad men had not blighted San
Diego's prosperity. Her husband would have been alive, and
Mr. Mechlin, also, and her sons would not have been driven to
poverty and distress, and perhaps lost their health forever.\par

“God of Justice, is this right, that so many should be sacrificed
because a few men want more millions? Our family is
one of the many who have suffered so much. Oh! so much!
And all to what end? For what? Ah! the same answer
again, because a few heartless men want more millions,” said
she, with her face bathed in tears.\par

Doña Josefa evidently did not believe that because “{\itshape{misery
there must always be in the world, no matter who causes it}},”
that she was called upon to stoically submit to unmerited infliction.
In a mild and dignified way, her mind rebelled. She
regarded the acts of the men who caused her husband's ruin
and death with genuine abhorrence. To her, rectitude and
equity had a clear meaning impossible to pervert. No subtle
sophistry could blur in her mind the clear line dividing right
from wrong. She knew that among men the word business
means inhumanity to one another; it means justification of rapacity;
it means the freedom of man to crowd and crush his
fellow-man; it means the sanction of the Shylockian principle
of exacting the pound of flesh. She knew all this, but the
illustration, the ocular demonstration, had never been before her
until now in that gay house, in that brightly illuminated mansion,
and she sadly contrasted her sorrow with their gayety,
and continued her soliloquy: “No doubt those people think
they have a right to rejoice and feast with the money extorted
in crushing so many people—the killing of my darling. Doubtless
they say that they earned the money in {\bfseries{BUSINESS}}, and
that allegation is all-sufficient; that one word justifies in the
pursuit of riches everything mean, dishonest, rapacious, unfair,
treacherous, unjust, and fraudulent. After a man makes his
money no one cares how he made it, and so those people dance
while I mourn for my beloved.”\par

For hours Doña Josefa sat at that window, weeping sadly,
while the others danced gayly.\par

Afterwards, when she had been for some time in San Francisco,
she had yet stronger demonstrations, and her sense of
justice and her ideas of moral adjustment of men's actions
with principle, received additional shocks, quite as painful as
seeing the millionaire's palace illuminated, while the humble
houses he had desolated must remain dark.\par

Doña Josefa frankly spoke to the ladies who had called on
her, of the cause of her husband's death. She did so in answer
to their inquiries. She, on two or three occasions, mentioned
how painful it had been to sit by the window looking at
that house of rejoicing, while thinking that if those rich men
had had more sense of justice and less greed of money, that
her husband could have been spared to her.\par

“Don't say that, my dear lady, for you will give great offense,”
said an old friend, who having heard that Clarence
was worth twelve million dollars, had called on her, suddenly
remembering that she used to know the Alamares years ago.\par

“Why should I give offense? It is the truth,” Doña Josefa
replied.\par

“That may be, but you cannot speak against such rich
people; San Francisco society will turn against you,” was the
rejoinder.\par

“Then it is a crime {\itshape{to speak}} of the wrongs we have suffered,
but it is not a crime {\itshape{to commit}} those wrongs.”\par

“I don't know. I am not a moralist. But this I do know,
that if you accuse those rich men of having done wrong, the society
people will give you the cold shoulder.”\par

“Oh, very well, let it be so. Let the guilty rejoice and go
unpunished, and the innocent suffer ruin and desolation. I
slander no one, but shall speak the truth.”\par

\penalty-300%
\label{conclusion-out-with-the-invader}%
\hypertarget{conclusion-out-with-the-invader}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
CONCLUSION.—{\scshape{Out with the Invader.}}}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
“Let infamy be that man's portion who uses his power to
corrupt, to ruin, to debase,” says Channing, in righteous indignation,
speaking of the atrocities perpetrated by Napoleon the
First to gratify his vanity and ambition. Further on, with increasing
earnestness, Channing adds: “In anguish of spirit we
exclaim: ‘How long will an abject world kiss the foot that
tramples it? How long shall crime find shelter in its very aggravations
and excess?’”\par

If Channing lived now, his ‘anguish of spirit’ would be far
greater to find in his own country, firmly enthroned, {\itshape{a power
that corrupts, ruins and debases}} as utterly as that which he so
eloquently deplored, and his own fellow-citizens—the free-born
Americans—ready and willing to {\itshape{kiss the foot that tramples
them}}!\par

Not infamy, but honor and wealth, is the portion of the men
who corrupt and ruin and debase in this country. Honor and
wealth for the Napoleons of this land, whose power the sons of
California can neither check, nor thwart, nor escape, nor withstand.
And in California, as in France, “crime finds shelter
in its very aggravations and excess,” for after ten years of
fighting in Congress against legislation that would have given
to the people of the Southern States and the Pacific Coast a
competing railway; and after fighting against creating a sinking
fund to re-imburse moneys due to the Government, and fighting
against laws to regulate freights and fares on a fair basis, they
(the Napoleons) refuse to pay taxes on their gigantic property,
thus making it necessary for the Governor of California to call
an extra session of the Legislature to devise some new laws
which will compel those defiant millionaires to pay taxes, and
not leave upon the shoulders of poor people the onerous duty
of defraying public expenses.\par

Is not this “aggravation of excess?” Excess of defiance?
Excess of lawlessness? How insidiously these monopolists
began their work of accumulation, which has culminated in a
power that not only eludes the law of the land, but defies, derides
it! They were poor men. They came before the Government
at Washington, and before the people of California,
as suppliant petitioners, humbly begging for aid to construct a
railroad. The aid was granted most liberally, and as soon as
they accumulated sufficient capital to feel rich they began their
work of eluding and defying the law. They became insolent,
flinging defiance, as if daring the law to touch them, and truly,
the law thus far has been powerless with them. At Washington
they won their first victories against the American people;
and now California has the shame of seeing that she has not
the power to enforce her laws upon the men she made rich.
The Legislature convened and adjourned, and there is no way
yet of compelling the insolent millionaires to pay their taxes or
regulate their rates on freights and fares!\par

It seems now that unless {\itshape{the people of California take the law
in their own hands}}, and seize the property of those men, and
confiscate it, to re-imburse the money due {\itshape{the people}}, the arrogant
corporation will never pay. They are so accustomed to
appropriate to themselves what rightfully belongs to others,
and have so long stood before the world in defiant attitude,
that they have become utterly insensible to those sentiments of
fairness animating law-abiding men of probity and sense of
justice.\par

These monopolists are essentially dangerous citizens in the
fullest acceptance of the word. They are dangerous citizens,
not only in being guilty of violation of the law, in subverting
the fundamental principles of public morality, but they are
dangerous citizens, because they {\itshape{lead others}} into the commission
of the same crimes. Their example is deadly to honorable
sentiments; it is poison to Californians, because it allures
men with the glamour of success; it incites the unwary to imitate
the conduct of men who have become immensely rich by
such culpable means.\par

Mr. Huntington in his letters (made public in the Colton
suit), shows the truth of all this; shows how bribing and corrupting
seemed to him perfectly correct. He speaks of “the
men that can be {\itshape{convinced}}” (meaning the men that will take
bribes), as naturally as if no one need blush for it. And with
the same frankness he discloses his maneuvering to defeat the
Texas Pacific Railroad, and elude the payment of moneys due
the Government. It is surprising, as well as unpleasant, to
read in Mr. Huntington's letters the names of men in high positions
whom he reckons in his list as “men who can {\itshape{be convinced}}”
and he speaks of them in a cool way and off-hand
manner, which shows how little respect he has for those whom
he can {\itshape{convince}}. Perhaps there are some in his list who never
did take a bribe from him, but then those gentlemen are in
the position of “Old Dog Tray,” who suffered for being in
bad company.\par

“I have set matters to work in the South that I think will
switch most of the South from Tom Scott's Texas and Pacific
bill,” etc., etc., Mr. Huntington wrote in April, '75, and in November
of the same year he concluded to send Dr. Gwin to
work on the credulity of the Southerners, to switch them off.\par

“I think the doctor can do us some good if he can work
under cover. * * * He must not come to the surface as
{\itshape{our man}}. * * * Not as our agent, but as an anti-subsidy
Democrat and a Southern man,” etc. When the deceiver returned,
Mr. Huntington wrote: “I notice what you say about
the interest that Dr. Gwin should have. I have no doubt that
we shall agree about what his interest should be,” says Mr.
Huntington, speaking of the price to be paid the ex-Senator
for his work of helping to “{\itshape{switch off the South}}!”\par

In another letter Mr. Huntington says: “I had a talk
with Bristow, Secretary of the Treasury. He will be likely to
help us fix up our matters with the Government on a fair
basis.”\par

Another letter says: “I am doing all I can to have the Government
take six million acres of land, and give the railroad
company credit for fifteen million dollars, etc. I wish you
would have the newspapers take the ground that this land
ought to be taken by the Government and held for the
people, etc. Something that the demagogues can vote and
work for,” etc.\par

Mr. Huntington also says: “I think there should be a
bridge company organized (that we are not in) to build over
the Colorado River, etc. In this way we could tax the through
business on this line should we so desire,” etc.\par

In another letter, dated March 7th, 1877, he says: “I stayed
in Washington two days to fix up a Railroad Committee in
the Senate. * * * The Committee is just as we want it,
which is a very important thing for us.” * * *\par

He again says: “The Committees are made up for the Forty-fifth
Congress. I think the Railroad Committee is right, but
the Committees on Territories I do not like. A different one
was promised me. Sherrel has just telegraphed me to come
to Washington,” etc.\par

Mr. Huntington mentions in other letters the fact of bills
being submitted to him before being put to vote; and also
about being consulted concerning the formation of Committees
and other Congressional matters, much as if Congress
really wished to keep on the good side of Mr. Huntington. But
it looked also as if he did not have everything his own way
always, for at times he loses patience and calls Congress a
“set of the worst strikers,” and “the hungriest set” he
ever saw.\par

In his letter to his friend Colton, of June 20th, '78, he exclaims:
“I think in the world's history never before was such
a wild set of demagogues honored by the name of Congress.
We have been hurt some, but some of the worst bills have
been defeated, but we cannot stand many such Congresses,” etc.\par

The thing that annoyed Mr. Huntington the most was that
he could not persuade Governor Stanford to tell the bare-faced
falsehood, that the Southern Pacific did not belong to the
owners of the Central Pacific.\par

Again and again Mr. Huntington urged the necessity of this
falsehood being told, childishly forgetting the fact that such prevarications
would have been useless, as all Californians knew
the truth.\par

In the Congressional Committees, however, he himself attempted
to pass off that misstatement. It is not likely that he
was believed, but he succeeded in killing the Texas Pacific, and
in “seeing the grass grow over Tom Scott.” The subterfuge no
doubt was useful.\par

Mr. Huntington having buried the Texas Pacific, and also
Colonel Scott, as well as other worthy people (of whom no
mention has been made in this book), now proceeded to demand
that the Government surrender to him and associates, the land
subsidy granted by Congress to the Texas Pacific.\par

This, surely, is an “{\itshape{aggravation of excess}}!”\par

The House Committee on Public Lands in their report on
the “{\itshape{forfeiture of the Texas Pacific land grant}}” reviewed Mr.
Huntington's acts with merited severity. Amongst many other
truths the report says: “The Southern Pacific claims to ‘stand
in {\itshape{the shoes}}’ of the Texas Pacific. Your committee agree that
‘standing in the shoes’ would do if the Southern Pacific {\itshape{filled
the shoes}}.” But it does not. It never had authority or recognition
by Congress east of Yuma. For its own purpose, by
{\itshape{methods which honest men have denounced}}, greedy to embrace
all land within its net-work of rails, to secure monopoly of transportation,
surmounting opposition and beating down all obstacles
in its way, and in doing so, crushing the agent Congress
had selected as instrument to build a road there, {\itshape{doing nothing,
absolutely nothing, by governmental authority or assent even, and
having succeeded in defeating a necessary work and rendering
absolutely abortive the attempt to have one competing transportation
route to the Pacific built, it coolly asks to bestow upon it fifteen
millions of acres of lands; to give it the ownership of an area
sufficient for perhaps one hundred thousand homes, as a reward
for that result}}.\par

And the committee (with one dissenting voice only) reported
their opinion that the Southern Pacific Railroad Company had
{\itshape{neither legal nor equitable}} claim to the lands of the Texas Pacific
which Mr. Huntington wished to appropriate.\par

But is it not a painful admission that these few men should
have thwarted and defeated the purpose and intent of the Government
of the United States of having a competing railway in
the Texas Pacific? Not only Colonel Scott, and Hon. John
C. Brown, and Mr. Frank T. Bond, the President and Vice
President of this road, but also Senator Lamar, Mr. J. W.
Throckmorton, Mr. House, Mr. Chandler, of Mississippi, and
many, many other able speakers, honorable, upright men, all
endeavored faithfully to aid the construction of the Texas
Pacific. All failed. The falsehoods disseminated by ex-Senator
Gwin, which Senator Gordon and others believed, and thus
in good faith reproduced, had more effect when backed by the
monopoly's money.\par

But Tom Scott is laid low, and so is the Texas Pacific; now
the fight for greedy accumulation is transferred to California.
The monopoly is confident of getting the land subsidy of the
Texas Pacific—after killing it; of getting every scrap that
might be clutched under pretext of having belonged to the decapitated
road. Thus the lands that the City of San Diego
donated to Tom Scott {\itshape{on condition}} that the Texas Pacific
should be built, even these, the monopoly has by some means
seized upon. No Texas Pacific was built, but nevertheless,
though clearly specified stipulations be violated, San Diego's
lands must go into the voracious jaws of the monster. Poor
San Diego! After being ruined by the greed of the heartless
monopolists, she is made to contribute her widow's mite to swell
the volume of their riches! This is cruel irony indeed.\par

And now those pampered millionaires have carried their defiance
of the law to the point of forcing the Governor of California
to call an extra session of the Legislature to compel them
to obey the law. Speaking of these matters a very able orator
said in one of his speeches in the extra session:\par

“It is stated in the proclamation of the Governor to convene
this Legislature, that for three or four years past the principal
railroads in this State have set at defiance the laws of the
people; that they have refused to pay their taxes; that they
had set up within our borders an {\itshape{imperium in imperio}}; that
they had avowed and declared themselves free from the
laws of the State under which they hold their organization;
that there were no laws in this State to which they were bound
to submit and pay such taxes as would have fallen to them had
they been subject to the laws of the State, etc., etc. It has
not occurred before in the United States that a great Commonwealth
has been defied successfully by its own creatures.”\par

Other speakers followed, and we of California have now, at
least, the satisfaction of knowing that faithful hearts and bright
intellects have been aroused and are watching the strides of
the monster power.\par

The Spanish population of the State are proud of their countryman,
Reginaldo del Valle, who was one of the first to take a
bold stand against the monopoly. This young orator with
great ability and indomitable energy, has never flagged in his
eloquent denunciations of the power which has so trampled
the laws of California and the rights of her children.\par

Mr. Breckinridge, another brilliant orator, speaking of the
pertinacious defiance of the law exhibited by the monopolists,
said: “Nothing but a shock, a violent shock, a rude lesson—such
as the old French noblesse got when they saw their chateaux
fired and their sons guillotined—will awaken them from
their dream of security.”\par

The champions of right fought well, fought nobly, in the
legislature, but alas! the gold of the monopoly was too powerful,
and the {\itshape{extra session}}, called to devise means of compelling
the railroad corporation to obey the law, adjourned—adjourned,
having {\itshape{failed}} in accomplishing the object for which it was called.\par

The legislators themselves acknowledged that corruption was
too strong to be withstood. Mr. Nicol said:\par

“There was once a belief that the legislature of California
was a high, honorable body, into which it should be the pride
and glory of fathers to see their sons gain admission. I have
been here two sessions, and instead of being a place to which
an honorable ambition should prompt a young man to aspire, I
believe it to be the worst place on the continent. {\itshape{We are surrounded
by a lobby which degrades every man here by constant
temptation and offers of corruption; the monopoly has made it no
place where a careful father will send his son.}}”\par

If these powerful monopolists were to speak candidly, would
they say that the result of their struggle for money in the last
fourteen years of their lives has compensated them for that
shoulder-to shoulder fight with opponents who were in the right,
and must be vanquished by foul means? “I shall see the grass
grow over Tom Scott,” prophetically wrote Mr. Huntington
several times. He had his wish. The grass grows over Tom
Scott. Mr. Huntington can claim the glory of having laid low
his powerful opponent, for it is well known that the ten years'
struggle for the Texas Pacific undermined Colonel Scott's health
beyond recovery. Broken down in health, he left Mr. Huntington
master of the field. But is the victory worth the cost?
The fight was certainly not glorious for the victor. Is it to be
profitable? Many lives have been wrecked, many people impoverished,
much injustice done, and all for the sake of having the
Southern Pacific Railroad without a rival, without competition.
This road runs mostly through a desert; how is it to be made
profitable? In their eager pursuit of riches, the projectors of
it miscalculated the inevitable, and did not foresee that other
capital could, in a few years, build competing lines through
more favorable routes; did not foresee that it would have been
a better policy to adhere honestly to the terms of their first
charter; did not foresee that it would have been better not to
sacrifice San Diego. No, they deemed it a wiser plan to kill Tom
Scott, to kill San Diego, and then take the money earned in
this manner to go and build railroads in Guatemala and in
British America. To men who do not think that in {\itshape{business}}
the rights of others should be considered, this policy of crushing
or desolating everything in the path of triumphant accumulators
no doubt is justifiable. But why should the rich enjoy
rights that are “deadly to other men?” It is alleged in defense
of the California railroad monopolists that as they do not think
it would be lucrative to run a railroad to San Diego, they do
not build any. If this were a true allegation, why did they fear
the Texas Pacific as a competing road? Why did they spend
so much money and ten years of their lives to kill that railroad?
Surely, if they knew so well that a road to San Diego would
not pay, why were they so anxious to prevent its construction?
Was it out of a purely disinterested and philanthropic solicitude
for their rivals? Did Mr. Huntington wish “to see grass grow
over Tom Scott” because he kindly desired to prevent his financial
ruin?\par

Obviously, to maintain that the monopoly did not build a
road to San Diego because it would not pay, and that they
would not allow Tom Scott to build it either, for the same
reason, is not logical. If to construct and run such road would
have been ruinous, that was the very best of reasons for allowing
it to be built. This would have been as effective a way of
getting rid of Colonel Scott as by seeing grass grow over his
grave.\par

But no, it is not true that the San Diego road would not
have been profitable; the truth is, that because it would have
been profitable, it was dreaded as a rival of the Southern Pacific.
But the monopoly had no money to build two roads at
once, so they (characteristically) thought best to kill it. As
they could not have it, no one else should. And for this reason,
and because one of the railroad kings conceived a great
animosity against the people of San Diego and became their
bitter, revengeful enemy, they were not allowed to have a railroad.
This last fact seems incredibly absurd, but if we remember
how a Persian tyrant razed a city to the ground because he
ate there something that gave him an indigestion, we ought not
be surprised if a modern king—one of California's tyrants—should
punish a little city because it did not turn out {\itshape{en masse}}
to do him humble obeisance. Doubtless, to indulge in such
petty malice was not lofty; it was a sort of mental indigestion
not to be proud of; it was a weakness, but it was also a wickedness,
and worse yet, it was a {\itshape{blunder}}.\par

Time alone, however, will prove this. In the meanwhile,
the money earned in California (as Californians only know
how) is taken to build roads in Guatemala. Towns are crushed
and sacrificed in California to carry prosperity to other countries.
And California groans under her heavy load, but submits,
seeing her merchants and farmers ground down with
“special contracts” and discriminating charges, and the refractory
punished with pitiless severity. Thus, merchants and
farmers are hushed and made docile under the lash, for what is
the use of complaining? When the Governor of this State
sought in vain to curb the power of the monster and compel it
to pay taxes by calling an extra session of the Legislature, and
nothing was done, what more can be said?\par

Ask the settlers of the Mussel Slough what is their experience
of the pitiless rigor of the monopoly towards those who
confidently trusted in the good faith of the great power. These
poor farmers were told by the railroad monopoly to locate
homesteads and plant orchards and vineyards and construct
irrigating canals; that they would not have to pay for their
land any higher price than before it was improved. With this
understanding the farmers went to work, and with great sacrifices
and arduous labor made their irrigating canals and other
improvements. Then when this sandy swamp had been converted
into a garden, and valueless lands made very valuable,
the monopoly came down on the confiding people and demanded
the price of the land after it had been improved. The
farmers remonstrated and asked that the original agreement
should be respected; but all in vain. The arm of the law was
called to eject them. They resisted, and bloodshed was the
consequence. Some of them were killed, but all had to submit,
there was no redress.\par

And what price did the monopoly pay for these lands? Not
one penny, dear reader. These lands are a little bit of a small
portion out of many millions of acres given as a subsidy, a
{\itshape{gift}}, to build the Southern Pacific Railroad, which road, the
charter said, was to pass through San Diego and terminate at
Fort Yuma.\par

The line of this road was changed without authority. {[}Mr.
Huntington talks in his letters about {\itshape{convincing}} people to
make this change.{]} Thus the Mussel Slough farmers got
{\itshape{taken in}}, into Mr. Huntington's lines—as was stated by the
public press.\par

But these, as well as the blight, spread over Southern California,
and over the entire Southern States, are historical facts.
All of which, strung together, would make a brilliant and most
appropriate chaplet to encircle the lofty brow of the great and
powerful monopoly. Our representatives in Congress, and in
the State Legislature, knowing full well the will of the people,
ought to legislate accordingly. If they do not, then we shall—as
Channing said “kiss the foot that tramples us!” and “in anguish
of spirit” must wait and pray for a Redeemer who will
emancipate the white slaves of California.\par

\label{pg-end-line}%
\hypertarget{pg-end-line}{}%
{}

\vs{5}
{\noindent}
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SQUATTER AND THE DON ***\par

%
\backmatter
%

{}

\penalty-300%
\label{a-word-from-project-gutenberg}%
\hypertarget{a-word-from-project-gutenberg}{}%
\label{pg-footer}%
\hypertarget{pg-footer}{}%
\vspace*{50pt}\thispagestyle{empty}
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Huge\bfseries%
A Word from Project Gutenberg}

\unskip\vskip 40pt\nobreak

{\noindent}
We will update this book if we find any errors.\par

This book can be found under: {https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35538}\par

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one
owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and
you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules, set
forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works to
protect the Project Gutenberg™ concept and trademark. Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you charge
for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you do not
charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the rules is
very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as
creation of derivative works, reports, performances and research.
They may be modified and printed and given away – you may do
practically {\itshape{anything}} with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.\par{}

\penalty-300%
\label{the-full-project-gutenberg-license}%
\hypertarget{the-full-project-gutenberg-license}{}%
\label{project-gutenberg-license}%
\hypertarget{project-gutenberg-license}{}%
\vskip 3.5ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\Large\bfseries%
The Full Project Gutenberg License}

\unskip\vskip 2.3ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
{\itshape{Please read this before you distribute or use this work.}}\par

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
{https://www.gutenberg.org/license}.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{section-1-general-terms-of-use-redistributing-project-gutenberg-electronic-works}%
\hypertarget{section-1-general-terms-of-use-redistributing-project-gutenberg-electronic-works}{}%
\vskip 3.25ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\large\bfseries%
Section 1. General Terms of Use \& Redistributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works}

\unskip\vskip 1.5ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
{\bfseries{1.A.}} By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by
the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.\par

{\bfseries{1.B.}} “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works. See paragraph 1.E below.\par

{\bfseries{1.C.}} The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is in the public domain in the United
States and you are located in the United States, we do not claim a
right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting free
access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™ works
in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the Project
Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily comply with
the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the same format
with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when you share it
without charge with others.\par

{\bfseries{1.D.}} The copyright laws of the place where you are located also
govern what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most
countries are in a constant state of change. If you are outside the
United States, check the laws of your country in addition to the terms
of this agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work.  The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.}} Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:\par

{\bfseries{1.E.1.}} The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at {http://www.gutenberg.org}\par}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{\bfseries{1.E.2.}} If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating
that it is posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work
can be copied and distributed to anyone in the United States without
paying any fees or charges. If you are redistributing or providing
access to a work with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with
or appearing on the work, you must comply either with the requirements
of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of
the work and the Project Gutenberg™ trademark as set forth in
paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.3.}} If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
posted with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and
distribution must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and
any additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works posted
with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of
this work.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.4.}} Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project
Gutenberg™ License terms from this work, or any files containing a
part of this work or any other work associated with Project
Gutenberg™.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.5.}} Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute
this electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.6.}} You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format other
than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ web site
({http://www.gutenberg.org}), you must, at no additional cost, fee or
expense to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a
means of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original
“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include
the full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.7.}} Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.\par

{\bfseries{1.E.8.}} You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works provided
that\par

\begin{itemize}
\item[-] You pay a royalty fee of 20\% of the gross profits you derive from
the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method you
already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed to
the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has agreed to
donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid within 60
days following each date on which you prepare (or are legally
required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty payments
should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in Section 4,
“Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation.”\par

\item[-] You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
works.\par

\item[-] You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
receipt of the work.\par

\item[-] You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.\par
\end{itemize}

{\bfseries{1.E.9.}} If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and
Michael Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact
the Foundation as set forth in Section 3. below.\par

{\bfseries{1.F.}}\par

{\bfseries{1.F.1.}} Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend
considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe
and proofread public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg™
collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™ electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.\par

{\bfseries{1.F.2.}} LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES – Except for the
“Right of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the
Project Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.\par

{\bfseries{1.F.3.}} LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND – If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.\par

{\bfseries{1.F.4.}} Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set
forth in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS,’ WITH
NO OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.\par

{\bfseries{1.F.5.}} Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.\par

{\bfseries{1.F.6.}} INDEMNITY – You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation,
the trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.\par

\penalty-300%
\label{section-2-information-about-the-mission-of-project-gutenberg}%
\hypertarget{section-2-information-about-the-mission-of-project-gutenberg}{}%
\vskip 3.25ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\large\bfseries%
Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™}

\unskip\vskip 1.5ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.\par

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™'s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will remain
freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future generations. To
learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and
how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 and the
Foundation web page at {http://www.pglaf.org} .\par

\penalty-300%
\label{section-3-information-about-the-project-gutenberg-literary-archive-foundation}%
\hypertarget{section-3-information-about-the-project-gutenberg-literary-archive-foundation}{}%
\vskip 3.25ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\large\bfseries%
Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation}

\unskip\vskip 1.5ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
{https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf} . Contributions to the
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to
the full extent permitted by U.S.  federal laws and your state's laws.\par

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr.
S. Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are
scattered throughout numerous locations. Its business office is
located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801)
596-1887, email {business@pglaf.org}. Email contact links and up to date
contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at {http://www.pglaf.org}\par

For additional contact information:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
\begin{verse}
{\vl {\noindent}
Dr. Gregory B. Newby\par}
{\vl Chief Executive and Director\par}
{\vl {gbnewby@pglaf.org}\par}
\end{verse}
}

\vs{1}
\penalty-300%
\label{section-4-information-about-donations-to-the-project-gutenberg-literary-archive-foundation}%
\hypertarget{section-4-information-about-donations-to-the-project-gutenberg-literary-archive-foundation}{}%
\vskip 3.25ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\large\bfseries%
{\noindent}
Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation}

\unskip\vskip 1.5ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without wide spread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of increasing
the number of public domain and licensed works that can be freely
distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest array of
equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations (\$1 to
\$5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt status
with the IRS.\par

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit {https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate}\par

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.\par

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.\par

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: {https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate}\par

\penalty-300%
\label{section-5-general-information-about-project-gutenberg-electronic-works}%
\hypertarget{section-5-general-information-about-project-gutenberg-electronic-works}{}%
\vskip 3.25ex
{\noindent\interlinepenalty \@M\normalfont\large\bfseries%
Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works.}

\unskip\vskip 1.5ex\nobreak

{\noindent}
Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg™
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.\par

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the
U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.\par

Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
compressed (zipped), HTML and others.\par

Corrected {\itshape{editions}} of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is
renamed. {\itshape{Versions}} based on separate sources are treated as new
eBooks receiving new filenames and etext numbers.\par

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
facility:\par

{\advance\leftskip\parindentamount{}\advance\rightskip\parindentamount{}
\vs{1}
{\noindent}
{http://www.gutenberg.org}\par}

\vs{1}
{\noindent}
This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg™, including
how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to subscribe
to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.\par\bookmark[level=1,page=1]{TABLE OF CONTENTS.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-i-squatter-darrell-reviews-the-past]{I. Squatter Darrell Reviews the Past.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-ii-the-don-s-view-of-the-treaty-of-guadalupe-hidalgo]{II. The Don's View of the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-iii-pre-empting-under-the-law]{III. Pre-empting under the Law.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-iv-efforts-to-right-the-wrong]{IV. Efforts to Right the Wrong.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-v-the-don-in-his-broad-acres]{V. The Don in his Broad Acres.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-vi-naughty-dog-milord-an-important-factor]{VI. Naughty Dog Milord an Important Factor.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-vii-from-alameda-to-san-diego]{VII. From Alameda to San Diego.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-viii-victoriano-and-his-sister]{VIII. Victoriano and His Sister.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-ix-clarence-is-the-bearer-of-joyful-news]{IX. Clarence is the Bearer of Joyful News.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-x-but-clarence-must-not-be-encouraged]{X. But Clarence Must Not be Encouraged.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xi-george-is-a-christian-gentleman]{XI. George is a Christian Gentleman.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xii-why-the-appeal-was-not-dismissed]{XII. Why the Appeal was Not Dismissed.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xiii-at-san-francisco]{XIII. At San Francisco.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xiv-of-miscellaneous-incidents]{XIV. Of Miscellaneous Incidents.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xv-journeying-overland]{XV. Journeying Overland.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xvi-spanish-land-grants-viewed-retrospectively]{XVI. Spanish Land Grants Viewed Retrospectively.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xvii-dona-josefa-at-home]{XVII. Doña Josefa at Home.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xviii-at-newport]{XVIII. At Newport.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xix-in-new-york]{XIX. In New York.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xx-at-the-capitol]{XX. At the Capitol.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxi-looking-at-the-receding-dome]{XXI. Looking at the Receding Dome.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxii-perplexities-at-alamar]{XXII. Perplexities at Alamar.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxiii-home-again]{XXIII. Home Again.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxiv-the-brewers-of-mischief]{XXIV. The Brewers of Mischief.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxv-the-squatter-and-the-don]{XXV. The Squatter and the Don.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxvi-mrs-darrell-s-view-of-our-land-laws]{XXVI. Mrs. Darrell's View of Our Land Laws.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxvii-darrell-astonishes-himself]{XXVII. Darrell Astonishes Himself.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxviii-shall-it-be-forever]{XXVIII. Shall it be Forever?}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxix-hasty-decisions-repented-leisurely]{XXIX. Hasty Decisions Repented Leisurely.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxx-effect-of-bad-precept-and-worse-example]{XXX. Effect of Bad Precept and Worse Example.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxi-a-snow-storm]{XXXI. A Snow Storm.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxii-a-false-friend-sent-to-deceive-the-southerners]{XXXII. A False Friend Sent to Deceive the Southerners.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxiii-san-diego-s-sentence-is-irrevocable]{XXXIII. San Diego's Sentence is Irrevocable.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxiv-the-sins-of-our-legislators]{XXXIV. The Sins of Our Legislators!}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxv-the-fashion-of-justice-in-san-diego]{XXXV. The Fashion of Justice in San Diego.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxvi-clarence-and-george-with-the-hod-carrier]{XXXVI. Clarence and George with the Hod-carrier.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=chapter-xxxvii-reunited-at-last]{XXXVII. Reunited at Last.}
\bookmark[level=2,dest=conclusion-out-with-the-invader]{CONCLUSION.—Out with the Invader.}
\hbox{}
\end{document}

% Local Variables:
% mode: tex
% encoding: utf-8
% End:
