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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Little Lady of Lagunitas
+by Richard Henry Savage
+
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+Title: The Little Lady of Lagunitas
+
+Author: Richard Henry Savage
+
+Release Date: July, 2004  [EBook #6011]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on October 16, 2002]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LITTLE LADY OF LAGUNITAS ***
+
+
+
+
+Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading
+Team.
+
+
+
+THE LITTLE LADY OF LAGUNITAS
+
+A FRANCO-CALIFORNIAN ROMANCE
+
+BY Richard Henry Savage
+
+
+
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION.
+
+
+
+
+
+Forty-two years have passed since California's golden star first
+glittered in the flag of the United States of America.
+
+Its chequered history virtually begins with the rush for gold in
+'48-'49.
+
+Acquired for the evident purpose of extending slave-holding
+territory, it was occupied for years by a multitude of cosmopolitan
+"free lances," who swept away the defenceless Indians, and brutally
+robbed the great native families, the old "Dons."
+
+Society slowly made headway against these motley adventurers. Mad
+riot, wildest excess, marked these earlier days.
+
+High above the meaner knights of the "revolver and bowie knife,"
+greater than card sharper, fugitive bravo, or sly wanton, giant
+schemers appeared, who throw, yet, dark shadows over the records
+of this State.
+
+These daring conspirators dominated legislature and forum, public
+office and society.
+
+They spoiled the Mexican, robbed the Indian, and paved the way for
+a "Lone Star Republic," or the delivering of the great treasure
+fields of the West to the leaders of Secession.
+
+How their designs on this grand domain failed; what might have been,
+had the South been more active in its hour of primary victory and
+seized the Golden West, these pages may show.
+
+The golden days of the "stars and bars" were lost by the activity
+of the Unionists and the mistaken policy at Richmond.
+
+The utter demoralization of California by the "bonanza era" of
+silver discovery, the rise of an invincible plutocracy, and the
+second reign of loose luxury are herein set forth.
+
+Scenes never equalled in shamelessness have disgraced the Halls of
+State, the Courts, and the mansions of the suddenly enriched.
+
+The poor have been trampled by these tyrants for twenty years.
+
+Characters unknown in the social history of any other land, have
+been evolved from this golden eddy of crime and adventure.
+
+Not till all these men and women of incredibly romantic fortunes
+have passed away, will a firm social structure rise over their
+graves.
+
+Throttled by usurers, torn by gigantic bank wars, its resources
+drained by colossal swindles, crouching yet under the iron rule
+of upstart land-barons, "dashing journalism," and stern railroad
+autocrats, the Californian community has gloomily struggled along.
+
+Newer States have made a relative progress which shames California.
+Its future is yet uncertain.
+
+The native sons and daughters of the golden West are the hope of
+the Pacific.
+
+The homemakers may yet win the victory.
+
+Some of the remarkable scenes of the past are herein portrayed by
+one who has seen this game of life played in earnest, the shadowed
+drama of California.
+
+There is no attempt to refer to individuals, save as members of
+well-defined classes, in these pages. This book has absolutely no
+political bias.
+
+THE AUTHOR.
+
+NEW YORK CITY, May 15, 1892.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS.
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK I.
+
+THE LAST OF THE DONS BY THE BLUE PACIFIC.
+
+CHAPTER I.--Under the Mexican Eagle.--Exit the Foreigner.--Monterey,
+1840
+
+CHAPTER II.--At the Presidio of San Francisco. Wedding Chimes from
+the Mission Dolores.--Lagunitas Rancho
+
+CHAPTER III.--A Missing Sentinel.--Fremont's Camp
+
+CHAPTER IV.--Held by the Enemy.--The Bear Flag
+
+BOOK II.
+
+GOLD FOR ALL.--A NEW STAR IN THE FLAG.
+
+CHAPTER V.--The Golden Magnet.--Free or Slave?
+
+CHAPTER VI.--Lighting Freedom's Western Lamp
+
+CHAPTER VII.--The Queen of the El Dorado.--Guilty Bonds
+
+CHAPTER VIII.--Joaquin the Mountain Robber.--The Don's Peril
+
+CHAPTER IX.--The Stranger's Foot at Lagunitas. Valois' Spanish
+Bride
+
+BOOK III.
+
+GOING HOME TO DIXIE.--STARS AND STRIPES, OR STARS AND BARS?
+
+CHAPTER X.--A Little Dinner at Judge Hardin's. The Knights of the
+Golden Circle
+
+CHAPTER XI.--"I'se gwine back to Dixie."--The Fortunes of War.--Val
+Verde
+
+CHAPTER XII.--Hood's Day.--Peachtree Creek. Valois' Last Trust.--De
+Gress' Battery.--Dead on the Field of Honor
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+A LOST HEIRESS.--MILLIONS AT STAKE.
+
+CHAPTER XIII.--Mount Davidson's Magic Millions. A California
+Plutocracy.--The Price of a Crime
+
+CHAPTER XIV.--A Mariposa Bonanza.--Natalie de Santos born in
+Paris.--The Queen of the El Dorado joins the Gallic "Four Hundred"
+
+CHAPTER XV.--An Old Priest and a Young Artist. The Changelings
+
+CHAPTER XVI.-Hearing Each Other.--The Valois Heirs
+
+CHAPTER XVII.--Weaving Spiders.--A Coward Blow.--Marie Berard's
+Doom
+
+BOOK V.
+
+REAPING THE WHIRLWIND.
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.--Joe Woods Surprises a Lady. Love's Golden Nets
+
+CHAPTER XIX.--Lovers Once, Strangers Now. Face to Face
+
+CHAPTER XX.--Judge Hardin Meets his Match. A Senatorial Election.--In
+a Mariposa Court Room.--The Trust fulfilled at Lagunitas
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LAGUNITAS.
+
+BOOK I.
+
+THE LAST OF THE DONS BY THE BLUE PACIFIC.
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+UNDER THE MEXICAN EAGLE.--EXIT THE FOREIGNER.--MONTEREY, 1840.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Caramba! Adios, Seflores!" cried Captain Miguel Peralta, sitting
+on his roan charger on the Monterey bluffs. A white-sailed bark
+is heading southward for Acapulco. His vaqueros tossed up their
+sombreros, shouting, "Vive Alvarado! Muerte los estrangeros!"
+
+The Pacific binds the hills of California in a sapphire zone,
+unflecked by a single sail in sight, save the retreating trader,
+which is flitting around "Punta de los Pinos."
+
+It is July, 1840. The Mexican ensign flutters in the plaza of
+Monterey, the capital of Alta California.
+
+Miguel Peralta dismounts and crosses himself, murmuring, "Sea por
+Dios y la Santissima Virgen."
+
+His duty is done. He has verified the departure of the Yankee ship.
+It is crowded with a hundred aliens. They are now exiles.
+
+Gathered in by General Vallejo, the "pernicious foreigners" have
+been held at Monterey, until a "hide drogher" comes into the port.
+Alvarado permits her to anchor under the guns of the hill battery.
+He then seizes the ship for his use.
+
+Captain Peralta is given the honor of casting out these Ishmaels
+of fortune. He views calmly their exit. It is a land which welcomes
+not the "Gringo." The ship-master receives a draft on Acapulco
+for his impressed service. These pioneer argonauts are warned (on
+pain of death) not to return. It is a day of "fiesta" in Monterey.
+"Vive Alvarado!" is the toast.
+
+So, when Captain Miguel dashes into the Plaza, surrounded with his
+dare-devil retainers, reporting that the vessel is off shore, the
+rejoicing is unbounded.
+
+Cannons roar: the yells of the green jacket and yellow scrape brigade
+rise on the silent reaches of the Punta de los Pinos. A procession
+winds up to the Carmel Mission. Governor Alvarado, his staff, the
+leading citizens, the highest families, and the sefioritas attend
+a mass of thanksgiving. Attired in light muslins, with here and there
+a bright-colored shawl giving a fleck of color, and silk kerchiefs
+--fleecy--the ladies' only other ornaments are the native flowers
+which glitter on the slopes of Monterey Bay. Bevies of dark-eyed
+girls steal glances at Andres, Ramon, or Jose, while music lends a
+hallowing charm to the holy father's voice as he bends before the
+decorated altar. Crowds of mission Indians fill the picturesque
+church. Every heart is proud. Below their feet sleeps serenely
+good Fray "Junipero Serra." He blessed this spot in 1770;--a man of
+peace, he hung the bells on the green oaks in a peaceful wilderness.
+High in air, to-day they joyously peal out a "Laus Deo." When the
+mystery of the mass rehearses the awful sacrifice of Him who died
+for us all, a silence broods over the worshippers. The notes of
+the choristers' voices slowly die away. The population leaves the
+church in gay disorder.
+
+The Bells of the Past throw their spells over the mossy church--at
+once triumph, tomb, and monument of Padre Junipero. Scattered
+over the coast of California, the padres now sleep in the Lethe of
+death. Fathers Kino, Salvatierra, Ugarte, and sainted Serra left
+their beautiful works of mercy from San Diego to Sonoma. With
+their companions, neither unknown tribes, lonely coasts, dangers
+by land and sea, the burning deserts of the Colorado, nor Indian
+menaces, prevented the linking together of these outposts of
+peaceful Christianity. The chain of missions across New Mexico and
+Texas and the Mexican religious houses stretches through bloody
+Arizona. A golden circlet!
+
+Happy California! The cross here preceded the sword. No blood stains
+the Easter lilies of the sacrifice. The Dons and Donnas greet each
+other in stately fashion, as the gathering disperses. Governor
+Alvarado gives a feast to the notables. The old families are
+all represented at the board. Picos, Peraltas, Sanchez, Pachecos,
+Guerreros, Estudillos, Vallejos, Alvarados, De la Guerras, Castros,
+Micheltorrenas, the descendants of "Conquistadores," drink to
+Mexico. High rises the jovial chatter. Good aguadiente and mission
+wine warm the hearts of the fiery Californian orators. A proud day
+for Monterey, the capital of a future Empire of Gold. The stranger
+is cast out. Gay caballeros are wending to the bear-baiting, the
+bull-fights, the "baile," and the rural feasts. Splendid riders
+prance along, artfully forcing their wild steeds into bounds and
+curvets with the rowels of their huge silver-mounted spurs.
+
+Dark lissome girls raise their velvety eyes and applaud this daring
+horsemanship. Senioritas Luisa, Isabel, and Panchita lose no point
+of the display. In a land without carriages or roads, the appearance
+of the cavalier, his mount, his trappings, most do make the man
+shine before these fair slips of Mexican blue blood.
+
+Down on the beach, the boys race their half-broken broncos. These
+lads are as lithe and lean as the ponies they bestride. Across the
+bay, the Sierras of Santa Cruz lift their virgin crests (plumed with
+giant redwoods) to the brightest skies on earth. Flashing brooks
+wander to the sea unvexed by mill, unbridged in Nature's unviolated
+freedom. Far to north and south the foot-hills stand shining with
+their golden coats of wild oats, a memorial of the seeds cast over
+these fruitful mesas by Governor Caspar de Portala. He left San
+Diego Mission in July, 1769, with sixty-five retainers, and first
+reached the Golden Gate.
+
+Beyond the Coast Range lies a "terra incognita." A few soldiers
+only have traversed the Sacramento and San Joaquin. They wandered
+into the vales of Napa and Sonoma, fancying them a fairyland.
+
+The sparkling waters of the American, the Sacramento, the Yuba,
+Feather, and Bear rivers are dancing silently over rift and ripple.
+There precious nuggets await the frenzied seekers for wealth. There
+are no gold-hunters yet in the gorges of these crystal streams.
+Down in Nature's laboratory, radiated golden veins creep along
+between feathery rifts of virgin quartz. They are the treasures
+of the careless gnomes.
+
+Not till years later will Marshall pick up the first nugget of
+gleaming gold in Sutter's mill-race at Coloma. The "auri sacra
+fames" will bring thousands from the four quarters of the earth to
+sweep away "the last of the Dons."
+
+A lovely land to-day. No axe rings in its forests. No steamboat
+threads the rivers. Not an engine is harnessed to man's use in this
+silent, lazy realm. The heart of the Sierras is inviolate. The word
+"Gold" must be whispered to break the charm.
+
+The sun climbs to noon, then slowly sinks to the west. It dips into
+the silent sea, mirroring sparkling evening stars.
+
+Stretching to Japan, the Pacific is the mysterious World's End.
+
+Along the brown coast, the sea otter, clad in kingly robes, sports
+shyly in the kelp fields. The fur seals stream by unchased to their
+misty home in the Pribyloffs. Barking sea-lions clamber around the
+jutting rocks. Lazy whales roll on the quiet waters of the bay,
+their track an oily wake.
+
+It is the land of siesta, of undreamed dreams, of brooding slumber.
+
+The barbaric diversions of the day are done. The firing squad
+leave the guns. The twang of guitar and screech of violin open the
+fandango.
+
+The young cavaliers desert the streets. Bibulous dignitaries sit
+in council around Governor Alvarado's table. Mexican cigars, wine
+in old silver flagons (fashioned by the deft workers of Chihuahua
+and Durango), and carafes of aguadiente, garnish the board.
+
+The mahogany table (a mark of official grandeur), transported
+from Acapulco, is occupied (below the salt) by the young officers.
+Horse-racing, cock-fighting, and gambling on the combat of bear
+and bull, have not exhausted their passions. Public monte and faro
+leave them a few "doubloons" yet. Seated with piles of Mexican
+dollars before them, the young heroes enjoy a "lay-out." All their
+coin comes from Mexico. Hundreds of millions, in unminted gold and
+silver, lie under their careless feet, yet their "pieces of eight"
+date back to Robinson Crusoe! This is the land of "manana!" Had
+Hernando Cortez not found the treasures of Mexico, he might have
+fought his way north, over the Gila Desert, to the golden hoards
+of the sprites of the Sierras.
+
+At the banquet fiery Alvarado counselled with General Vallejo.
+Flushed with victory, Captain Miguel was the lion of this feast.
+He chatted with his compadres.
+
+The seniors talked over the expulsion of the strangers.
+
+Cool advisers feared trouble from France, England, or the United
+States. Alvarado's instinct told him that foreigners would gain
+a mastery over the Dons, if permitted to enter in numbers. Texas
+was an irresistible warning. "Senores," said Alvarado, "the Russians
+came in 1812. Only a few, with their Kodiak Indians, settled at
+Bodega. Look at them now! They control beautiful Bodega! They
+are 800 souls! True, they say they are going, but only our posts at
+San Rafael and Sonoma checked them. A fear of your sword, General!"
+Alvarado drank to Vallejo.
+
+Vallejo bowed to his Governor. "Senor," said he, "you are right.
+I have seen Mexico. I have been a scholar, as well as a soldier. I
+knew Von Resanoff's Russian slyness. My father was at the Presidio
+in 1807, when he obtained rights for a few fur hunters. Poor fellow!
+he never lived to claim his bride, but he was a diplomat."
+
+"Foreigners will finally outroot us. Here is Sutter, building his
+fort on the Sacramento! He's a good fellow, yet I'll have to burn
+New Helvetia about his ears some day. Russian or Swiss, French or
+Yankee, it's all the same. The 'Gringo' is the worst of all. Poor
+Conception de Arguello. She waited long for her dead Russian lover."
+
+"General, do you think the Yankees can ever attack us by land?"
+said Alvarado.
+
+"Madre de Dios! No!" cried Vallejo, "we will drag them at our
+horses' tails!"
+
+"Then, I have no fear of them," said Alvarado. "We occupy San
+Diego, Santa Barbara, Monterey, and San Francisco, the missions of
+San Juan Capistrano, Los Angeles, San Luis Obispo and Santa Clara,
+and help to control the Indians, but these home troubles have
+stopped their useful growth."
+
+Governor Alvarado sighed. Governor Hijar in 1834 had desecularized
+the Catholic missions. Their cattle were stolen, their harvests
+and vineyards destroyed. The converts were driven off to seek new
+homes among the Utes, Yubas, Feather River, Napa, and Mohave tribes.
+
+Pious Alvarado crossed himself. He glanced uneasily at Padre
+Castillo,--at the board. Only one or two priests were left at the
+beautiful settlements clustering around the old mission churches.
+To-day these are the only architectural ornaments of Alta California.
+
+"I doubt the wisdom of breaking up the missions," said Alvarado,
+with gloomy brow. A skeleton was at this feast. The troubled Governor
+could not see the handwriting on the wall. He felt California was
+a priceless jewel to Mexico. He feared imprudent measures. Lying
+dormant, California slept since Cabrillo saw Cape Mendocino in
+1542. After he turned his shattered prows back to Acapulco on June
+27, 1543, it was only on November 10, 1602, that ambitious Viscaino
+raised the Spanish ensign at San Diego. He boldly claimed this
+golden land for Spain. Since that furtive visit, the lonely coast
+lay unsettled. It was only used as a haunt by wild pirates, lurking
+to attack the precious Philippine galleons sailing to Acapulco. For
+one hundred and sixty-eight years the land was unvisited. Spanish
+greed and iron rule satisfied itself with grinding the Mexicans
+and turning southward in the steps of Balboa and Pizarro.
+
+Viscaino's neglected maps rotted in Madrid for two centuries.
+Fifty-five years of Spanish rule left California undeveloped, save
+by the gentle padres who, aided by their escort, brought in the
+domestic animals. They planted fruit-trees, grains, and the grape.
+They taught the peaceful Indians agriculture. Flax, hemp, and
+cotton supplanted the skins of animals.
+
+Alvarado and Vallejo remembered the Spanish war in 1822. At this
+banquet of victory, neither thought that, a few years later, the
+rule of the Dons would be over; that their familiar places would
+know them no more. Just retribution of fate! The Dons drove out
+the friars, and recked not their own day was close at hand.
+
+As the exultant victors stood drinking the toast of the day,
+"Muerte los estrangeros," neither crafty statesman, sly priest,
+fiery general, wise old Don, nor reckless caballero, could predict
+that the foreigners would return in two years. That they would come
+under protection of the conquering British flag.
+
+Alvarado was excited by his feuds with Micheltorrena. The people
+were divided into clericals and anti-clericals. A time of "storm
+and stress" hung over all.
+
+Wise in victory was Captain Miguel Peralta. His campaign against
+the foreigners marked the close of his service. Born in 1798, his
+family were lords of broad lands on the Alamedas of San Francisco
+Bay. He was sent to the city of Mexico and educated, serving in
+the army of the young republic. Returning to Alta California, he
+became a soldier.
+
+Often had he sallied out to drive the warlike Indian toward the
+Sacramento. In watching his mustangs and cattle, he rode far to
+the slopes of the Sierra Nevadas. Their summits glittered under the
+blue skies, crowned with silvery snows, unprofaned by the foot of
+man.
+
+A sturdy caballero, courtly and sagacious. His forty-two years
+admonished him now to settle in life. When Alvarado was in cheeriest
+mood, at the feast, the Captain reminded him of his promise to release
+him. This would allow Peralta to locate a new ten-league-square
+grant of lands, given him for past services to the State.
+
+Graciously the Governor accorded the request. Noblesse oblige!
+"Don Miguel, is there any reason for leaving us besides your new
+rancho?" said Alvarado. The Captain's cheek reddened a little.
+"Senor Gobernador, I have served the State long," said he. "Juanita
+Castro waits for me at San Francisco. I will lay off my rancho on
+the San Joaquin. I move there in the spring."
+
+Alvarado was delighted. The health of Senorita Juanita Castro was
+honored by the whole table. They drank an extra bumper for gallant
+Don Miguel, the bridegroom.
+
+The Governor was pleased. Powerful Castros and Peraltas stretched
+from the Salinas, by San Jose and Santa Clara, to Martinez; and
+San Rafael as well as Sonoma. By this clan, both Sutter's Fort and
+the Russians could be watched.
+
+This suitable marriage would bring a thousand daring horsemen to
+serve under the cool leadership of Don Miguel in case of war.
+
+Peralta told the Governor he would explore the San Joaquin. He
+wished to locate his ranch where he could have timber, wood, water,
+game, and mountain air.
+
+Don Miguel did not inform the chief of the state that in riding from
+San Diego to Cape Mendocino he had found one particular garden of
+Paradise. He had marked this for his home when his sword would be
+sheathed in honor.
+
+"I will say, your Excellency," said the Captain, "I fear for the
+future. The Yankees are growing in power and are grasping. They
+have robbed us of lovely Texas. Now, it is still a long way for
+their ships to come around dreary Cape Horn. We had till late years
+only two vessels from Boston; I saw their sails shining in the bay
+of San Francisco when I was five years old. I have looked in the
+Presidio records for the names. The Alexander and the Aser, August
+1st, 1803. Then, they begged only for wood and water and a little
+provision. Now, their hide-traders swarm along our coast. They will
+by and by come with their huge war-ships. These trading-boats have
+no cannon, but they are full of bad rum. Our coast people will be
+cleared out. Why, Catalina Islands," continued the Captain, "were
+peopled once densely. There are yet old native temples there. All
+these coast tribes have perished. It is even worse since the holy
+fathers were robbed of their possessions."
+
+The good soldier crossed himself in memory of the wise padres. They
+owned the thousands of cattle, sheep, and horses once thronging the
+oat-covered hills. Theirs were the fruits, grains, and comforts
+of these smiling valleys, untrodden yet by a foreign foe.
+
+"Your Excellency, when the Yankee war-ships have come, we cannot
+resist them. Our batteries are old and poor, we have little
+ammunition. Our arms are out of repair. The machete and lasso are
+no match for their well-supplied men-of-war. I shall locate myself
+so far in the interior that the accursed Gringos cannot reach me
+with their ships or their boats. The trappers who straggle over the
+deserts from Texas our horsemen will lasso. They will bring them
+in bound as prisoners."
+
+"Miguel, mi compadre," said the Governor, "do you think they
+can cross the deserts?" He was startled by Peralta's views of the
+future.
+
+"Senor," said the Captain, "I saw the first American who came
+overland. The wanderer appeared in 1826. It was the 20th of December.
+He was found half starved by our vaqueros. I have his name here on
+a piece of paper. I have long carried it, for I was a guard over
+him."
+
+Miguel slowly spelled off the detested Yankee name, Jedediah S.
+Smith, from a slip of cartridge paper in his bolsa. Glory be to
+the name of Smith!
+
+"Where THAT one Yankee found a way, more will come, but we will
+meet and fight them. This is our OWN land by the right of discovery.
+The good King Philip II. of Spain rightfully claimed this (from his
+orders to Viceroy Monterey in 1596). We get our town name here in
+his honor. We will fight the English, and these accursed Yankees.
+They have no right to be here. This is our home," cried fiery
+Miguel, as he pledged the hospitable Governor. He passed out into
+the dreaming, starry night. As he listened to the waves softly
+breaking on the sandy beach, he thought fondly of Juanita Castro.
+He fumbled over the countersign as the sentinel presented his old
+flint-lock musket.
+
+Both Governor and Captain sought the repose of their Spartan pillows.
+The Captain forgot, in his zeal for Spanish dominion, that daring
+Sir Francis Drake, in days even then out of the memory of man,
+piloted the "Golden Hind" into Drake's Bay. He landed near San
+Francisco in 1578, and remained till the early months of 1579. Under
+the warrant of "good Queen Bess" he landed, and set up a pillar
+bearing a "fair metal plate" with a picture of that antiquated
+but regal coquette. He nailed on the pillar a "fair struck silver
+five-pence," saluting the same with discharge of culverins, much
+hearty English cheer and nautical jollity. The land was English--by
+proscription.
+
+Sir Francis, gallant and courtly, was, like many travellers, as
+skilful at drawing the long bow as in wielding the rapier. He was
+not believed at home.
+
+Notwithstanding, he tarried months and visited the inland Indians,
+bringing home many objects of interest, announcing "much gold and
+silver," his voyage was vain. His real discovery was deemed of no
+practical value. The robust Indians swarmed in thousands, living
+by the watersides in huts, wearing deerskin cloaks and garments
+of rushes. Hunters and fishers were they. They entertained the
+freebooter, and like him have long since mouldered to ashes. Along
+the Pacific Coast great mounds of shells, marking their tribal
+seaside feasts, are now frequently unearthed. Their humble history
+is shadowed by the passing centuries. They are only a memory,
+a shadow on Time's stream. Good Queen Bess sleeps in the stately
+fane of Westminster. Sir Francis's sword is rusted. The "brazen
+plate" recording that date and year is of a legendary existence only.
+"Drake's Bay" alone keeps green the memory of the daring cruiser.
+Even in one century the Spanish, Russian, Mexican, and American
+flags successively floated over the unfrequented cliffs of California.
+Two hundred years before, the English ensign kissed the air in
+pride, unchallenged by the haughty Spaniard.
+
+Miguel Peralta was happy. He had invited all the officials to attend
+the nuptials by the Golden Gate. Venus was in the ascendant. The
+red planet of Mars had set, he hoped, forever. The officers and
+gentry contemplated a frolicsome ride around the Salinas bend, over
+the beautiful passes to Santa Clara valley and the town of Yerba
+Buena.
+
+Peralta's marriage was an excuse for general love making. A display
+of all the bravery of attire and personal graces of man and maid
+was in order.
+
+The soldier drifted into the land of dreams haunted by Juanita
+Castro's love-lit eyes and rare, shy smile. No vision disturbed
+him of the foothold gained in Oregon by the Yankees. They sailed
+past the entrance of San Francisco Bay, on the Columbia, in 1797,
+but they found the great river of the northwest. They named it after
+their gallant bark, said to be the legal property of one General
+Washington of America.
+
+The echoes of Revolutionary cannon hardly died away before the
+eagle-guided Republic began to follow the star of empire to the
+Occident.
+
+Had the listless mariners seen that obscured inlet of the Golden
+Gate, they had never braved the icy gales of the Oregon coast.
+Miguel Peralta's broad acres might have had another lord. Bishop
+Berkeley's prophecy was infallible. A fatal remissness seemed to
+characterize all early foreign adventure on Californian coasts.
+
+Admiral Vancouver in 1793 visited Monterey harbor, and failed to
+raise the Union Jack, as supinely as the later British commanders
+in 1846. French commanders, technically skilful and energetic, also
+ignored the value of the western coast. As a result of occasional
+maritime visits, the slender knowledge gained by these great
+navigators appears a remarkable omission.
+
+The night passed on. Breezes sweeping through the pines of Monterey
+brought no murmur from the south and east of the thunder crash of
+cannon on the unfought fields of Mexico.
+
+No drowsy vaquero sentinel, watching the outposts of Monterey,
+could catch a sound of the rumbling wheels and tramping feet of
+that vast western immigration soon to tread wearily the old overland
+and the great southern route.
+
+The soldier, nodding over his flint-lock as the white stars dropped
+into the western blue, saw no glitter of the sails of hostile Yankee
+frigates. Soon they would toss in pride at anchor here, and salute
+the starry flag of a new sovereignty. The little twinkling star
+to be added for California was yet veiled behind the blue field of
+our country's banner.
+
+Bright sun flashes dancing over the hills awoke the drowsy sacristan.
+The hallowed "Bells of Carmel" called the faithful to mass.
+
+Monterey, in reverse order of its social grades, rose yawning from
+the feast. Fandangos and bailes of the day of victory tired all.
+Lazy "mozos" lolled about the streets. A few revellers idly compared
+notes of the day's doings.
+
+In front of the government offices, squads of agile horses awaited
+haughty riders. A merry cavalcade watched for Captain Miguel
+Peralta. He was to be escorted out of the Pueblo by the "jeunesse
+doree" of Alta California.
+
+Clad in green jackets buttoned with Mexican dollars, riding leggings
+of tiger-cat skin seamed with bullion and fringed with dollars,
+their brown faces were surmounted by rich sombreros, huge of rim.
+They were decorated in knightly fashion with silver lace. The young
+caballeros awaited their preux chevalier. Saddle and bridle shone
+with heavy silver mountings. Embossed housings and "tapadero," hid
+the symmetry of their deer-like coursers.
+
+Pliant rawhide lassos coiled on saddle horns, gay serapes tied
+behind each rider, and vicious machetes girded on thigh, these sons
+of the West were the pride of the Pacific.
+
+Not one of them would be dismayed at a seven days' ride to Los
+Angeles. A day's jaunt to a fandango, a night spent in dancing, a
+gallop home on the morrow, was child's play to these young Scythians.
+
+Pleasure-loving, brave, and courteous; hospitable, and fond of
+their lovely land--they bore all fatigue in the saddle, yet despised
+any manual exertion; patricians all, in blood.
+
+So it has been since man conquered the noblest inferior animal.
+The man on the horse always rides down and tramples his brother
+on foot. Life is simply a struggle for the saddle, and a choice of
+the rarest mount in the race. To-day these gay riders are shadows
+of a forgotten past.
+
+Before noon Captain Peralta receives the order of the Governor. It
+authorizes him to locate his military grant. General Vallejo, with
+regret, hands Miguel an order relieving him from duty. He is named
+Commandante of the San Joaquin valley, under the slopes of the
+undefiled Sierras.
+
+Laden with messages, despatches, and precious letters for the ranches
+on the road to the Golden Gate, he departs. These are entrusted to
+the veteran sergeant, major-domo and shadow of his beloved master.
+Miguel bounds into the saddle. He gayly salutes the Governor
+and General with a graceful sweep of his sombrero. He threads the
+crowded plaza with adroitness, swaying easily from side to side as
+he greets sober friend or demure Donna. He smiles kindly on all the
+tender-eyed senoritas who admire the brave soldier, and in their
+heart of hearts envy Juanita Castro, the Rose of Alameda.
+
+Alert and courteous, the future bright before him, Peralta gazes
+on the Mexican flag fluttering in the breeze. A lump rises in his
+throat. His long service is over at last. He doffs his sombrero
+when the guard "turns out" for him. It is the last honor.
+
+He cannot foresee that a French frigate will soon lie in the very
+bay smiling at his feet, and cover the returning foreigner with
+her batteries.
+
+In two short years, sturdy old Commodore Jones will blunder along
+with the American liners, CYANE and UNITED STATES, and haul down
+that proud Mexican ensign. He will hoist for the first time, on
+October, 19, 1842, the stars and stripes over the town. Even though
+he apologizes, the foreigners will troop back there like wolves
+around the dying bison of the west. The pines on Santa Cruz whisper
+of a coming day of change. The daybreak of the age of gold draws
+near.
+
+Steadily through the live-oaks and fragrant cypress the bridegroom
+rides to the wedding. A few days' social rejoicings, then away to
+the beautiful forests of his new ranch. It lies far in the hills
+of Mariposa. There, fair as a garden of the Lord, the grassy knolls
+of the foothills melt into the golden wild-oat fields of the San
+Joaquin.
+
+Behind him, to the east, the virgin forest rises to the serrated
+peaks of the Nevada. He drops his bridle on his horse's neck. He
+dreams of a day when he can visit the unknown canons beyond his
+new home.
+
+Several Ute chiefs have described giant forests of big trees.
+They tell of a great gorge of awful majesty; that far toward the
+headwaters of the American are sparkling lakes fed by winter snows.
+
+His escort of young bloods rides behind him. They have had their
+morning gymnastics, "a cheval," to edify the laughing beauties
+of the baile of last night. The imprisoned rooster, buried to the
+neck in soft earth, has been charged on and captured gaily. Races
+whiled away their waiting moments.
+
+Then, "adios, senoritas," with heart-pangs in chorus. After a
+toss of aguardiente, the cigarito is lit. The beaux ride out for
+a glimpse of the white cliffs of the Golden Gate. The sleeping
+Monterey belles dream yet of yester-even. Nature smiles, a fearless
+virgin, with open arms. Each rancho offers hospitality. Money
+payments are unknown here yet, in such matters.
+
+Down the Santa Clara avenue of great willows these friends ride
+in the hush of a starry evening. As the mission shows its lights,
+musical bells proclaim the vesper service. Their soft echoes are
+wafted to the ears of these devotees.
+
+Devoutly the caballeros dismount. They kneel on the tiled floor
+till the evening service ends.
+
+Miguel's heart sinks while he thinks of the missions. He bows in
+prayer. Neglected vineyards and general decay reign over the deserted
+mission lands.
+
+It is years since Hijar scattered the missions, He paralyzed
+the work of the Padres. Already Santa Clara's gardens are wasted.
+Snarling coyotes prowl to the very walls of the enclosures left to
+the Padres.
+
+Priest and acolytes quit the altar. Miguel sadly leaves the church.
+Over a white stone on the sward his foot pauses. There rests one
+of his best friends--Padre Pacheco--passed beyond these earthly
+troubles to eternal rest and peace. The mandate of persecution
+can never drive away that dead shepherd. He rests with his flock
+around him.
+
+Hijar seized upon the acres of the Church. He came down like the
+feudal barons in England. Ghostly memories cling yet around these
+old missions.
+
+   "When the lord of the hill, Amundeville,
+        Made Norman church his prey,
+    And expelled the friars, one friar still
+        Would not be driven away."
+
+So here the sacred glebe was held by a faithful sentinel. His
+gravestone flashed a white protest against violence. In the struggle
+between sword and cowl, the first victory is with the sword; not
+always the last. Time has its revenges.
+
+Padre Hinojosa, the incumbent, welcomes the Captain. There is cheer
+for the travellers. Well-crusted bottles of mission claret await
+them. The tired riders seek the early repose of primitive communities.
+
+Beside the fire (for the fog sweeps coldly over the Coast Range)
+the priest and his guest exchange confidences. Captain Peralta is
+an official bulletin. The other priest is summoned away to a dying
+penitent. The halls of the once crowded residence of the clergy
+re-echo strangely the footsteps of the few servants.
+
+By the embers the man of the sword and he of the gown lament these
+days. They are pregnant with trouble. The directing influence of
+the Padres is now absent. Peralta confides to Hinojosa that jealousy
+and intrigue will soon breed civil warfare. Micheltorrena is now
+conspiring against Alvarado. Peralta seeks a secluded home in the
+forests of Mariposa. He desires to gain a stronghold where he can
+elude both domestic and foreign foes.
+
+"Don Miguel," the padre begins, "in our records we have notes of
+a Philippine galleon, the SAN AUGUSTIN, laden with the spoils of the
+East. She was washed ashore in 1579, tempest tossed at the Golden
+Gate. Viscaino found this wreck in 1602. Now I have studied much.
+I feel that the Americans will gradually work west, overland,
+and will rule us. Our brothers destroyed the missions. They would
+have Christianized the patient Indians, teaching them industries.
+Books tell me even the Apaches were peaceful till the Spanish
+soldiers attacked them. Now from their hills they defy the whole
+Mexican army." The good priest sighed. "Our work is ruined. I shall
+lay my bones here, but I see the trade of the East following that
+lonely wrecked galleon, and a young people growing up. The Dons
+will go." Bestowing a blessing on his guest, the padre sought his
+breviary. Priest and soldier slept in quiet. To-day the old padre's
+vision is realized. The treasures of the East pour into the Golden
+Gate. His simple heart would have been happy to know that thousands
+of Catholics pause reverently at his tomb covered with the roses
+of Santa Clara.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+AT THE PRESIDIO OF SAN FRANCISCO.---WEDDING CHIMES FROM THE MISSION
+DOLORES.---LAGUNITAS RANCHO.
+
+
+
+
+
+Golden lances pierced the haze over the hills, waking the padre
+betimes next morning. Already the sacristan was ringing his call.
+
+The caballeros were kneeling when the Indian choir raised the
+chants. When mass ended, the "mozos" scoured the potrero, driving
+in the chargers. Commandante Peralta lingered a half hour at the
+priest's house. There, the flowers bloom in a natural tangle.
+
+The quadrangle is deserted; while the soldier lingers, the priest
+runs over the broken chain of missions. He recounts the losses of
+Mother Church---seventeen missions in Lower California, twenty-one
+all told in Alta California, with all their riches confiscated.
+The "pious fund"--monument of the faithful dead--swept into the
+Mexican coffers. The struggle of intellect against political greed
+looks hopeless.
+
+The friends sadly exchange fears. The bridegroom reminds the priest
+that shelter will be always his at the new rancho.
+
+Peralta's plunging roan frets now in the "paseo." After a blessing,
+the Commandante briskly pushes over the oak openings, toward the
+marshes of the bay. His shadow, the old sergeant, ambles alongside.
+Pearly mists rise from the bay. Far to the northeast Mount Diablo
+uplifts its peaked summit. From the western ridges balsamic odors
+of redwoods float lightly.
+
+Down by the marshes countless snipe, duck, geese, and curlew tempt
+the absent sportsman.
+
+The traveller easily overtakes his escort. They have been trying
+all the arts of the vaquero. Past hills where startled buck and
+doe gaze until they gracefully bound into the covert, the riders
+pursue the lonely trail. Devoid of talk, they follow the shore,
+sweeping for six hours over the hills, toward the Mission Dolores.
+Another hour brings them to the Presidio.
+
+This fort is the only safeguard of the State; a battery of ship
+guns is a mere symbol of power.
+
+In the quadrangle two companies of native soldiers and a detachment
+of artillery constitute the feeble garrison. Don Miguel Peralta
+canters up to the Commandante's residence.
+
+Evening parade is over. Listless sentinels drag over their posts
+with the true military laziness.
+
+Peralta is intent upon affairs both of head and heart. His comrade,
+the Commandante, sits late with him in sage counsel. A train follows
+from Monterey, with stores for the settlement. Sundry cargoes
+of gifts for the fair Juanita, which the one Pacific emporium of
+Monterey alone could furnish, are moving. Miguel bears an order
+for a detail of a sergeant and ten men, a nucleus of a force in the
+San Joaquin. Barges and a shallop are needed to transport supplies
+up the river. By couriers, invitations are to be sent to all the
+clans not represented at the Monterey gathering.
+
+The priests of the mission must also be visited and prepared for
+the wedding. Miguel's heart softens. He thinks of his bright-eyed
+Californian bride waiting in her home, soon to be Seftora Peralta.
+
+In twenty days Don Miguel arranges his inland voyage. While his
+assistants speed abroad, he pays visits of ceremony to the clergy
+and his lovely bride.
+
+The great day of his life arrives. Clad in rich uniform, he crosses
+to the eastern shore. A breeze of morning moves. The planet of
+love is on high. It is only the sun tinting the bay with golden
+gleams. Never a, steamer yet has ploughed these silent waters.
+
+Morning's purple folds Tamalpais in a magic mantle. Rolling surges
+break on the bar outside the Golden Gate. Don Miguel, attended by
+friends, receives his bride, the Rose of Alameda. Shallops wait.
+The merry party sails for the western shore. Fluttering flags
+decorate this little navy of San Francisco.
+
+Merry laughter floats from boat to boat. The tinkle of the guitar
+sounds gaily. Two hours end this first voyage of a new life.
+
+At the embarcadero of Yerba Buena the party descends. They are met
+by a procession of all the notables of the mission and Presidio.
+Hardy riders and ladies, staid matrons and blooming senoritas, have
+gathered also from Santa Clara, Napa, and Sonoma. The one government
+brig is crowded with a merry party from Monterey.
+
+The broad "camino real" sweeps three miles over sand dunes to the
+mission. Past willow-shaded lakes, through stunted live-oak groves,
+the wedding cavalcade advances. The poverty of the "mozo" admits
+of a horse. Even the humblest admirer of Don Miguel to-day is in
+the saddle. No one in California walks.
+
+With courtly grace the warrior rides by his bride. Juanita Castro
+is a true Spanish senorita. Blest with the beauty of youth and the
+modesty of the Castilian, the Rose of Alameda has the blush of her
+garden blossoms on her virgin cheek. She walks a queen. She rides
+as only the maids of Alta California can.
+
+The shining white walls of the mission are near. Eager eyes watch
+in the belfry whence the chimes proclaim the great event. To the
+west the Coast Range hides the blue Pacific. Rolling sand hills
+mask the Presidio. East and south the panorama of shore and mountain
+frames the jewel of the West, fair San Francisco bay.
+
+Soldiers, traders, dull-eyed Indians, and joyous retainers crowd
+the approaches.
+
+The cortege halts at the official residence. Soon the dark-eyed
+bride is arrayed in her simple white robes. Attended by her friends,
+Juanita enters the house of the Lord. Don Luis Castro supports the
+bride, who meets at the altar her spouse. Priests and their trains
+file in. The fateful words are said.
+
+Then the girl-wife on her liege lord's arm enters the residence of
+the Padres; a sumptuous California breakfast awaits the "gente de
+razon."
+
+Clangor of bells, firing of guns, vivas and popular clamor follow
+the party.
+
+The humbler people are all regaled at neighboring "casas."
+
+In the home of the Padres, the nuptial feast makes glad the gathered
+notables. The clergy are the life of this occasion. They know when
+to lay by the austerity of official robes. From old to young, all
+hearts are merry.
+
+Alcaldes, officials, and baronial rancheros--all have gathered for
+this popular wedding.
+
+Carrillos, Del Valles, Sepulvedas, Arguellos, Avilas, Ortegas,
+Estradas, Martinez, Aguirres and Dominguez are represented by chiefs
+and ladies.
+
+Beakers of mission vintages are drained in honor of the brave and
+fair. When the sun slopes toward the hills, the leaders escort the
+happy couple to the Presidio. The Commandante and his bride begin
+their path in life. It leads toward that yet unbuilt home in the
+wild hills of Mariposa. With quaint garb, rich trappings, and its
+bright color, the train lends an air of middle-age romance to the
+landscape.
+
+Knightly blood, customs, and manners linger yet in the "dolce far
+niente" of this unwaked paradise of the Occident. Sweetly sound the
+notes of the famous sacred mission bell. It was cast and blessed at
+far Mendoza in Spain, in 1192. Generations and tens of generations
+have faded into shadowy myths of the past since it waked first
+the Spanish echoes. Kings and crowns, even countries, have passed
+into history's shadowy night since it first rang out. The cunning
+artificer, D. Monterei, piously inscribed it with the name of
+"San Franisco." Mingled gold and silver alone were melted for its
+making. Its sacred use saved the precious treasure many times from
+robbers. Six hundred and fifty years that mellow voice has warned
+the faithful to prayer. Pride and treasure of the Franciscans, it
+followed the "conquistadores" to Mexico. It rang its peal solemnly
+at San Diego, when, on July 1, 1769, the cross of the blessed Redeemer
+was raised. The shores of California were claimed for God by the
+apostolic representative, sainted Friar Junipero Serra. In that
+year two babes were born far over the wild Atlantic, one destined
+to wrap the world in flame, and the other to break down the mightiest
+modern empire of the sword. It was the natal year of Napoleon
+Bonaparte, the child imperially crowned by nature, and that iron
+chief, Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington.
+
+The old bell sounded its first call to the faithful on San Francisco
+Bay, in 1776. It was but a few months after the American colonists
+gave to wondering humanity their impassioned plea for a world's
+liberty--the immortal Declaration of the Fourth of July.
+
+No merrier peal ever sounded from its vibrant throat than the rich
+notes following Miguel Peralta and his lovely Rose of Alameda.
+
+Revelry reigns at the Presidio; Commandante Peralta's quarters are
+open. Music and brightest eyes mark the closing of this day. In
+late watches the sentinels remember the feast as they pace their
+rounds, for none are forgotten in largesse.
+
+Fair Juanita learns to love the dainty title of Senora. Light is
+her heart as she leaves for the Hills.
+
+Don Miguel's barges already are on the San Joaquin. The cattle
+have reached their potreros on the Mariposa. Artificer and "peon"
+are preparing a shelter for the lord of the grant.
+
+Donna Juanita waves her hand in fond adieu as the schooner glides
+across to Alameda. Here Commandante Miguel has a report of the
+arrival of his trains.
+
+From the Castros' home, Juanita rides out toward the San Joaquin.
+Great commotion enlivens the hacienda. Pack-trains are laden with
+every requisite--tents, hammocks, attendants, waiting-women and
+retainers are provided.
+
+Winding out of the meadows of the Alameda, eastwardly over the
+Coast Range defiles, the train advances. Even here "los ladrones"
+(thieves of animals) are the forerunners of foreign robbers. Guards
+watch the bride's slumbers.
+
+Star-lit nights make the journey easy. It is the rainless summer
+time; no sound save the congress of the coyotes, or the notes of
+the mountain owl, disturbs the dreams of the campers.
+
+Don Miguel, in happiest mood, canters beside his wife. The party
+has its scouts far in advance. Resting places in fragrant woods,
+with pure brooks and tender grass, mark the care of the outriders.
+
+Over the Coast Range Juanita finds a land of delightful promise.
+Far away the rich valley of the San Joaquin sweeps. Rolling hills
+lie on either side, golden tinted with the ripening wild oats.
+Messengers join the party with auspicious reports.
+
+Down the San Joaquin plains the train winds. Here Senora Peralta
+is in merry mood; hundreds of stately elk swing tossing antlers,
+dashing away to the willows. Gray deer spring over brook and fallen
+tree, led by some giant leader. Pigeons, grouse, doves, and quail
+cleave the air with sudden alarm. Gorgeous in his painted plumage,
+the wood duck whirrs away over the slow gliding San Joaquin. Swan
+and wild geese cover the little islands.
+
+There are morning vocal concerts of a feathered orchestra. They
+wake the slumbering bride long before Don Miguel calls his swarthy
+retainers to the day's march.
+
+By night, in the valley, the sentinels watch for the yellow California
+lions, who delight to prey on the animals of the train. Wild-cats,
+lynx, the beaver and raccoon scuttle away surprised by this invasion
+of Nature's own game preserves.
+
+It is with some terror that the young wife sees a display of native
+horsemanship. Lumbering across the pathway of the train a huge
+grizzly bear attracts the dare-devils. Bruin rises on his haunches;
+he snorts in disdain. A quickly cast lariat encircles one paw. He
+throws himself down. Another lasso catches his leg. As he rolls
+and tugs, other fatal loops drop, as skilfully aimed as if he were
+only a helpless bullock. Growling, rolling, biting, and tearing,
+he cannot break or loosen the rawhide ropes. When he madly tries to
+pull in one, the agile horses strain upon the others. He is firmly
+entangled. The giant bear is tightly bound.
+
+Donna Juanita, her lord by her side, laughs at the dreaded "oso."
+She enjoys the antics of the horsemen. They sport with their
+enemy. After the fun ends, Bruin receives a gunshot. Choice cuts
+are added to the camp menu.
+
+The bear, panther, and rattlesnake are the only dangers of the
+Californian woods.
+
+Days of travel bring the hills of Mariposa into view. Here the
+monarchs of the forest rise in air; their wild harps are swept by
+the cool breezes of the Sierras. Tall, stately redwoods, swathed
+in rich, soft, fibrous bark, tower to the skies. Brave oaks spread
+their arms to shelter the doe and her fawns. The madrona, with
+greenest leaf and pungent berry, stands here. Hazels, willows,
+and cottonwoods follow the water. Bald knolls are studded with
+manzanita, its red berry in harvest now. Sturdy groves of wild
+plum adorn the hillsides. Grouse and squirrel enjoy their annual
+feast.
+
+The journey is over. When the train winds around a sweeping range,
+Don Miguel nears his wife. The San Joaquin is studded with graceful
+clumps of evergreen. In its bosom a lake shines like a diamond.
+The Don uncovers smilingly. "Mi querida, there lies your home,
+Lagunitas," he murmurs.
+
+Sweet Juanita's eyes beam on her husband. She says softly, "How
+beautiful!"
+
+It is truly a royal domain. From the lake the ten leagues square
+of the Commandante's land are a panorama of varying beauties.
+Stretching back into the pathless forests, game, timber, wood,
+and building stones are at hand; a never-failing water supply for
+thousands of cattle is here. To the front, right, and left, hill
+pastures and broad fields give every variety of acreage.
+
+Blithely the young wife spurs her favorite steed over the turf.
+She nears the quarters. The old sergeant is the seneschal of this
+domain. He greets the new arrivals.
+
+With stately courtesy the Commandante lifts his bride from her
+charger. The hegira is over. The occupation of arranging abodes
+for all is the first task. Already the cattle, sheep, and horses
+are fattening on the prairie grasses. Peons are sawing lumber. A
+detachment is making bricks for the houses. These are one-storied
+mansions with wide porches, beloved by the Californians; to-day
+the most comfortable homes in the West. Quaintly superstitious,
+the natives build so for fear of earthquakes. Corrals, pens, and
+sheds have been first labors of the advance guard. The stores and
+supplies are all housed.
+
+Don Miguel left the choice of the mansion site to his Juanita.
+Together they visit the different points of vantage. Soon the
+hacienda rises in solid, fort-like simplicity.
+
+The bride at Lagunitas strives to aid her companion. She shyly
+expresses her preferences. All is at her bidding.
+
+Don Miguel erects his ranch establishment in a military style. It
+is at once a square stronghold and mansion shaded with ample porches.
+Corrals for horses, pens for sheep, make up his constructions for
+the first year. Already the herds are increasing under the eyes
+of his retainers.
+
+The Commandante has learned that no manual work can be expected of
+his Californian followers, except equestrian duties of guarding
+and riding.
+
+A flash of mother-wit leads him to bring a hundred mission Indians
+from the bay. They bear the brunt of mechanical toil.
+
+Autumn finds Lagunitas Rancho in bloom. Mild weather favors all.
+Stores and supplies are brought from San Francisco Bay.
+
+Don Miguel establishes picket stations reaching to the Castro
+Rancho.
+
+Save that Juanita Peralta sees no more the glories of the Golden
+Gate, her life is changed only by her new, married relation. A few
+treasures of her girlhood are the sole reminders of her uneventful
+springtime.
+
+Rides through the forests, and canters over the grassy meadows
+with her beloved Miguel, are her chiefest pleasures. Some little
+trading brings in the Indians of the Sierras. It amuses the young
+Donna to see the bartering of game, furs, forest nuts, wild fruits
+and fish for the simple stores of the rancho. No warlike cavaliers
+of the plains are these, with Tartar blood in their veins, from
+Alaskan migration or old colonization. They have not the skill and
+mysterious arts of the Aztecs.
+
+These Piute Indians are the lowest order of indigenous tree dwellers.
+They live by the chase. Without manufactures, with no language,
+no arts, no agriculture, no flocks or herds, these wretches, clad
+in the skins of the minor animals, are God's meanest creatures.
+They live on manzanita berry meal, pine-nuts, and grasshoppers.
+Bows and flint-headed arrows are their only weapons. They snare
+the smaller animals. The defenceless deer yield to their stealthy
+tracking. The giant grizzly and panther affright them. They cannot
+battle with "Ursus ferox."
+
+Unable to cope with the Mexican intruders, these degraded tribes
+are also an easy prey to disease. They live without general
+intercourse, and lurk in the foothills, or hide in the canons.
+
+Juanita finds the Indian women peaceable, absolutely ignorant,
+and yet tender to their offspring. The babes are carried in wicker
+baskets on their backs. A little weaving and basket-making comprise
+all their feminine arts. Rudest skin clothing covers their stunted
+forms.
+
+Don Miguel encourages the visits of these wild tribes. He intends
+to use them as a fringe of faithful retainers between him and the
+Americans. They will warn him of any approach through the Sierras
+of the accursed Yankee.
+
+The Commandante, reared in a land without manufactures or artisans,
+regarding only his flocks and herds, cherishes his military pride
+in firmly holding the San Joaquin for the authorities. He never
+turns aside to examine the resources of his domain. The degraded
+character of the Indians near him prevents any knowledge of the
+great interior. They do not speak the language of his semi-civilized
+mission laborers from the Coast Range. They cannot communicate
+with the superior tribes of the North and East. All their dialects
+are different.
+
+Vaguely float in his memory old stories of the giant trees and the
+great gorge of the Yosemite. He will visit yet the glistening and
+secret summits of the Sierras.
+
+Weeks run into months. Comfort and plenty reign at Lagunitas. With
+his wife by his side, Miguel cons his occasional despatches. He
+promises the Seflora that the spring shall see a chapel erected.
+When he makes the official visit to the Annual Council, he will
+bring a padre, at once friend, spiritual father, and physician. It
+is the first sign of a higher life--the little chapel of Mariposa.
+
+Winter winds sway the giant pines of the forests. Rains of heaven
+swell the San Joaquin. The summer golden brown gives way to the
+velvety green of early spring.
+
+Juanita meekly tells her beads. With her women she waits the day
+when the bell shall call to prayer in Mariposa.
+
+Wandering by Lagunitas, the wife strays in fancy to far lands
+beyond the ocean. The books of her girlhood have given her only a
+misty idea of Europe. The awe with which she has listened to the
+Padres throws a glamour of magic around these recitals of that
+fairy world beyond the seas.
+
+Her life is bounded by the social horizon of her family circle; she
+is only the chatelaine. Her domain is princely, but no hope clings
+in her breast of aught beside a faded middle age. Her beauty hides
+itself under the simple robe of the Californian matron. Visitors
+are rare in this lovely wilderness. The annual rodeo will bring
+the vaqueros together. Some travelling officials may reach the
+San Joaquin. The one bright possibility of her life is a future
+visit to the seashore.
+
+Spring casts its mantle of wild flowers again over the hillocks.
+The rich grass waves high in the potreros; the linnets sing blithely
+in the rose-bushes. Loyal Don Miguel, who always keeps his word,
+girds himself for a journey to the distant Presidio. The chapel is
+finished. He will return with the looked-for padre.
+
+Leaving the sergeant in command, Don Miguel, with a few followers,
+speeds to the seashore. Five days' swinging ride suffices the soldier
+to reach tide-water. He is overjoyed to find that his relatives
+have determined to plant a family stronghold on the San Joaquin.
+This will give society to the dark-eyed beauty by the Lagunitas
+who waits eagerly for her Miguel's return.
+
+At the Presidio the Commandante is feasted. In a few days his
+business is over. Riding over to the Mission Dolores, he finds
+a missionary priest from Acapulco. He is self-devoted to labor.
+Father Francisco Ribaut is only twenty-five years of age. Born in
+New Orleans, he has taken holy orders. After a stay in Mexico, the
+young enthusiast reaches the shores of the distant Pacific.
+
+Commandante Miguel is delighted. Francisco Ribaut is of French
+blood, graceful and kindly. The Fathers of the mission hasten to
+provide the needs of Lagunitas chapel.
+
+The barges are loaded with supplies, councils and business despatched.
+Padre Francisco and Don Miguel reach the glens of Mariposa in the
+lovely days when bird, bud, and blossom make Lagunitas a fairyland. In
+the mind of the veteran but one care lingers--future war. Already
+the feuds of Alvarado and Micheltorrena presage a series of domestic
+broils. Don Miguel hears that foreigners are plotting to return
+to the coast; they will come back under the protection of foreign
+war-ships. As his horse bounds over the turf, the soldier resolves
+to keep out of this coming conflict; he will guard his hard-won
+heritage. By their camp fire, Padre Francisco has told him of the
+Americans wrenching Texas away from Mexico. The news of the world
+is imparted to him. He asks the padre if the Gringos can ever reach
+the Pacific.
+
+"As sure as those stars slope to the west," says the priest,
+pointing to Orion, gleaming jewel-like in the clear skies of the
+Californian evening.
+
+The don muses. This prophecy rankles in his heart. He fears to ask
+further. He fears these Yankees.
+
+Joy reigns at Lagunitas! A heartfelt welcome awaits the priest, a
+rapturous greeting for Don Miguel. The grassy Alamedas are starred
+with golden poppies. Roses adorn the garden walks of the young wife.
+Her pensive eyes have watched the valley anxiously for her lord.
+
+Padre Francisco hastens to consecrate the chapel. The Virgin
+Mother spreads her sainted arms on high. A school for the Indians
+soon occupies the priest.
+
+Months roll around. The peace and prosperity of the rancho are
+emulated by the new station in the valley.
+
+Don Miguel rides over the mountains often in the duties of his
+position. Up and down the inland basin bronzed horsemen sweep over
+the untenanted regions, locating new settlements. San Joaquin valley
+slowly comes under man's dominion.
+
+Patriot, pioneer, and leader, the Commandante travels from Sutter's
+Fort to Los Angeles. He goes away light-hearted. The young wife
+has a bright-eyed girl to fondle when the chief is in the saddle.
+
+Happiness fills the parents' hearts. The baptism occasions the
+greatest feast of Lagunitas. But, from the coast, as fall draws
+near, rumors of trouble disturb the San Joaquin.
+
+Though the Russians are about to leave the seacoast, still
+Swiss Sutter has taken foothold on the Sacramento. The adherents
+of Micheltorrena and Alvarado arc preparing for war in the early
+spring. To leave Lagunitas is impossible. The Indian tribes are
+untrustworthy. They show signs of aggressiveness. Father Ribaut
+finds the Indians of the Sierras a century behind those of the
+coast. They are devoid of spiritual ideas. Contact with traders,
+and association with wild sea rovers, have given the Indians of
+the shore much of the groundwork of practical civilization.
+
+To his alarm, Don Miguel sees the Indians becoming treacherous.
+He discovers they make voyages to the distant posts, where they
+obtain guns and ammunition.
+
+In view of danger, the Commandante trains his men. The old soldier
+sighs to think that the struggle may break out between divided
+factions of native Californians. The foreigners may gain foothold
+in California while its real owners quarrel.
+
+The second winter at Lagunitas gives way to spring. Rapidly
+increasing herds need for their care all the force of the ranch.
+
+From the coast plentiful supplies provided by the Commandante
+arrive. With them comes the news of the return of the foreigners.
+They are convoyed by a French frigate, and on the demand of the
+British consul at Acapulco they are admitted. This is grave news.
+
+Donna Juanita and the padre try to smooth the gloomy brow of Don
+Miguel. All in vain. The "pernicious foreigner" is once more on the
+shores of Alta California. The Mexican eagle flutters listlessly
+over the sea gates of the great West. The serpent coils of foreign
+conspiracy are twining around it.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+A MISSING SENTINEL.---FREMONT'S CAMP.
+
+
+
+
+
+"Quien Vive!" A sentinel's challenge rings out. The sounds are
+borne away on the night wind sweeping Gavilan Peak. No response.
+March breezes drive the salty fog from Monterey Bay into the eyes
+of the soldier shivering in the silent hours before dawn.
+
+"Only a coyote or a mountain wolf," mutters Maxime Valois.
+He resumes his tramp along the rocky ramparts of the Californian
+Coast Range. His eyes are strained to pierce the night. He waits,
+his finger on the trigger of his Kentucky rifle.
+
+Surely something was creeping toward him from the chaparral. No:
+another illusion. Pride keeps him from calling for help. Three-score
+dauntless "pathfinders" are sleeping here around intrepid Fremont.
+
+It is early March in 1846. Over in the valley the herd-guard watch
+the animals. "No, not an Indian," mutters the sentinel. "They would
+stampede the horses at once. No Mexican would brave death here,"
+muses Valois.
+
+Only a boy of twenty, he is a veteran already. He feels for his
+revolver and knife. He knows he can defy any sneaking Californian.
+
+"It must be some beast," he concludes, as he stumbles along the
+wind-swept path. Maxime Valois dreams of his far-away home on the
+"Lower Coast," near New Orleans. He wanders along, half asleep.
+This hillside is no magnolia grove.
+
+It is but a year since he joined the great "Pathfinder's" third
+voyage over the lonely American Desert. He has toiled across to
+the Great Salt Lake, down the dreary Humboldt, and over the snowy
+Sierras.
+
+Down by Walker's Lake the "pathfinders" have crept into the valley
+of California. As he shields his face from biting winds, he can see
+again the panorama of the great plains, billowy hills, and broad
+vistas, tantalizing in their deceptive nearness. Thundering herds
+of buffalo and all the wild chivalry of the Sioux and Cheyennes
+sweep before him. The majestic forests of the West have darkened
+his way. The Great Salt Lake, a lonely inland sea; Lake Tahoe, a
+beautiful jewel set in snowy mountains; and its fairy sisters near
+Truckee--all these pass before his mental vision.
+
+But the youth is tired. Onward ever, like the "Wandering Jew,"
+still to the West with Fremont.
+
+Pride and hot southern blood nerve him in conflicts with the fierce
+savages. Dashing among the buffalo, he has ridden in many a wild
+chase where a single stumble meant death. His rifle has rung the
+knell of elk and bear, of wolf and panther.
+
+These varied excitements repaid the long days of march, but the
+Louisianian is mercurial. Homeward wander his thoughts.
+
+Hemmed in, with starvation near, in the Sierras, he welcomes this
+forlorn-hope march to the sea. Fremont with a picked squad has swept
+down to Sutter's Fort to send succor to the remaining "voyageurs."
+
+But the exploring march to Oregon, and back East by the southern
+road, appalls him. He is tired now. He would be free. As a mere
+volunteer, he can depart as soon as the frigate PORTSMOUTH arrives
+at Monterey. He is tired of Western adventures. Kit Carson, Aleck
+Godey, and Dick Owens have taught him their border lore. They all
+love the young Southerner.
+
+The party are now on the defensive. Maxime Valois knows that General
+Jose Castro has forbidden them to march toward Los Angeles. Governor
+Pio Pico is gathering his army to overawe "los Americanos."
+
+Little does Valois think that the guns of Palo Alto and Resaca
+de la Palma will soon usher in the Mexican war. The "pathfinders"
+are cut off from home news. He will join the American fleet, soon
+expected.
+
+He will land at Acapulco, and ride over to the city of Mexico. From
+Vera Cruz he can reach New Orleans and the old Valois plantation,
+"Belle Etoile." The magnolias' fragrance call him back to-night.
+
+Another rustle of the bushes. Clinging to his rifle, he peers into
+the gloom. How long these waiting hours! The gleaming stars have
+dipped into the far Pacific. The weird hours of the night watch
+are ending. Ha! Surely that was a crouching form in the arroyo.
+Shall he fire? No. Another deception of night. How often the trees
+have seemed to move toward him! Dark beings fancifully seemed to
+creep upon him. Nameless terrors always haunt these night hours.
+
+To be laughed at on rousing the camp? Never! But his inner nature
+tingles now with the mysterious thrill of danger. Eagerly he scans
+his post. The bleak blasts have benumbed his senses.
+
+Far away to the graceful groves and Gallic beauties of Belle
+Etoile his truant thoughts will fly once more. He wonders why he
+threw up his law studies under his uncle, Judge Valois, to rove in
+this wilderness.
+
+Reading the exploits of Fremont fascinated the gallant lad.
+
+As his foot falls wearily, the flame of his enthusiasm flickers
+very low.
+
+Turning at the end of his post he starts in alarm. Whizz! around
+his neck settles a pliant coil, cast twenty yards, like lightning.
+His cry for help is only a gurgle. The lasso draws tight. Dark
+forms dart from the chaparral. A rough hand stifles him. His arms
+are bound. A gag is forced in his mouth. Dragged into the bushes,
+his unknown captors have him under cover.
+
+The boy feels with rage and shame his arms taken from his belt.
+His rifle is gone. A knife presses his throat. He understands the
+savage hiss, "Vamos adelante, Gringo!" The party dash through the
+chaparral.
+
+Valois, bruised and helpless, reflects that his immediate death
+seems not to be his captors' will. Will the camp be attacked? Who
+are these? The bitter words show them to be Jose Castro's scouts.
+Is there a force near? Will they attack? All is silent.
+
+In a few minutes an opening is reached. Horses are there. Forced to
+mount, Maxime Valois rides away, a dozen guards around him. Grim
+riders in scrapes and broad sombreros are his escort. The guns
+on their shoulders and their jingling machetes prove them native
+cavalry.
+
+For half an hour Valois is busy keeping his seat in the saddle.
+These are no amiable captors. The lad's heart is sad. He speaks
+Spanish as fluently as his native French. Every word is familiar.
+
+A camp-fire flickers in the live-oaks. He is bidden to dismount.
+The lair of the guerillas is safe from view of the "pathfinders."
+
+The east shows glimmers of dawn. The prisoner warms his chilled
+bones at the fire. He sees a score of bronzed faces scowling
+at him. Preparations for a meal are hastened. A swarthy soldier,
+half-bandit, half-Cossack in bearing, tells him roughly to eat.
+They must be off.
+
+Maxime already realizes he has been designedly kidnapped. His
+capture may provide information for Castro's flying columns. These
+have paralleled their movements, from a distance, for several weeks.
+Aware of the ferocity of these rancheros, he obeys instantly each
+order. He feigns ignorance of the language. Tortillas, beans, some
+venison, with water, make up the meal. It is now day. Valois eats.
+He knows his ordeal. He throws himself down for a rest. He divines
+the journey will be hurried. A score of horses are here tied to the
+trees. In a half hour half of these are lazily saddled. Squatted
+around, the soldiers keep a morose silence, puffing the corn-husk
+cigarette. The leader gives rapid directions. Valois now recalls
+his locality as best he can. Fremont's camp on Gavilan Peak commands
+the Pajaro, Salinas, and Santa Clara. A bright sun peeps over the
+hills. If taken west, his destination must be Monterey; if south,
+probably Los Angeles; and if north, either San Francisco Bay or
+the Sacramento, the headquarters of the forces of Alta California.
+
+Dragged like a beast from his post, leaving the lines unguarded!
+What a disgrace! Bitterly does he remember his reveries of the home
+he may never again see.
+
+The party mounts. Two men lead up a tame horse without bridle. The
+leader approaches and searches him. All his belongings fill the
+saddle-pouches of the chief. A rough gesture bids him mount the
+horse, whose lariat is tied to a guard's saddle. Valois rages in
+despair as the guard taps his own revolver. Death on the slightest
+suspicious movement, is the meaning of that sign.
+
+With rough adieus the party strike out eastwardly toward the
+San Joaquin. Steadily following the lope of the taciturn leader,
+they wind down Pacheco Pass. Valois' eyes rove over the beautiful
+hills of the Californian coast. Squirrels chatter on the live-oak
+branches, and the drumming grouse noisily burst out of their
+manzanita feeding bushes.
+
+Onward, guided by distant peak and pass, they thread the trail.
+No word is spoken save some gruff order. Maxime's captors have the
+hang-dog manner of the Californian. They loll on their mustangs,
+lazily worrying out the long hours. A rest is taken for food at
+noon. The horses are herded an hour or so and the advance resumed.
+
+Nightfall finds Valois in a squalid adobe house, thirty miles from
+Gavilan Peak. An old scrape is thrown him. His couch is the mud
+floor.
+
+The youth sleeps heavily. His last remembrance is the surly wish
+of a guard that Commandante Miguel Peralta will hang the accursed
+Gringo.
+
+At daybreak he is roused by a carelessly applied foot. The dejected
+"pathfinder" begins his second day of captivity. He fears to
+converse. He is warned with curses to keep silent. In the long day
+Maxime concludes that the Mexicans suspect treachery by Captain
+Fremont's "armed exploration in the name of science."
+
+These officials hate new-comers. Valois had been, like other
+gilded youth of New Orleans, sent to Paris by his opulent family.
+He knows the absorbing interest of the South in Western matters.
+Stern old Tom Benton indicated truly the onward march of the
+resistless American. In his famous speech, while the senatorial
+finger pointed toward California, he said with true inspiration:
+"There is the East; there is the road to India."
+
+All the adventurers of the South are ready to stream to the West.
+Maxime knows the jealous Californian officials. The particulars
+of Fremont's voyage of 1842 to the Rockies, and his crossing
+to California in 1843, are now history. His return on the quest,
+each time with stronger parties and a more formidable armament, is
+ominous. It warns the local hidalgos that the closed doors of the
+West must yield to the daring touch of the American---manifest
+destiny.
+
+The enemy are hovering around the "pathfinders" entrenched on the
+hills; they will try to frighten them into return, and drive them
+out of the regions of Alta California. Some sly Californian may
+even contrive an Indian attack to obliterate them.
+
+Valois fears not the ultimate fate of the friends he has been torn
+away from. The adventurous boy knows he will be missed at daybreak.
+The camp will be on the alert to meet the enemy. Their keen-eyed
+scouts can read the story of his being lassoed and carried away
+from the traces of the deed.
+
+The young rover concludes he is to be taken before some superior
+officer, some soldier charged with defending Upper California.
+This view is confirmed. Down into the valley of the San Joaquin
+the feet of the agile mustangs bear the jaded travellers.
+
+They cross the San Joaquin on a raft, swimming their horses. Valois
+sees nothing yet to hint his impending fate. Far away the rich
+green billows of spring grass wave in the warm sun. Thousands of
+elk wander in antlered armies over the meadows. Gay dancing yellow
+antelope bound over the elastic turf. Clouds of wild fowl, from the
+stately swan to the little flighty snipe, crowd the tule marshes
+of this silent river. It is the hunter's paradise. Wild cattle, in
+sleek condition, toss their heads and point their long, polished
+horns. Mustangs, fleet as the winds, bound along, disdaining
+their meaner brethren, bowing under man's yoke. At the occasional
+mud-walled ranches, vast flocks of fat sheep whiten the hills.
+
+Maxime mentally maps the route he travels. Alas! no chance of
+escape exists. At the first open attempt a rifle-ball, or a blow
+from a razor-edged machete, would end his earthly wanderings.
+Despised, shunned by even the wretched women at the squalid ranchos,
+he feels utterly alone. The half-naked children timidly flee from
+him. The wicked eyes of his guards never leave him. He knows a
+feeling animates the squad, that he would be well off their hands
+by a use of the first handy limb and a knotted lariat. The taciturn
+chief watches over him. He guards an ominous silence.
+
+The cavalcade, after seven days, are in sight of the purpled outlines
+of the sculptured Sierras. They rise heavenward to the sparkling
+crested pinnacles where Bret Harte's poet fancy sees in long years
+after the "minarets of snow." Valley oaks give way to the stately
+pines. Olive masses of enormous redwoods wrap the rising foot-hills.
+Groves of laurel, acorn oak, and madrona shelter the clinging
+panther and the grim warden of the Sierras, the ferocious grizzly
+bear.
+
+Over flashing, bounding mountain brooks, cut up with great ledges
+of blue bed rock, they splash. Here the silvery salmon and patrician
+trout leap out from the ripples to glide into the great hollowed
+pools, yet the weary cavalcade presses on. Will they never stop?
+
+Maxime Valois' haggard face looks back at him from the mirrored
+waters of the Cottonwood, the Merced, and the Mariposa. The prisoner
+sees there only the worn features of his strangely altered self.
+He catches no gleam of the unreaped golden harvest lying under the
+feet of the wild mustangs. These are the treasure channels of the
+golden West.
+
+The mountain gnomes of this mystic wilderness are already in terror
+lest some fortunate fool may utter the one magic word, "Gold." It
+will call greedy thousands from the uttermost parts of the earth
+to break the seals of ages, and burrow far below these mountain
+bases. Through stubborn granite wall, tough porphyry, ringing quartz,
+and bedded gnarled gneiss, men will grope for the feathery, fairy
+veins of the yellow metal.
+
+A feverish quest for gold alone can wake the dreamy "dolce far
+niente" of the Pacific. God's fairest realm invites the foot of
+man in vain. Here the yellow grains will be harvested, which buy
+the smiles of beauty, blunt the sword of justice, and tempt the
+wavering conscience of young and old. It will bring the human herd
+to one grovelling level--human swine rooting after the concrete
+token of power. Here, in later years, the wicked arm of power will
+be given golden hammers to beat down all before it. Here will that
+generation arise wherein the golden helmet can dignify the idle
+and empty pate.
+
+Maxime, now desperate, is ready for any fate. Only let this long
+ride cease. Sweeping around the hills, for the first time he sees
+the square courtyard, the walled casas of the rancho of Lagunitas.
+
+By the shores of the flashing mountain lake, with the rich valley
+sweeping out before it, it lies in peace. The fragrant forest throws
+out gallant flanking wings of embattled trees. It is the residence
+of the lord of ten leagues square. This is the great Peralta Rancho.
+
+In wintering in the San Joaquin, Maxime has often heard of the
+fabulous wealth and power of this inland chieftain. Don Miguel
+Peralta is Commandante of the San Joaquin. By a fortunate marriage
+he is related to Jose Castro, the warlike Commandante general of
+Pio Pico--a man of mark now. Thousands of cattle and horses, with
+great armies of sheep, are herded by his semi-military vaqueros.
+The young explorer easily divines now the reason of his abduction.
+
+The party dismounts. While the sergeant seeks the major-domo, Valois'
+wondering eye gazes on the beauties of lake and forest. Field and
+garden, bower and rose-laden trellises lie before him. The rich
+autumn sun will ripen here deep-dyed clusters of the sweet mission
+grapes. It is a lordly heritage, and yet his prison. Broad porches
+surround the plaza. There swinging hammocks, saddled steeds, and
+waiting retainers indicate the headquarters of the Californian Don.
+
+Maxime looks with ill-restrained hatred at his fierce guards. They
+squat on the steps and eye him viciously. He is under the muzzle
+of his own pistol. It is their day of triumph.
+
+Dragging across the plaza, with jingling spur, trailing leggings,
+and sombrero pushed back on his head, the sergeant comes. He points
+out Maxime to a companion. The new-comer conducts the American
+prisoner to a roughly furnished room. A rawhide bed and a few
+benches constitute its equipment. A heavy door is locked on him.
+The prisoner throws himself on the hard couch and sleeps. He is
+wakened by an Indian girl bringing food and water. Some blankets
+are carelessly tossed in by a "mozo." The wanderer sleeps till the
+birds are carolling loudly in the trees.
+
+Hark! a bell! He springs to the window. Valois sees a little
+chapel, with its wooden cross planted in front. Is there a priest
+here? The boy is of the old faith. He looks for a possible friend
+in the padre. Blessed bell of peace and hope!
+
+Sturdy and serious is the major-domo who briskly enters Valois'
+room.
+
+"Do you speak Spanish?" he flatly demands in that musical tongue.
+
+"Yes," says Maxime, without hesitation. He knows no subterfuge will
+avail. His wits must guard his head.
+
+"Give me your name, rank, and story," demands the steward.
+
+Valois briefs his life history.
+
+"You will be taken to the Commandante. I advise you not to forget
+yourself; you may find a lariat around your neck." With which
+admonition the major-domo leaves. He tosses Maxime a bunch of
+cigaritos, and offers him a light ere going, with some show of
+courtesy.
+
+Valois builds no fallacious hopes on this slender concession. He
+knows the strange Mexicans. They would postpone a military execution
+if the condemned asked for a smoke.
+
+Facing his fate, Maxime decides, while crossing the plaza, to
+conceal nothing. He can honorably tell his story. Foreigners have
+been gathering in California for years. The Commandante can easily
+test his disclosures, so lying would be useless. He believes either
+a British or American fleet will soon occupy California. The signs
+of the times have been unmistakable since the last return of the
+foreigners. Will he live to see the day? "Quien sabe?"
+
+Maxime sees a stern man of fifty seated in his official presence
+room. Commandante Miguel Peralta is clad in his undress cavalry
+uniform. The sergeant captor is in attendance, while at the door
+an armed sentinel hovers. This is the wolf's den. Maxime is wary
+and serious.
+
+"You are a Yankee, young man," begins the soldier. Maxime Valois'
+Creole blood stirs in his veins.
+
+"I am an American, Senor Commandante, "from New Orleans. No Yankee!"
+he hotly answers, forgetting prudence. Peralta opens his eyes in
+vague wonder. No Yankee? He questions the rash prisoner. Valois
+tells the facts of Fremont's situation, but he firmly says he
+knows nothing of his future plans.
+
+"Why so?" demands Peralta. "Are you a common soldier?" Maxime
+explains his position as a volunteer.
+
+A pressing inquest follows. Maxime's frankness touches the Commandante
+favorably. "I will see you in a day or so. I shall hold you as a
+prisoner till I know if your chief means war. I may want you as
+an interpreter if I take the field."
+
+"Sergeant," he commands.
+
+The captor salutes his chief.
+
+"Has this young man told me the truth?"
+
+"As far as I know, Senior Don Miguel," is the reply.
+
+"See that he has all he wants. Keep him watched. If he behaves
+himself, let him move around. He is not to talk to any one. If he
+tries to escape, shoot him. If he wants to see me, let me know."
+
+The Commandante lights a Mexican cigar, and signs to the sergeant
+to remove his prisoner. Maxime sees a score of soldiers wandering
+around the sunny plaza, where a dozen fleet horses stand saddled.
+He feels escape is hopeless. As he moves to the door, the chapel
+bell rings out again, and with a sudden inspiration he halts.
+
+"Senior Commandante, can I see the priest?" he asks.
+
+"What for?" sharply demands the officer.
+
+"I am a Catholic, and would like to talk to him."
+
+Don Miguel Peralta gazes in wonder. "A Gringo and a Catholic! I
+will tell him to see you."
+
+Valois is reconducted to his abode. He leaves a puzzled Commandante,
+who cannot believe that any despised "Gringo" can be of the true
+faith. He has only seen the down-east hide traders, who are regarded
+as heathen by the orthodox Dons of the Pacific.
+
+Don Miguel knows not that the mariners from Salem and the whalers
+of New England hold different religious views from the impassioned
+Creoles of the Crescent City.
+
+The prisoner's eye catches the black robe of the priest fluttering
+among the rose walks of the garden. Walking with him is a lady,
+while a pretty girl of seven or eight years plays in the shady
+bowers.
+
+The sergeant gruffly fulfils the orders of his chief. Maxime is
+given the articles needed for his immediate use. He fears now, at
+least, a long captivity, but a war may bring his doom suddenly on
+him.
+
+There is an air of authority in Miguel Peralta's eye, which is
+a guarantee of honor, as well as a personal menace. His detention
+will depend on the actions of the besieged Fremont.
+
+Valois prays that bloodshed may not occur. His slender chances hang
+now on a peaceable solution of the question of this Yankee visit.
+
+There have been days in the dreary winter, when Maxime Valois has
+tried to divine the future of the magnificent realm he traverses.
+His education and birth gave him the companionship of the scientific
+subordinates of the party. His services claimed friendly treatment
+of the three engineer officers in command. That the American flag
+will finally reach the western ocean he doubts not. Born in the
+South, waited upon by patrimonial slaves, he is attached to the
+"peculiar institution" which throws its dark shadow on the flag of
+this country. Already statesmen of the party have discussed the
+question of the extension of slavery. Maxime Valois knows that
+the line of the Missouri Compromise will here give a splendid new
+southern star to the flag south of 36 deg 30 min. In the long,
+idle hours of camp chat, he has laughingly pledged he would bring
+a band of sable retainers to this western terra incognita. He
+dreamed of establishing a great plantation, but the prison cell
+shatters these foolish notions.
+
+He marvels at his romantic year's experience. Was it to languish
+in a lonely prison life on the far Pacific, that he left the gay
+circle at far-off Belle Etoile? Worn with fatigue, harassed with
+loneliness, a prisoner among strangers, Maxime Valois' heart fails
+him. Sinking on the couch, he buries his head in his hands.
+
+No present ray of hope cheers the solitary American. He raises
+his eyes to see the thoughtful face of a young priest at the door
+of his prison room.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+HELD BY THE ENEMY.--"THE BEAR FLAG."
+
+
+
+
+
+The padre bends searching eyes on the youth as the door opens. The
+priest's serious face heightens his thirty-five years. He is worn
+by toil as a missionary among the tribes of the Gila--the Apaches
+and the wild and brutal Mojaves. Here, among the Piute hill
+dwellers, his task is hopeless. This spiritual soil is indeed stony.
+Called from the society of Donna Juanita and his laughing pupil,
+merry Dolores, he comes to test the religious faith of the young
+freebooter--Yankee and Catholic at once.
+
+Maxime's downcast appearance disarms the padre. Not such a terrible
+fire-eater! He savors not of infidel Cape Cod.
+
+"My son, you are in trouble," softly says the padre. It is the
+first kind word Maxime has heard. The boy's heart is full, so he
+speaks freely to the mild-mannered visitor. Padre Francisco listens
+to the recital. His eyes sparkle strangely when Valois speaks of
+New Orleans.
+
+"Then you understand French?" cries the padre joyously.
+
+"It is my native tongue," rejoins Valois proudly.
+
+"My name before I took orders was Francois Ribaut," says the
+overjoyed father. "Hold! I must see Don Miguel. I am a Frenchman
+myself." He flies over the plaza, his long robe fluttering behind
+him. His quickened steps prove a friendly interest. Maxima's heart
+swells within him. The beloved language has unlocked the priestly
+heart.
+
+In five minutes the curate is back. "Come with me, 'mon fils,'" he
+says. Guided by the priest, Maxime leaves his prison, its unlocked
+door swinging open. They reach the head of the square.
+
+By the chapel is Padre Francisco's house, school-room, and office.
+A sacristy chamber connects chapel and dwelling.
+
+The missionary leads the way to the chancel, and points to the
+altar rails.
+
+"I will leave you," he whispers.
+
+There, on his knees, where the wondering Indians gaze in awe of
+the face on the Most Blessed Virgin, Maxime thanks God for this
+friend raised up to him in adversity.
+
+He rejoins the missionary on the rose-shaded porch. In friendly
+commune he answers every eager query of the padre. The priest finds
+Maxime familiar with Paris. It is manna in the wilderness to this
+lonely man of God to speak of the beloved scenes of his youth.
+
+After the Angelus, Maxime rests in the swinging hammock. The priest
+confers with the Commandante. His face is hopeful on returning.
+"My poor boy," he says, "I gained one favor. Don Miguel allows me
+to keep you here. He loves not the American. Promise me, my son,
+on the blessed crucifix, that you will not escape. You must not
+aid the American troops in any way; on this hangs your life."
+
+These words show that under the priest's frock beats yet the gallant
+heart of the French gentleman. Maxima solemnly promises. The good
+father sits under the vines, a happy man.
+
+Day by day the new friends stroll by the lake. Seated where below
+them the valley shines in all its bravery of spring, surrounded with
+the sighing pines, Padre Francisco tells of the resentment of the
+Californians toward all Americans. They are all "Gringos," "thieving
+Yankees."
+
+"Be careful, my son, even here. Our wild vaqueros have waylaid
+and tortured to death some foreigners. The Diggers, Utes, and Hill
+Indians butcher any wanderer. Keep closely under my protection.
+Don Miguel adores Donna Juanita, sweet Christian lady! She will
+lend me aid; you are thus safe. If your people leave the Hawk's Peak
+without a battle, our cavalry will not take the field; we expect
+couriers momentarily. Should fighting begin, Don Miguel will lead
+his troops. He will then take you as guide or interpreter; God
+alone must guard you." The man of peace crosses himself in sadness.
+"Meanwhile, I will soften the heart of Don Miguel."
+
+Maxime learns of the padre's youth. Educated for the Church after
+a boyhood spent in Paris, he sailed for Vera Cruz. He has been for
+years among the Pacific Indians. He familiarized himself with the
+Spanish language and this western life in Mexico. Stout-hearted
+Padre Francisco worked from mission to mission till he found his
+self-chosen field in California.
+
+The "pathfinder" sees the decadence of priestly influence. Twenty-one
+flourishing missions have been secularized by Governor Hijar since
+1834. Now the superior coast tribes are scattered, and the civilizing
+work since 1769 is all lost to human progress. In glowing words
+Padre Francisco tells of idle farms, confiscated flocks, and ruined
+works of utility. Beautiful San Luis Rey is crumbling to decay.
+Its bells hang silent. The olive and vine scatter their neglected
+fruits. The Padres are driven off to Mexico. The pious fund is in
+profane coffers. San Juan Capistrano shines out a lonely ruin in
+the southern moonlight. The oranges of San Gabriel now feed only
+the fox and coyote. Civil dissension and wars of ambitious leaders
+follow the seizure of the missions. Strangers have pillaged the
+religious settlements. All is relapsing into savagery. In a few
+stations, like Monterey, Santa Clara, Santa Barbara, and Yerba
+Buena, a lonely shepherd watches a diminished flock; but the grand
+mission system is ruined.
+
+"Does not the Government need the missions?" queries Maxime.
+
+"Ah! my son, Sonoma and San Rafael are kept up to watch the Russians
+at Fort Ross. Sutter menaces us at New Helvetia. I can see the
+little cloud of the future, which will break one day in storm."
+
+"Whence comes it, father?" queries the prisoner.
+
+"From the United States," replies the padre. "Our whole political
+system is paralyzed. The Americans have supported the Texans in
+battle. That splendid land is dropping away from Mexico. We will
+lose this glorious land, and our beloved flag will go down forever.
+The Government sleeps, and the people will be ruined. There are
+two thousand scattered foreigners here to-day. They gain daily: we
+weaken hourly. When your people in numbers follow such leaders as
+your gallant captain over the plains, we will lose this land also."
+
+The padre sighed. His years of hard endeavor are wasted, the fruits
+are wanting, his labor is vain.
+
+"Why is not your Government more vigorous?" says the stranger.
+
+"My son, our pastoral life builds up no resources of this great
+land. The young men will not work; they only ride around. Flocks
+and herds alone will not develop this paradise. The distance from
+Mexico has broken the force of the laws. In fifty-five years of
+Spanish rule and twenty-three more of Mexican, we have had twenty-two
+different rulers. The old families have lost their loyalty, and
+they now fight each other for supremacy. All is discord and confusion
+in Alta California."
+
+"And the result?" questions Maxime.
+
+"Either England or the United States will sweep us off forever,"
+mourns the padre. He addresses himself to his beads. Bright sunlight
+wakes Maxime with the birds. The matin bell rings out. He rises
+refreshed by the father's hospitality.
+
+During the day Valois measures the generosity of Padre Francisco.
+A few treasured books enable Maxime to amuse himself. As yet he
+dares not venture out of the garden.
+
+The sound of clattering hoofs causes the prisoner to drop his
+volume. He sits enjoying a flask of ripe claret, for he is broken
+down and needs recruiting.
+
+A courier spurs his foam-covered horse up to the Commandante's
+porch. Panting and staggering, the poor beast shows the abuse of a
+merciless rider. The messenger's heels are adorned with two inch
+spiked wheels, bloody with spurring the jaded beast.
+
+Peace or war? Maxime's heart beats violently. He prudently withdraws.
+The wild soldiery gather on the plaza. His guards are there with
+his own weapons, proudly displayed.
+
+The Southerner chafes in helplessness. Could he but have his
+own horse and those weapons, he would meet any two of them in the
+open. They are now clamoring against the Gringos. Soon the courier
+reappears. All is bustle and shouting. Far away, on the rich knolls,
+Maxime sees fleet riders gathering up the horses nearest the ranch.
+When Padre Francisco arrives from his morning lessons, a troop of
+vaqueros are arrayed on the plaza.
+
+"The news?" eagerly queries Maxime.
+
+"Thanks be to God!" says the padre, "Fremont has broken camp after
+five days' stay at the Hawk's Peak. He is moving north. There has
+been skirmishing, but no battle. Don Miguel is sending a company
+to watch their march, and will attack if they menace any of our
+sentinels. The Americans may, however, go into Oregon, or back
+over the mountains. The Commandante will keep his main force in
+the valley. If they turn back, he will dispute their passage. You
+will be kept here."
+
+Valois gazes on the departure. He takes an informal adieu of those
+trusty weapons which have been with him in so many scenes of danger.
+
+The last files sweep down the trail. Lagunitas Lake smiles peacefully
+from its bowers. The war clouds have rolled north.
+
+As days glide by, the priest and his youthful charge grow into each
+other's hearts. Padre Francisco is young enough still to have some
+flowers of memory blossoming over the stone walls of his indomitable
+heart. Maxime learns the story of his early life. He listens to the
+padre's romantic recitals of the different lands he has strayed
+over. Couriers arrive daily with news of Fremont's whirling march
+northward. The explorer travels like a Cossack in simplicity. He
+rides with the sweep of the old Tartars. Cool, wary and resolute,
+the "Pathfinder" manoeuvres to baffle clumsy Castro. He may yet
+elude his pursuers, or cut his way out.
+
+Don Miguel steadily refuses to see Maxime. Through the padre,
+Maxime receives any necessary messages or questions.
+
+The Louisianian learns that all the foreigners are in commotion.
+Peralta's spies bring rumors of war vessels expected, both English
+and American.
+
+In New Helvetia, in Sonoma, at Monterey, and in Yerba Buena,
+guided by the most resolute, the aliens are quietly arming; they
+are secretly organizing.
+
+March wears away into April. The breath of May is wafted down in
+spicy odors from the forests.
+
+Fremont is away hiding where the great Sacramento River mountains
+break into the gorgeous canyons of its headwaters. Will he never
+turn?
+
+The padre, now unreservedly friendly, tells Maxime that Castro fears
+to attack Fremont in the open field. He has sent Indian runners to
+stir up the wild Klamath, Snake River, and Oregon Indians against
+the Americans. This is serious. Should the explorers receive a
+check there, they would retreat; then the guerillas would cut them
+off easily.
+
+Padre Francisco fears for the result. He tells Maxime that bands of
+fierce vaqueros are riding the roads; they have already butchered
+straggling foreigners. A general war of extermination may sweep
+from Sonoma to San Diego.
+
+Valois' weary eyes have roved from mountain to valley for many
+days. Will he ever regain his liberty? A few morning walks with
+the padre, and a stroll by the waters of Lagunitas, are his only
+liberties.
+
+The priest is busy daily with the instruction of little Dolores.
+The child's sweet, dancing eyes belie her mournful name. Valois
+has passed quiet Donna Juanita often in the garden walks. A light
+bending of her head is her only answer to the young man's respectful
+salutation. She, too, fears and distrusts all Americans.
+
+The roses have faded from her cheeks too early. It is the hard
+lot of the California lady. Though wealth of lands in broad leagues
+dotted with thousands of cattle, horses, and sheep is hers, this
+daughter of an old feudal house has dreamed away a lonely life. It
+is devoid of all social pleasures since she became the first lady
+of Lagunitas.
+
+Colorless and sad is her daily life. Denied society by her isolation,
+she is yet too proud to associate with her women dependants.
+
+Her lord is away often in the field. His days are spent galloping
+over his broad domains. There is no intellectual life, no change
+of day and day. The years have silently buried themselves, with
+no crown of happy memories. She left her merry home at the Alameda
+shore of the great bay to be the lonely lady of this distant
+domain. Her narrow nature has settled into imitative and mechanical
+devotion, a sad, cold faith.
+
+Youthful lack of education has not been repaired by any individual
+experience of life. Maternity has been a mere physical epoch of
+her dreary womanhood. The current of her days in narrow channels
+sluggishly flows toward its close.
+
+Even the laughing child runs away from the young "pathfinder." She
+furtively peers at him from the shelter of the graceful vines and
+rose bowers of her playground.
+
+Maxime has exhausted the slender library of his friend. In the
+peaceful evening hours he listens to weird stories of the lonely
+land of the Far West--early discovery, zealous monkish exploration,
+daring voyages in trackless unknown seas, and the descent of curious
+strangers. Bold Sir Francis Drake, Cabrillo, Viscaino, Portala, the
+good Junipero Serra of sainted memory, live again in these recitals.
+
+Day by day passes. No news from the Americans at bay in the wilds
+of the Klamath. By courier the Don has heard of Castro's feeble
+moves. He toils along with his cavalry, guns, and foot soldiers,
+whom Fremont defied from behind the rocky slopes of Hawk's Peak.
+The foreigners are all conspiring.
+
+A cloud of government agents are scouring the valleys for aid to
+send a column to attack Fremont. It had been a pride of Don Miguel's
+military career to assist warlike Vallejo to drive the foreigners
+from Monterey in 1840. He is ready for the fray again.
+
+The Commandante gnashed his teeth when he heard, in 1842, at Lagunitas,
+that the strangers had returned. He remembers the shameful day of
+October 19, 1842, when the Yankee frigates covered Monterey with
+their guns, while Commodore Jones hoisted the stars and stripes
+for a day or so. Always before the English.
+
+Though it was disowned, this act showed how easily the defenceless
+coast could be ravaged. Many times did he thank the Blessed Virgin
+that his domain was far away in the inland basin. There his precious
+herds are safe from the invader.
+
+There is danger for Valois in the Commandante's scowl when the
+saddest May day of his life comes. A rider on relay horses hands
+him a fateful despatch.
+
+"Curse the Gringos!" He strikes his table till the glasses ring.
+
+There are five huge Yankee war vessels in Monterey harbor. It is
+too true. This time they have come to stay. Padre Francisco softly
+makes his exit. He keeps Maxime in cover for a day or so.
+
+Bit by bit, the details come to light. The SAVANNAH, PORTSMOUTH,
+CYANE, LEVANT, and CONGRESS bear the flag of Commodore Sloat. This
+force can crush any native army. All communication by sea with
+Mexico is now cut off. The Californian Government is paralyzed.
+
+Worse and worse, the wild Klamath warriors have failed in their
+midnight dash on Fremont. He is now swinging down the valley--a
+new danger to Maxime.
+
+What means all this? The perplexed Don knows not what to do. From
+his outposts come menacing news. The battery of the PORTSMOUTH
+commands the town of Yerba Buena. San Diego, too, is under American
+guns. The CYANE is victorious there, and the CONGRESS holds San
+Pedro. The political fabric is so slight that its coming fall gives
+no sign. The veteran Commandante receives an order to march, with
+every available man, to join General Castro. He feels even his
+own domains are now in danger. He communes long with the padre.
+He musters every vaquero for their last campaign under the Mexican
+eagle.
+
+Miguel Peralta growls with rage. He learns the English liner
+COLLINGWOOD has arrived, a day or so too late--only another enemy.
+Still, better temporary English rule than the long reign of the
+grasping Yankee. The Don's self-interest, in alarm, is in the
+logical right this time.
+
+How shall he protect his property? What will he do with his family?
+He knows that behind him the great Sierras wall the awful depths
+of the Yosemite. The gloomy forests of the big trees appall the
+stray traveller. The Utes are merciless in the day of their advantage,
+and the American war vessels cut off all escape by sea to Mexico.
+All the towns near the ocean are rendezvous of defiant foreigners,
+now madly exultant. To the north is the enemy he is going out to
+fight.
+
+Padre Francisco advises him to leave the rancho in his charge. He
+begs him to even let the young American prisoner remain.
+
+Lagunitas may be seized, yet private property will be respected.
+Young Valois may be a help to considerate treatment. After council
+with his frightened spouse, Don Miguel rides off to the rendezvous
+near Santa Clara. He curbs his passion from prudence only, for he
+was on the point of making Valois a human tassel for a live-oak
+limb.
+
+The padre breaths freer.
+
+Day after day elapses. Under a small body-guard both the padre and
+Maxime ride the domain in freedom. Juanita Peralta shuts herself
+up in the gloomy mansion, where she tells her beads in the shadow
+of the coming defeats.
+
+Rich and lovely Lagunitas is yet out of the theatre of action. Its
+lonely inhabitants hear of the now rapid march of events, but only
+defeated riders wander in with heavy tidings.
+
+Fremont has whirled back once more and controls Suiter's Fort and
+Sonoma. The ablest general of California is powerless. Gallant
+Vallejo is now a prisoner. His scanty cannons and arms are all
+taken. Castro's cavalry are broken up or captured. Everywhere the
+foreigners gather for concerted action. It is a partisan warfare.
+
+Don Miguel's sullen bulletins tell of Castro's futile attempt
+to get north of the bay. Since Cabrillo was foiled in landing at
+Mendocino in 1543, the first royal flag floating over this "No Man's
+Land" was Good Queen Bess's standard, set up in 1579 by dashing Sir
+Francis Drake. He landed from the Golden Hind. In 1602 the Spanish
+ensign floated on December 10 at Monterey; in 1822 the third national
+ensign was unfurled, the beloved Mexican eagle-bearing banner. It
+now flutters to its downfall.
+
+Don Miguel warns the padre that the rude "bear flag" of the revolted
+foreigners victoriously floats at Sonoma. It was raised on July
+4, 1846. Castro and Pio Pico are driven away from the coast. They
+only hold the Santa Clara valley and the interior. There is but
+one depot of arms in the country now; it is a hidden store at San
+Juan. Far away in Illinois, a near relative of the painter and
+hoister of the "bear flag" is a struggling lawyer. Todd's obscure
+boyhood friend, Abraham Lincoln, is destined to be the martyr
+ruler of the United States. A new star will shine in the stars and
+stripes for California, in a bloody civil war, far off yet in the
+mystic future.
+
+In the narrow theatre where the decaying Latin system is falling,
+under Anglo-Saxon self-assertion, the stern logic of events teaches
+Don Miguel better lessons. His wild riders may as well sheathe
+their useless swords as fight against fate.
+
+The first blood is drawn at Petaluma. A declaration of independence,
+rude in form, but grimly effective in scope, is given out by the
+"bear flag" party. Fremont joins and commands them. The Presidio
+batteries at San Francisco are spiked by Fremont and daring Kit
+Carson, The cannon and arms of Castro are soon taken. On July 7,
+Captain Mervine, with two hundred and fifty blue-jackets, raises
+the flag of the United States at Monterey. Its hills reecho twenty-one
+guns in salvo from Sloat's squadron.
+
+On the 8th, Montgomery throws the national starry emblem to the
+breeze at the Golden Gates of San Francisco. The old PORTSMOUTH'S
+heavy cannon roar their notes of triumph.
+
+Valois remains lonely and inactive at Lagunitas. His priestly
+friend warns him that he would be assassinated at any halting place
+if he tried to join his friends. In fact, he conceals his presence
+from any wayfaring, Yankee-hunting guerillas.
+
+Don Miguel is bound by his military oath to keep the field.
+A returning straggler brings the crushing news that the San Juan
+military depot has been captured by a smart dash of the American
+volunteers under Fremont and Gillespie. And San Diego has fallen
+now. The bitter news of the Mexican War is heard from the Rio
+Grande. A new sorrow!
+
+Broken-hearted Don Miguel bravely clings to his flag. He marches
+south with Castro and Pico, The long weeks wear along. The arrival of
+General Kearney, and the occupation of San Diego and Los Angeles,
+are the prelude to the last effort made for the honor of the Mexican
+ensign. Months drag away. The early winter finds Don Miguel still
+missing. Commodore Stockton, now in command of the powerful fleet,
+reinforces Fremont and Gillespie. The battles of San Gabriel and
+the Mesa teach the wild Californians what bitter foes their invaders
+can be. The treaty of Coenga at last ends the unequal strife. The
+stars and stripes wave over the yet unmeasured boundaries of the
+golden West. The Dons are in the conquerors' hands. After the fatal
+day of January 16, 1847, defeated and despairing of the future
+of his race, war-worn Miguel Peralta, Commandante no longer, with
+a few followers rides over the Tehachape. He descends the San
+Joaquin to his imperilled domain.
+
+With useless valor he has thrown himself into the fire of the Americans
+at the battles near Los Angeles, but death will not come to him.
+He must live to be one of the last Dons. The defeats of Mexico
+sadden and embitter him. General Scott is fighting up to the old
+palaces of the Montezumas with his ever victorious army.
+
+In these stormy winter days, when the sheeted rain drives down from
+the pine-clad Sierras, Donna Juanita day by day turns her passive
+face in mute inquiry to the padre. She has the sense of a new burden
+to bear. Her narrow nature contracts yet a little with a sense of
+wounded native pride.
+
+In all her wedded years her martial lord has always returned in
+victory. Fandango and feast, "baile" and rejoicings, have made the
+woodland echoes ring.
+
+The growing Dolores mopes in the lonely mansion. She demands her
+absent father daily.
+
+Before the troopers of Lagunitas return with their humbled chieftain,
+a squad of mounted American volunteers ride up and take possession.
+For the first time in its history the foreigner is master here,
+Though personally unknown to these mixed revolutionists, Maxime
+Valois is free to go in safety.
+
+While he makes acquaintance with his fellow "patriots," the advance
+riders of Don Miguel announce his home-coming. It is a sad day
+when the Commandante dismounts at his own door. There is a sentinel
+there. He lives to be only a sullen, brooding protest in the face
+of an accidental progress.
+
+Standing on his porch he can see the "mozos," under requisition,
+gathering up his choicest horses by the fifties. They are destined
+for the necessary remount of the victors.
+
+After greeting his patient helpmeet, henceforth to be the partner
+of his sorrows, he sends for the padre and his major-domo. He takes
+on himself the only dignity left to his defeated pride, practical
+self-isolation.
+
+He bears in his bosom this rankling thorn--the hated Fremont
+he rode out to bring in a captive, is now "His Excellency John C.
+Fremont," the first American governor of California.
+
+With his flocks and herds scattered, his cattle and horses under
+heavy requisition, his cup is full. He moodily curses the Gringo,
+and wishes that the rifle-ball which wounded him at San Gabriel
+had reached the core of his proud old heart.
+
+From all sides come fugitives with news of the Americanization of
+the towns. The inland communities are reorganized. His only friend
+is the Padre, to whose patient ear he confides the story of the
+hopeless campaign. With prophetic pessimism he sees the downfall
+of the native families.
+
+Three months have made Larkin, Redding, Ide, Sutter, Semple,
+Merritt, Bidwell, Leese, and Lassen the leading men of the day. The
+victorious military and naval chiefs, Sloat, Stockton, Montgomery,
+Fremont, Kearney, Halleck, and Gillespie are now men of history.
+All the functions of government are in the hands of American army
+or navy officers. The fall of the beloved Mexican banner is as
+light and unmarked as the descent of the drifting pine-needles torn
+from the swaying branches of the storm-swept forest kings around
+him.
+
+His settled gloom casts a shadow over Lagunitas. The padre has lost
+his scholars. The converts of the dull Indian tribes have fled to
+the hills, leaving the major-domo helpless. All is in domestic
+anarchy. At last the volunteers are leaving.
+
+When the detachment is ready to depart, Maxime Valois is puzzled.
+The Mexican War raging, prevents his homeward voyage as planned.
+It will be months before the war vessels will sail. If allowed to
+embark on them, he will be left, after doubling Cape Horn, a stranger
+in the north, penniless. Why not stay?
+
+Yet the shelter of Lagunitas is his no more. The maddened Don
+will not see an American on the bare lands left to him. His herds
+and flocks are levied on to feed the troops.
+
+Many an hour does the youth confer with Francois Ribaut. The priest
+is dependent on his patron. The Church fabric is swept away, for
+Church and state went down together. With only one friend in the
+State, Valois must now quit his place of enforced idleness.
+
+The meagre news tells him the Fremont party is scattered. He has
+no claims on the American Government. But Fremont has blossomed
+into a governor. He will seek him. Happily, while Maxime Valois
+deliberates, the question decides itself. He is offered the
+hospitality of an escort back to Santa Clara, from whence he can
+reach Monterey, San Francisco, or Los Angeles. In the new State no
+present avenues are open to a castaway. His education is practically
+useless. He is forced to consider the question of existence. The
+utmost Padre Francisco can do is to provide him horse and gear.
+A few Mexican dollars for the road are not lacking. The lot of
+fate is drawn for him by necessity. For the present he must be a
+Californian. He cannot leave until the future provides the means.
+
+When the vigil of the departure comes, the young man is loath to
+leave his friend. In their companionship they have grown dear to
+each other.
+
+The camp of the volunteers is ready for the next day's march. At
+their last dinner, the simple cheer of the native wine and a few
+cigaritos is all the padre can display.
+
+"Maxime, listen. You are young and talented," the padre begins. "I
+see a great community growing up here, This is a land of promise.
+The termination of the war ends all tumult. Your fleet holds the
+coast. Mexico seems to be under the talons of your eagle. Your
+nation is aggressive. It is of high mechanical skill. Your people
+will pour into this land and build here a great empire. Your
+busy Yankees will never be satisfied with the skeleton wealth of a
+pastoral life. They will dig, hew, and build. These bays and rivers
+will be studded with cities. Go, my dear friend, to Yerba Buena.
+I will give you letters to the fathers of the Mission Dolores.
+Heaven will direct you after you arrive. You can communicate with
+me through them. I shall remain here as long as my charge continues.
+If driven out, I shall trust God to safely guide me to France. When I
+am worn out, I shall die in peace under the shadows of Notre Dame."
+
+At the hour of mass Maxime kneels to receive the blessing of the
+Church.
+
+The volunteers are in the saddle. It is the man, not the priest,
+who embraces the freed "pathfinder." Valois' eyes are dim with tears
+as he waves the adieu to the missionary. Not a word does Don Miguel
+vouchsafe to the departing squad. The aversion of the dwellers in
+Lagunitas is as great as their chief's.
+
+Maxime joins the escort on the trail. Runaway sailors, voyageurs,
+stray adventurers are they--queer flotsam on the sea of human life.
+He learns from them the current stories of the day. He can trace
+in the mysterious verbal "order to return," and that never-produced
+"packet" given to Fremont by Gillespie, a guiding influence from
+afar. The appearance of the strong fleet and the hostilities of
+Captain Fremont are mysteriously connected. Was it from Washington
+these wonders were worked? As they march, unopposed, over the
+alamedas of San Joaquin, bearing toward the Coast Range, they pass
+under overhanging Mount Diablo. The Louisianian marvels at the
+sudden change of so many peaceful explorers into conquering invaders.
+Valois suspects Senator Benton of intrigues toward western conquest.
+He knows not that somewhere, diplomatically lost between President
+Polk and Secretaries Buchanan, Marcy, and Bancroft, is the true
+story of this seizure of California. Gillespie's orders were far in
+advance of any Mexican hostilities. The fleet and all the actions
+of the State, War, and Navy departments prove that some one in high
+place knew the Pacific Coast would be subdued and held.
+
+Was it for slavery's added domains these glorious lands were
+destined?
+
+Maxime is only a pawn in that great game of which the annexation
+of Texas, the Mexican War, and California conquest are moves.
+
+Wise, subtle, far-seeing, and not over-scrupulous, the leaders of
+southern sentiment, with prophetic alarm, were seeking to neutralize
+free-State extension in the Northwest. They wished to link the
+warmer climes, newly acquired, to the Union by negro chains. Joying
+in his freedom, eager to meet the newer phases of Californian life
+under the stars and stripes, Valois rides along. Restored in health,
+and with the light heart and high hopes of twenty, he threads the
+beautiful mountain passes; for the first time he sees the royal
+features of San Francisco Bay, locked by the Golden Gates.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK II.
+
+GOLD FOR ALL.--A NEW STAR IN THE FLAG.
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+THE GOLDEN MAGNET.--FREE OR SLAVE?
+
+
+
+
+
+Maxine Valois marvels not that the old navigators missed the Golden
+Gate. It was easy to pass the land-locked bay, with its arterial
+rivers, the Sacramento and San Joaquin. Fate hung a foggy curtain
+on the outside bar. Greenest velvet sward now carpets the Alameda
+hills. It is a balmy March day of 1847. The proceeds of his horse
+and trappings give the youth less than a hundred dollars--his
+whole fortune.
+
+The Louisianian exile, with the world before him, is now a picture
+of manly symmetry. Graceful, well-knit physique, dark hair and
+eyes, and his soft, impassioned speech, betray the Franco-American
+of the Gulf States. While gazing on the glories of Tamalpais and
+the wooded mountains of Marin, he notes the little mission under
+the Visitacion hills. It's a glorious scene. All the world's navies
+can swing at ease in this superb bay. The only banner floating
+here is the ensign at the peak of the frigate Portsmouth. Interior
+wanderings give him a glimpse of the vast areas controlled by this
+noble sheet of water. Young and ardent, with a superior education,
+he may be a ruling spirit of the new State now about to crystallize.
+His studies prove how strangely the finger of Fortune points. It
+turned aside the prows of Captain Cook, La Perouse, Vancouver, and
+the great Behring, as well as the bold Drake, who tarried within
+a day's sail at his New Albion. Frenchman, Englishman, and Russian
+have been tricked by the fairy goddess of the mist. The Golden
+Gates in these later days are locked by the Yankees from the inside.
+
+Leaping from the boat, Valois tosses his scanty gear on the strand.
+It is a deep, curving bay, in later years to be covered with stately
+palaces of commerce, far out to where the Portsmouth now lies.
+
+A few huts make up the city of Yerba Buena. Reflecting on his
+status, he dares not seek the alcalde, Lieut. Washington Bartlett
+of the navy. From his escort he has heard of the many bickerings
+which have involved Sloat, Stockton, Fremont, and Kearney.
+
+Trusting to Padre Francisco's letters, he hires a horse of a
+loitering half-breed. This native pilots him to the mission.
+
+The priests receive him with open arms. They are glad for news of
+their brother of the Sierras. Maxime installs himself as a guest
+of the priests. Some current of life will bear him onward--whither
+he knows not.
+
+Idle days run into weeks. A motley five or six hundred whites
+have gathered. The alcalde begins to fear that the town limits are
+crowded.
+
+None of the wise men of the epoch dare to dream that in less than
+three years two hundred vessels will lie tossing, deserted in the
+bay; that the cove will be filled with ships from the four corners
+of the earth in five years.
+
+Frowning hills and rolling sand dunes are to be thrown bodily into
+the reentrant bay. They are future coverings for sunken hulks.
+Where for twenty square miles coyote and fox now howl at night,
+the covert oaks and brambles will be shaved off to give way to a
+city, growing like a cloud-land vision.
+
+Active and energetic, Valois coasts down to Monterey. He finds
+Fremont gone, already on his way east. His soldier wrists are bound
+with the red tape of arrest. The puppet of master minds behind the
+scenes, Fremont has been a "pathfinder" for others.
+
+Riding moodily, chafing in arrest, at the rear of the overland
+column, the explorer receives as much as Columbus, Pizarro, or
+Maluspina did--only obloquy. It is the Nemesis of disgrace, avenging
+the outraged and conquered Californians.
+
+A dark shade of double dealing hangs around the glories of the
+capture of California. The methods used are hardly justified, even
+by the national blessings of extension to this ocean threshold of
+Asian trade. The descent was planned at Washington to extend the
+domineering slave empire of the aspiring South. The secret is out.
+The way is clear for the surplus blacks of the South to march in
+chains to the Pacific under the so-called "flag of freedom."
+
+Valois discovers at Monterey that no man of the staff of the
+"Pathfinder" will be made an official pet, They are all proscribed.
+The early fall finds him again under the spell of the bells of the
+Mission Dolores. Whither to turn he knows not.
+
+Averse to manual labor, like all Creoles, the lad decides to seek
+a return passage on some trader. This will be hardly possible for
+months. The Christmas chimes of 1848 sound sadly on his ears.
+
+With no home ties but his uncle, his memories of the parents, lost
+in youth, fade away. He feels the bitterness of being a stranger in
+a strange land. He is discouraged with an isolated western empire
+producing nothing but hides and tallow. He shares the general
+opinion that no agriculture can succeed in this rainless summer land
+of California. Hardly a plough goes afield. On the half-neglected
+ranchos the owners of thousands of cattle have neither milk nor
+butter. Fruits and vegetables are unattainable. The mission grapes,
+olives, and oranges have died out by reason of fourteen years'
+neglect. The mechanic arts are absent. What shall the harvest of
+this idle land be?
+
+Valois knows the interior Indians will never bear the strain of
+development. Lazy and ambitionless, they are incapable of uniting
+their tribal forces. Alas for them! They merely cumber the ground.
+
+At the end of January, 1848, a wild commotion agitates the hamlet
+of San Francisco. The cry is "Gold! Gold everywhere!" The tidings
+are at first whispered, then the tale swells to a loud clamor.
+In the stampede for the interior, Maxime Valois is borne away. He
+seeks the Sacramento, the Feather, the Yuba, and the American. He
+too must have gold.
+
+A general hegira occurs. Incoming ships, little settlements, and
+the ranches are all deserted, for a wondrous golden harvest is
+being gleaned. The tidings go forth over the whole earth. Sail and
+steam, trains of creaking wagons, troops of hardy horsemen, are all
+bent Westward Ho! Desertion takes the troops and sailors from camp
+and fleet pell-mell to the Sacramento valley. A shabby excrescence
+of tent and hut swells Yerba Buena to a town. In a few months
+it leaps into a city's rank. Over the prairies, toward the sandy
+Humboldt, long emigrant trains are crawling toward the golden canyons
+of the Sierras. The restless blood of the Mexican War pours across
+the Gila deserts and the sandy wastes of the Colorado.
+
+The Creole boy learns that he, too, can work with pick, pan,
+cradle, rocker, at the long tom, sluice, and in the tunnel drift.
+The world is mad for gold. New York and New Orleans pour shiploads
+of adventurers in by Panama and Nicaragua. Sailing vessels from
+Europe, fleets around the Horn, vessels from Chile, Mexico, Sandwich
+Islands, and Australia crowd each other at the Golden Gates.
+
+In San Francisco six months show ten thousand madmen. Tent, hut,
+shanty, shed, even pretentious houses appear. Uncoined nuggets,
+glittering gold dust in grains and powder, prove the harvest is
+real.
+
+The Indians and lazy Californians are crowded out of the diggings.
+The superior minds among the priests and rancheros can only explain
+the long ignorance of the gold deposits by the absolute brutishness of
+the hill tribes. Their knowledge of metals was absolutely nothing.
+Beyond flint-headed spears, their bows and arrows, and a few mats,
+baskets, and skin robes, they had no arts or useful handicraft.
+Starving in a land of plenty, their tribal career never lifted
+itself a moment from the level of the brute. And yet gold was the
+Spaniards' talisman.
+
+The Mexican-descended rancheros should have looked for gold. The
+traditions even indicated it. Their hold on the land was only in
+the footprints of their horses and cattle.
+
+Had the priests ever examined the interior, had a single military
+expedition explored the State with care, the surface gold deposits
+must have been stumbled on.
+
+It remains an inexplicable fact, that, as early as 1841, gold was
+found in the southern part of the State. In 1843, seventy-five
+to one hundred ounces of dust were obtained from the Indians, and
+sent to Boston via the Sandwich Island trading ships. Keen old Sir
+Francis Drake's reports to good Queen Bess flatly spoke of these
+yellow treasures. They, too, were ignored. English apathy! Pouring
+in from the whole world, bursting in as a flood of noisy adventurers
+on the stillness of the lazy land of the Dons, came the gold hunters
+of California.
+
+Already, in San Francisco, drinking booth, gambling shop, and
+haunts of every villany spring up--the toadstools of a night.
+
+Women throng in to add the incantations of the daughters of Sin to
+this mad hurly-burly. Handsome Mexicans, lithe Chilenas, escaped
+female convicts, and women of Australia were reinforced by the
+adventuresses of New Orleans, Paris, New York, and Liverpool--a
+motley crowd of Paphian dames.
+
+Maxime Valois, reaching Suiter's Fort by a launch, falls in with a
+lank Missouri lad. His sole property in the world is a rifle and
+his Pike county name of Joe Woods. A late arrival with a party
+of Mexican war strays, his age and good humor cause the Creole to
+take him as valuable, simply because one and one make two. He is
+a good-humored raw lad. Together in the broiling sun, half buried
+under bank or in the river-beds, they go through the rough evolution
+of the placer miner's art.
+
+The two thousand scattered foreigners of the State are ten thousand
+before the year is out. Through the canyons, troops of gold seekers
+now wander. Sacramento's lovely crystal waters, where the silvery
+salmon leap, are tinged with typical yellow colors, deepening every
+month. Tents give way to cabins; pack trains of mules and horses
+wind slowly over the ridges. Little towns dot the five or six river
+regions where the miners toil, and only the defeated are idle.
+
+From San Diego to Sonoma the temporary government is paralyzed.
+It loses all control except the fulmination of useless orders.
+
+Local organization occurs by the pressure of numbers. Quaint names
+and queer local institutions are born of necessity.
+
+At San Francisco the tower of Babel is duplicated. Polyglot crowds
+arrive in the craziest craft. Supplies of every character pour
+in. Shops and smiths, workmen of all trades, appear. Already an
+old steamboat wheezes on the Sacramento River. Bay Steamers soon
+vex the untroubled waters of the harbor. They appear as if by magic.
+
+A fever by day, a revel by night, San Francisco is a caravansera
+of all nations. The Argonauts bring with them their pistols and
+Bibles, their whiskey and women, their morals and murderers. Crime
+and intrigues quickly crop out. The ready knife, and the compact
+code of Colonel Colt in six loaded chapters, are applied to the
+settlement of all quarrels.
+
+While Valois blisters his hands with the pick and shovel, a matchless
+strain of good blood is also pouring westward. Young and daring
+men, even professional scholars, cool merchants, able artisans, and
+good women hopeful of a golden future, come with men finally able
+to dragoon these varied masses into order.
+
+Regular communications are established, presses set up, and even
+churches appear. Post-office, banks, steamer and freight lines
+spring up within the year of the reign of gold. Disease raises
+its fevered head, and the physician appears by magic. The human
+maelstrom settles into an ebb and flood tide to and from the mines.
+
+All over California keen-eyed men from the West and South begin to
+appropriate land. The Eastern and Middle States pilgrims take up
+trades and mechanical occupations. All classes contribute recruits
+to the scattered thousands of miners. Greedy officials and sly
+schemers begin to prey on the vanishing property rights of the
+Dons. A strange, unsubstantial social fabric is hastily reared.
+It clusters around the western peaks by the Golden Gate.
+
+Missouri, Texas, Arkansas, and Louisiana are sending great
+contingents. Mere nearness, with a taste for personal adventure,
+causes the southern border element to brave the overland journey.
+The northwestern overland travellers are more cautious. They have
+longer roads to drag over. They come prepared for farming or
+trade, as well as rude mining. As soon as the two lines of Eastern
+steamers are established, the Eastern and Middle States send heavy
+reinforcements. They are largely traders or permanent settlers. From
+the first day, the ambitious, overbearing men of the slave States
+take the lead in politics. They look to the extension of their
+gloomy "institution," negro slavery.
+
+Valois keeps much to himself. Resolutely he saves his golden
+gleanings. He avoids the gambling tables and dance-houses. Joe
+Woods works like a horse, from mere acquisitiveness. He fondly looks
+back to a certain farm in Missouri, where he would fain squire it
+when rich. Public rumor announces the great hegira of gold seekers.
+The rush begins. Horse stealing, quarrels over claims, personal
+encounters, rum's lunacy, and warring opinion cause frequent bloody
+affrays.
+
+Already scattered mounds rudely marked prove the reign of grim King
+Death. His dark empire stretches even here unstayed, unchallenged.
+Winter approaches; its floods drive the miners out of the river
+beds. Joe Woods has aggregated several Pike County souls, whose
+claims adjoin those of the two young associates. Wishing to open
+communication with Judge Valois at Belle Etoile, Maxime ceases
+work. He must recruit for hardships of the next season. He leaves
+all in the hands of "partner Joe," who prefers to camp with
+his friends, now the "Missouri Company." Valois is welcome at the
+Mission Dolores. He can there safely deposit his splendid savings.
+
+Provided with ample funds of gold dust, in heavy buckskin sacks,
+to send up winter supplies, Valois secures his half of the profits.
+It is in rudely sealed tin cans of solid gold dust. He is well armed
+and in good company. He gladly leaves the human bee-hive by the
+terrific gorges of the American River. He has now learned every
+trick of the mines. By pack train his treasure moves down to
+Sacramento. Well mounted, Maxime is the companion of a score of
+similarly fortunate returning miners. Name, nationality, and previous
+history of these free lances of fortune have been dropped, like
+Christian's bundle, on climbing these hills. Every man can choose
+for himself a new life here, under the spicy breezes of the Sierras.
+He is a law unto himself.
+
+The young gold hunter sees, amazed, a cantonment of ten thousand
+people at the bay. He safely conveys his treasure to the priests
+at the mission. They are shaken from slumber of their religious
+routine by eager Argonauts. Letters from Padre Francisco at Lagunitas
+prove the formation of bands of predatory Mexicans. These native
+Californians and Indian vagabonds are driving away unguarded
+stock. They mount their fierce banditti on the humbled Don's best
+horses. Coast and valley are now deserted and ungoverned. The mad
+rush for gold has led the men northward.
+
+No one dreams as yet of the great Blue Cement lead, which, from
+Sierra to Mariposa, is to unbosom three hundred millions from the
+beds of the old, covered geologic rivers. Ten thousand scratch in
+river bank and bed for surface gold. Priest and layman, would-be
+scientist and embryo experts, ignore the yellow threaded quartz
+veins buttressing the great Sierras. He would be a madman now who
+would think that five hundred millions will be pounded out of the
+rusty rocks of these California hills in less than a score of years.
+
+The toilers have no curiosity as to the origin or mother veins of
+the precious metal sought.
+
+Maxime Valois sits under the red-tiled porches of the mission
+in January, 1849. He has despatched his first safe consignment
+of letters to Belle Etoile. He little cares for the events which
+have thrown the exhaustless metal belt of the great West into the
+reserve assets of the United States. He knows not it is destined
+within fifty years to be the richest land in the world. The dark
+schemes of slavery's lord-like statesmen have swept these vast
+areas into our map. The plotters have ignored the future colossal
+returns of gold, silver, copper, and lead.
+
+Not an American has yet caught the real value of the world's most
+extensive forests of pine and redwood. They clothe these western
+slopes with graceful, unmutilated pageantry of green.
+
+Fisheries and fields which promise great gains are passed unnoticed.
+It is a mere pushing out of boundary lines, under the political
+aggression of the South.
+
+Even Benton, cheering the departing thousands Westward, grumbles
+in the Senate of the United States, on January 26, 1840. As the
+official news of the gold discoveries is imparted, the wise senators
+are blind in the sunlight of this prosperity. "I regret that we
+have these mines in California," Benton says; "but they are there,
+and I am in favor of getting rid of them as soon as possible." Wise
+senator!
+
+Neither a prophet nor the son of a prophet is he. He cannot
+see that these slighted mines in the future will be the means of
+sustaining our country's credit in a great war. This gold and silver
+will insure the construction of the overland railroads. The West
+and Northwest, sealed to the Union by bands of steel, will be the
+mainstay of the land. They will equalize a broader, grander Union
+than he ever dreamed of.
+
+Benton little thinks he has found the real solution of the wearying
+strife of North and South. Turning the surplus population of these
+bitterly opposed sections to the unpeopled West solves the problem.
+His son-in-law, Governor Fremont, has been a future peacemaker
+as well as a bold pathfinder. For it is on the track of Fremont
+that thousands are now tramping west. Their wheels are bearing
+the household gods. Civilization to be is on the move. Gold draws
+these crowds. The gulfs of the Carribean, even the lonely straits
+of Magellan and the far Pacific, are furrowed now by keels seeking
+the happy land where plentiful gold awaits every daring adventurer.
+Martinet military governors cannot control this embryo empire.
+Already in Congress bills are introduced to admit California into
+the Union. A rising golden star glitters in the West; it is soon
+to gild the flag of the Union with a richer radiance.
+
+Great leaders of the sovereign people struggle at Washington in
+keen debate, inspired by the hostile sections of the Union. They
+quarrel over the slavery interests in the great West. Keen Tom
+Corwin, loyal Dix, astute Giddings, Douglass the little giant, and
+David Wilmot fight freedom's battle with the great apostle of State
+rights, Calhoun. He is supported by President Polk, the facile
+Secretary of State Buchanan, and that dark Mississippi man of destiny,
+Jefferson Davis. The fiery Foote and all the ardent knights of the
+day champion the sunny South. Godlike Daniel Webster pours forth
+for freedom some of his greatest utterances. William H. Seward,
+prophet, seer, statesman, and patriot, with noble inspirations
+cheers on freedom's army. Who shall own bright California, the
+bond or the free? While these great knights of our country's round
+table fight in the tourney of the Senate over this golden prize,
+Benton sends back the "pathfinder" Fremont. He is now freed from
+the army by an indignant resignation. He bears a letter to Benton's
+friends in the West to organize the civil community and prepare a
+constitution.
+
+While Valois watches for news, the buds and blossoms of early
+spring call him back to the American River. The bay whitens with
+the sails of arriving thousands. Political combinations begin
+everywhere. Two years have made Fremont, Kearney, Colonel Mason,
+General P. F. Smith, and General Bennett Riley temporary military
+governors. Maxime leaves with ample stores; he rejoins the "Missouri
+Company," already reaping the golden harvest of the golden spring.
+
+Sage counsel reaches him from Padre Francisco. He hears with delight
+of the youth's success in the mines. The French missionary, with
+a natural love of the soil, advises Valois to buy lands as soon as
+good titles can be had.
+
+The Mexican War ends in glory to the once despised Gringos. Already
+the broad grants of the Dons are coveted by the officials of the
+military regency. Several of the officers have already served
+themselves better than their country. The entanglements of a new
+rule amount to practical confiscation of the lands of the old
+chieftains. What they saved from the conqueror is destined later
+to fatten greedy lawyers.
+
+The spoliated Church is avenged upon the heirs of those who worked
+its temporal ruin. For here, while mad thousands delve for the
+gold of their desire, the tramping feet of uncontrolled hosts are
+heard at the gates of the Sierras. When the fleets give out their
+hordes of male and female adventurers, there is no law but that of
+force or duplicity; no principle but self-interest. Virtue, worth,
+and desert meekly bow to strength. Wealth in its rudest form of
+sacks of uncoined gold dust rules the hour.
+
+The spring days lengthen into summer. Maxime Valois recoils from
+the physical toil of the rocky bars of the American. His nature
+is aristocratic; his youthful prejudices are averse to hand work.
+Menial attendance, though only upon himself, is degrading to him.
+The rough life of the mines becomes unbearable. A Southerner, par
+excellence, in his hatred of the physical familiarity of others,
+he avails himself of his good fortune to find a purchaser for his
+interests. The stream of new arrivals is a river now, for the old
+emigrant road of Platte and Humboldt is delivering an unending
+human current. Past the eastern frontier towns of Missouri, the
+serpentine trains drag steadily west; their camp fires glitter
+from "St. Joe" to Fort Bridger; they shine on the summit lakes of
+the Sierras, where Donner's party, beset in deepest snows, died
+in starvation. They were a type of the human sacrifices of the
+overland passage. Skeletons dot the plains now.
+
+By flood and desert, under the stroke of disease, by the Indian
+tomahawk and arrow, with every varied accident and mishap, grim
+Death has taken his ample toll along three thousand miles. Sioux
+and Cheyenne, Ute and Blackfoot, wily Mormon, and every lurking
+foe have preyed as human beasts on the caravans. These human fiends
+emulate the prairie wolf and the terrific grizzly in thirst for
+blood.
+
+The gray sands of the burning Colorado desert are whitening with
+the bones of many who escaped Comanche and Apache scalping knives,
+only to die of fatigue.
+
+By every avenue the crowd pours in. Valois has extended his
+acquaintance with the leading miners. He is aware of the political
+organization about to be effected. He has now about forty thousand
+dollars as his share of gold dust. An offer of thirty thousand
+more for his claim decides him to go to San Francisco. He is fairly
+rich. With that fund he can, as soon as titles settle, buy a broad
+rancho. His active mind suggests the future values of the building
+lots in the growing city.
+
+He completes the rude formalities of his sale, which consist of
+signing a bill of sale of his mining claim, and receiving the price
+roughly weighed out in gold. He hears that a convention is soon to
+organize the State. On September i, 1849, at Monterey, the civil
+fabric of government will be planned out.
+
+Before he leaves he is made a delegate. Early July, with its
+tropical heat, is at hand. The camp on the American is agitated
+by the necessity of some better form of government. Among others,
+Philip Hardin of Mississippi, a lawyer once, a rich miner now, is
+named as delegate.
+
+At Sacramento a steamer is loaded to the gunwales with departing
+voyagers. Maxime meets some of his fellow delegates already named.
+Among them is Hardin of Mississippi. Philip Hardin is a cool,
+resolute, hard-faced man of forty. A lawyer of ability, he has
+forged into prominence by sheer superiority. The young Creole is
+glad to meet some one who knows his beloved New Orleans. As they
+glide past the willow-shaded river banks, the two Southerners become
+confidential over their cigars.
+
+Valois learns, with surprise, that President Polk sent the polished
+Slidell confidentially to Mexico in 1846, and offered several
+millions for a cession of California. He also wanted a quit-claim
+to Texas. This juggling occurred before General Taylor opened the
+campaign on the Rio Grande. In confidential relations with Sidell,
+Hardin pushed over to California as soon as the result of the war
+was evident. Ambitious and far-seeing, Philip Hardin unfolds the
+cherished plan of extending slavery to the West. It must rule below
+the line of the thirty-sixth parallel. Hardin is an Aaron Burr in
+persuasiveness. By the time the new friends reach San Francisco,
+Maxime has found his political mentor. Ambition spurs him on.
+
+Wonders burst upon their eyes. Streets, business houses and hotels,
+dwellings and gaudy places of resort, are spread over the rolling
+slopes. Valois has written his friends at the mission to hold his
+letters. He hastens away to deposit his treasures and gain news of
+the old home in the magnolia land.
+
+Hardin has the promise of the young Louisianian to accompany him to
+Monterey. A preliminary conference of the southern element in the
+convention is arranged. They must give the embryo State a pro-slavery
+constitution. He busies himself with gaining a thorough knowledge
+of the already forming cabals. Power is to be parcelled out, places
+are to be filled. The haughty Mississippian cares more for this
+excitement than digging for mere inert treasure. His quick eye catches
+California's splendid golden star in the national constellation.
+
+Valois finds he must wait the expected letters. He decides to take
+no steps as to investment until the civil power is stable.
+
+With a good mustang he rides the peninsula thoroughly. He visits
+the old Presidio on the outskirts of the growing city. He rides
+far over the pass of Lake Merced, to where the broken gap in the
+coast hills leaves a natural causeway for the railway of the future.
+
+Philip Hardin, fisher of men, is keeping open house near the plaza.
+Already his rooms are the headquarters of the fiery chivalry of
+the South. Day by day Valois admires the self-assertion of the
+imperious lawyer. The Mississippian has already plotted out the
+situation. He is concert with leaders like himself, who are looking
+up and drawing in their forces for the struggle at the convention.
+
+Valois becomes familiar with the heads of the Northern opposition.
+Able and sturdy chiefs are already marshalling the men who come from
+the lands of the northern pine to meet in the peaceful political
+arena the champions of the palmetto land. Maxime's enthusiasm
+mounts. The young Southerner feels the pride of his race burning
+in his veins.
+
+In his evening hours, under the oaks of the Mission Dolores, he
+bears to the calm priests his budget of port and town. He tells of
+the new marvellous mines, of the influx of gold hunters. He cannot
+withhold his astonishment that the priesthood should not have
+discovered the gold deposits. The astute clergy inform him calmly
+that for years their inner circles have known of considerable gold
+in the possession of the Indians. It was a hope of the Church that
+some fortunate turn of Mexican politics might have restored their
+sway. Alas! It was shattered in 1834 by the relentless Hijar.
+
+"Hijo mio!" says an old padre. "We knew since 1838 that gold was
+dug at Franscisquita canyon in the south. If we had the old blessed
+days of Church rule, we could have quietly controlled this great
+treasure field. But this is now the land of rapine and adventure.
+First, the old pearl-fishers in the gulf of California; then the
+pirates lurking along the coast, watching the Philippine galleons.
+When your Americans overran Texas, and commenced to pour over
+the plains here, we knew all was lost. Your people have fought a
+needless war with Mexico; now they are swarming in here--a godless
+race, followed by outcasts of the whole of Europe. There is no law
+here but the knife and pistol. Your hordes now arriving have but
+one god alone--gold."
+
+The saddened old padre sighs as he gathers his breviary and beads,
+seeking his lonely cloister. He is a spectre of a day that is done.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+LIGHTING FREEDOM'S WESTERN LAMP.
+
+
+
+
+
+Bustling crowds confuse Valois when he rides through San Francisco
+next day. One year's Yankee dominion shows a progress greater
+than the two hundred and forty-six years of Spanish and Mexican
+ownership. The period since Viscaino's sails glittered off Point
+Reyes has been only stagnation.
+
+Seventy-three years' droning along under mission rule has ended in
+vain repetition of spiritual adjurations to the dullard Indians.
+To-day hammer and saw, the shouts of command, the din of trade,
+the ships of all nations, and the whistle, tell of the new era of
+work. The steam engine is here. The age of faith is past. "Laborare
+est orare" is the new motto. Adios, siesta! Enter, speculation.
+
+Dreamy-eyed senoritas in amazement watch the growing town. Hundreds
+are throwing the drifted sand dunes into the shallow bay to create
+level frontage. Swarthy riders growl a curse as they see the lines
+of city lot fences stretching toward the Presidio, mission, and
+potrero.
+
+Inventive Americans live on hulks and flats, anchored over water lots.
+The tide ebbs and flows, yet deep enough to drown the proprietors
+on their own tracts, purchased at auction of the alcalde as "water
+lots."
+
+Water lots, indeed! Twenty years will see these water lots half a
+mile inland.
+
+Masonry palaces will find foundations far out beyond where the
+old CYANE now lies. Her grinning ports hold Uncle Sam's hushed
+thunder-bolts. It is the downfall of the old REGIME.
+
+Shed, tent, house, barrack, hut, dug-out, ship's cabin--everything
+which will cover a head from the salt night fog is in service. The
+Mexican adobe house disappears. Pretentious hotels and storehouses
+are quickly run up in wood. The mails are taking orders to the
+East for completed houses to come "around the Horn." Sheet-iron
+buildings are brought from England. A cut stone granite bank arrives
+in blocks from far-off China.
+
+Vessels with flour from Chile, goods from Australia, and supplies
+from New York and Boston bring machinery and tools. Flour, saw, and
+grist mills are provided. Every luxury is already on the way from
+Liverpool, Bordeaux, Havre, Hamburg, Genoa, and Glasgow. These
+vessels bring swarms of natives of every clime. They hasten to a
+land where all are on an equal footing of open adventure, a land
+where gold is under every foot.
+
+Without class, aristocracy, history, or social past, California's
+"golden days" are of the future.
+
+Strange that in thirty years' residence of the sly Muscovites at
+Fort Ross, in the long, idle leisure of the employees of the Hudson
+Bay station at Yerba Buena Cove from 1836 to 1846, even with the
+astute Swiss Captain Sutter at New Helvetia, all capacities of
+the fruitful land have been so strangely ignored.
+
+The slumber of two hundred and fifty years is over. Frenchman,
+Russian, Englishman, what opiate's drowsy charms dulled your eager
+eyes so long here? Thousands of miles of virgin lands, countless
+millions of treasures, royal forests and hills yet to grow under
+harvest of olive and vine--all this the mole-like eyes of the olden
+days have never seen.
+
+Even the Mormons acted with the supine ignorance of the foreigners.
+They scorned to pick this jewel up. Judicious Brigham Young from
+the Great Salt Lake finally sends emissaries to spy and report. Like
+the wind his swift messengers go east to divert strong battalions
+of the Mormon converts from Europe, under trusted leaders, to
+San Francisco. Can he extend his self-built empire to the Pacific
+Slope? Brigham may be a new Mahomet, a newer Napoleon, for he has
+the genius of both.
+
+Alas! when the Mormon bands arrive, Sam Brannard, their leader,
+abandons the new creed of "Mormon" for the newer creed of
+"Mammon." He becomes a mercantile giant. The disciples scatter as
+gold-seekers. California is lost to the Mormons. Even so! Fate,
+providence, destiny, or some cold evolution of necessary order, draws
+up the blue curtains of the West. It pins them to our country's
+flag with a new, glittering star, "California."
+
+With eager interest Valois joins Philip Hardin. There is a social
+fever in the air. His friends are all statesmen in this chrysalis
+of territorial development. They are old hands at political
+intrigue. They would modestly be senators, governors, and rulers.
+They would cheerfully serve a grateful State.
+
+A band of sturdy cavaliers, they ride out, down the bay shores.
+They cross the Santa Clara and Salinas valleys toward Monterey.
+
+Valois' easy means enable him to be a leader of the movement. It
+is to give a constitution and laws to the embryo State.
+
+Hardy men from the West and South are taking up lands. Cool traders
+are buying great tracts. Temporary officials have eager eyes fixed
+on the Mexican grants. At all the landings and along the new roads,
+once trails, little settlements are springing up, for your unlucky
+argonaut turns to the nearest avocation; inns, stables, lodging-houses
+and trading-tents are waited on by men of every calling and
+profession. Each wanderer turns to the easiest way of amassing
+wealth. The settlers must devise all their own institutions. The
+Mexicans idly wrap their serapes around them, and they avoid all
+contact with the hated foreigner. Beyond watching their flocks and
+herds, they take no part in the energetic development. Cigarito in
+mouth, card playing or watching the sports of the mounted cavaliers
+are their occupations. Dismounted in future years, these queer
+equestrian natures have never learned to fight the battle of life
+on foot. The law of absorption has taken their sad, swarthy visages
+out of the social arena.
+
+The cavalcade of Southerners sweeps over the alamedas. They dash
+across the Salinas and up to wooded Monterey. There the first
+constitutional convention assembles.
+
+Their delighted eyes have rested on the lovely Santa Cruz mountains,
+the glorious meadows of Santa Clara, and the great sapphire bay
+of Monterey. The rich Pajaro and Salinas valleys lie waiting at
+hand. Thinking also of the wondrous wealth of the Sacramento and
+San Joaquin, of the tropical glories of Los Angeles, Philip Hardin
+cries: "Gentlemen, this splendid land is for us! We must rule this
+new State! We must be true to the South!"
+
+To be in weal and woe "true to the South" is close to the heart of
+every cavalier in Philip Hardin's train.
+
+The train arrives at Monterey, swelled by others faithful to that
+Southern Cross yet to glitter on dark fields of future battle.
+
+The treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo closed a bloody Conflict on February
+2, 1848. It is the preamble to a long struggle. It is destined in
+the West to be bloodless until the fatal guns trained on Fort Sumter
+bellow out their challenge to the great Civil War. It is only then
+the mighty pine will swing with a crash against the palm.
+
+Hardin knows that recruits, true of blood, are hastening to the
+new land of El Dorado. As he leads his dauntless followers into
+Monterey his soul is high. He sees the beloved South sweeping in
+victory westward as proudly as her legions rolled over the fields
+of Monterey and Buena Vista.
+
+The convention assembles. All classes are represented on September
+1, 1849. The first legal civil body is convoked west of the Rockies.
+Men of thought are here. Men destined to be world-famous in the
+unknown future. Settlers, hidalgos, traders, argonauts, government
+officials of army and navy, and transient adventurers of no mean
+ability. A little press already works with its magical talking
+types. A navy chaplain is the Franklin of the West. Some order and
+decorum appear. The calm voice of prayer is heard. The mingled amens
+of the conquerors thank God for a most unjustifiable acquisition
+of the lands of others. They are ours only by the right of the
+strong against the weak--the world's oldest title.
+
+The South leads in representative men. Ready to second the secret
+desires of Polk, Buchanan, and Calhoun is the astute and courtly
+Gwin, yet to be senator, duke of Sonora, and Nestor of his clan.
+Moore of Florida, Jones of Louisiana, Botts, Burnett, and others
+are in line. On the Northern side are Shannon, an adopted citizen;
+wise Halleck; polished McDougall; gifted Edward Gilbert, and other
+distinguished men--men worthy of the day and hour.
+
+As independent members, Sutter, General Vallejo, Thomas O. Larkin,
+Dr. Semple, Wright, Hastings, Brown, McCarver, Rodman S. Price,
+Snyder, and others lend their aid. From the first day the advocates
+of slavery and freedom battle in oratorical storm. The forensic
+conflict rages for days; first on the matter of freedom, finally
+on that of boundary.
+
+Freedom's hosts receive a glorious reinforcement in the arrival of
+John C. Fremont.
+
+After bitter struggles the convention casts the die for freedom.
+The Constitution of the State is so adopted. While the publicists,
+led by Fremont and Gwin, seek to raise the fabric of state, the
+traders and adventurers, the hosts of miners springing to life
+under the chance touch of James W. Marshall's finger, on January
+24, 1848, are delving or trading for gold.
+
+Poor, ill-starred Marshall! He wanders luckless among the golden
+fields. He gains no wealth. He toils as yet, unthinking of his days
+of old age and lonely poverty. He does not look forward to being
+poor at seventy-three years, and dying in 1885 alone. The bronze
+monument over his later grave attests no fruition of his hopes. It
+only can show the warm-hearted gratitude of children yet unborn,
+the Native Sons of the Golden West. Cool old borderers like Peter
+Lassen, John Bidwell, P. B. Redding, Jacob P. Leese, Wm. B. Ide,
+Captain Richardson, and others are grasping broad lands as fair
+as the banks of Yarrow. They permit the ill-assorted delegates to
+lay down rules for the present and laws for the future. The State
+can take care of itself. Property-holders appear and aid. Hensley,
+Henley, Bartlett, and others are cool and able. While the Dons are
+solemnly complimented in the convention, their rights are gracefully
+ignored.
+
+The military governor, General Bennett Riley, stands back. He justly
+does not throw his sword into the scales. Around him are rising men
+yet to be heroes on a grander field of action than the mud floors
+of a Monterey adobe. William T. Sherman, the only Northern American
+strategist, is a lieutenant of artillery. Halleck, destined to be
+commander-in-chief of a million men, is only a captain of engineers
+and acting Secretary of State. Graceful, unfortunate, accomplished
+Charles P. Stone is a staff officer. Ball's Bluff and Fort Lafayette
+are far in the misty unknown.
+
+The convention adjourns SINE DIE n October 13, 1849. It has settled
+the great point of freedom on the Pacific Coast. It throws out the
+granite Sierras as an eternal bulwark against advancing slavery.
+The black shame is doomed never to cross the Rockies, and yet the
+great struggle for the born nobility of manhood has been led by
+Shannon, an alien Irishman. The proudest American blood followed
+Dr. Gwin's pro-slavery leading. The two senators named are Gwin and
+the hitherto unrewarded Fremont. Wright and Gilbert are the two
+congressmen. Honest Peter H. Burnett, on November 13, is elected
+the first governor of California. He is chosen by the people, and
+destined to live to see nearly fifty years of peaceful prosperity
+on the golden coast.
+
+While this struggle is being waged on the Pacific, at Washington the
+giant statesmen of those famous ante-bellum days close in bitter
+strife. The political future of the great West, now known to be
+so rich, is undecided. It is the desperate desire of the South to
+keep California out of the Union, unless the part falling under
+the Wilmot proviso act south of 36 deg 30 min is given to slavery.
+
+The national funds to pay for the "Gadsden purchase" will be
+withheld unless slavery can be extended. The great struggle brings
+out all the olden heroes of the political arena. Benton, Webster,
+Clay, Calhoun, Davis, King, Sam Houston, Foote, Seward, John Bell,
+and Douglas, are given a golden prize to tourney for. In that
+press of good knights, many a hard blow is struck. The victor and
+vanquished stand to-day, looming gigantic on the dim horizon of
+the past. It is the dark before the dawn of the War of the Rebellion.
+
+It was before these days of degenerated citizenship, when the
+rising tide of gold floats the corrupt millionnaire and syndicate's
+agent into the Senate. The senator's toga then wrapped the shoulders
+of our greatest men. No bonanza agents--huge moral deformities of
+heaped-up gold--were made senatorial hunchbacks by their accidental
+millions.
+
+No vulgar clowns dallied with the country's interests in those old
+days when Greek met Greek. It was a gigantic duel of six leaders:
+Webster, Seward, and Clay, pitted against Calhoun, Davis, and
+Foote. Pausing to refresh their strength for the final struggle,
+the noise of battle rolled away until the early days of 1850.
+California was kept out.
+
+The delegates at Monterey hastened home to their exciting callings.
+Philip Hardin saw the wished-for victory of the South deferred.
+Gnashing his teeth in rage, he rode out of Monterey. Maxime
+Valois now is the ardent "Faust" to whom he plays "Mephisto." His
+following had fallen away. Hardin, cold, profound, and deep, was
+misunderstood at the Convention. He wished to gain local control.
+He knew the overmastering power of the pro-slavery administration
+would handle the main issue later--if not in peace, then in war.
+
+As the red-tiled roofs of Monterey fade behind them, Hardin unbosoms
+himself to his young comrade. Maxime Valois has been a notable
+leader in the Convention. He was eager and loyal to the South. He
+extended many acquaintances with the proud chivalry element of the
+new State. His short experience of public life feeds his rising
+ambition. He determines to follow the law; the glorious profession
+which he laid aside to become a pathfinder; the pathway to every
+civic honor.
+
+"Valois," says Hardin, "these people are too short-sighted.
+Our Convention leaders are failures. We should have ignored the
+slavery fight as yet. Thousands of Southern voters are coming to
+us within six months from the border States. Our friends from the
+Gulf are swarming here. The President will fill all the Federal
+offices with sound Southern Democrats. The army and navy will be
+in sympathy with us. With a little management we could have got
+slavery as far as 36 deg 30 sec. We could work it all over the West
+with the power of our party at the North. We could have controlled
+the rest of this coast by the Federal patronage, keeping the free
+part out of the Union as territories. Then our balance of power
+would be stable. It is not a lost game. Wait! only wait!"
+
+Maxime agrees. Philip Hardin opens the young politician's eyes with
+a great confidence.
+
+"Maxime, I have learned to like you and depend on you. I will give
+you a proof of it. We of the old school are determined to rule this
+country. If Congress admits California as a free State, there will
+yet be a Lone Star republic covering this whole coast. The South
+will take it by force when we go out."
+
+The Louisianian exclaims, "Secession!"
+
+"Yes, war even. Rather war than the rule of the Northern mud-sill!"
+cries Hardin, spurring his horse, instinctively. "Our leading men
+at home are in thorough concert day by day. If the issue is forced
+on us the whole South will surely go out. But we are not ready yet.
+Maxime, we want our share of this great West. We will fill it with
+at least even numbers of Southern men. In the next few years the
+West will be entirely neutral in case of war or unless we get a
+fair division. If we re-elect a Democrat as President we will save
+the whole West."
+
+"War," muses Valois, as they canter down the rich slopes toward
+the Salinas River, "a war between the men who have pressed up Cerro
+Gordo and Chepultepec together! A war between the descendants of
+the victorious brothers of the Revolution!" It seems cold and brutal
+to the young and ardent Louisianian. An American civil war! The
+very idea seems unnatural. "But will the Yankees fight?" queries
+Valois. Hardin replies grimly: "I did not think we would even be
+opposed in this Convention. They seemed to fight us pretty well
+here. They may fight in the field--when it comes."
+
+For Philip Hardin is a wise man. He never under-estimates his
+untried enemy.
+
+Valois smiles. He cannot control a sneer. The men who are lumber-hewers,
+dirt-diggers, cod-fishers and factory operatives will never face
+the Southern chivalry. He despises the sneaking Yankees. Traders
+in a small way arouse all the arrogance of the planter. He cannot
+bring any philosophy of the past to tell him that the straining,
+leaky Mayflcnver was the pioneer of the stately American fleets
+now swarming on every sea. The little wandering Boston bark, Otter,
+in 1796 found her way to California. She was the harbinger of a
+mighty future marine control. The lumbering old Sachem (of the same
+Yankee borough) in 1822 founded the Pacific hide and tallow trade
+as an earnest of the sea control. Where one Yankee shows the way
+thousands may follow, yet this Valois ignored in his scorn of the
+man who works.
+
+Maxime could not dream that the day could ever come when thousands
+of Yankees would swarm over entrenchments, vainly held by the best
+blood of the sunny South.
+
+As the two gentlemen ride on, Hardin uses the confidential loneliness
+of the trip to prove to the Creole that war and separation must
+finally come.
+
+"We want this rich land for ourselves and the South." The young
+man's blood was up.
+
+"I know the very place I want!" cries Valois.
+
+He tells Hardin of Lagunitas, of its fertile lands sweeping to
+the San Joaquin. He speaks of its grassy, rolling hills and virgin
+woods.
+
+Philip Hardin learns of the dashing waters of the Merced and Mariposa
+on either side. He hears of the glittering gem-like Lagunitas
+sparkling in the bosom of the foot-hills. Valois recounts the wild
+legends, caught up from priest and Indian, of that great, terrific
+gorge, the Yosemite. Hardin allows much for the young man's wild
+fancy. The gigantic groves of the big trees are only vaguely
+described. Yet he is thrilled.
+
+He has already seen an emigrant who wandered past Mono Lake over
+the great Mono notch in the Sierras. There it rises eleven thousand
+feet above the blue Pacific--with Castle Dome and Cathedral Peak,
+grim sentinels towering to the zenith.
+
+"It must really be a paradise," muses Hardin.
+
+"It is," cries the Creole; "I intend to watch that region. If money
+can make it mine, I will toil to get it."
+
+Philip Hardin, looking through half-closed eyes at Valois, decides
+to follow closely this dashing adventurer. He will go far.
+
+"Valois," he slowly says, "you have seen these native land-barons
+at the Convention. A few came in to join us. The rest are hostile
+and bitter. They can never stand before us. The whole truth is, the
+Mexican must go! We stopped the war a little too soon here. They
+are now protected by the treaty, but we will litigate them out of
+all their grants. Keep your eye on Lagunitas. It may come into the
+market. Gold will be the fool's beacon here for some time. These
+great valleys will yet be the real wealth of the new State. Land is
+the rock of the wealth to come. Get land, my boy!" he cries, with
+the lordly planter's instinct.
+
+Valois admires the cold self-confidence of the sardonic Hardin.
+He opens his heart. He leans upon the resolute Mississippian.
+
+It takes little to make Maxime joyfully accept Philip Hardin's
+invitation to share his office. They will follow the fortunes of
+the city by the Golden Gates.
+
+On riding down the Visitacion valley their eyes are greeted with
+the sight of the first ocean steamers. A thousand new-comers throng
+the streets.
+
+Maxime finds a home in the abode of Hardin. His cottage stands on
+a commanding lot, bought some time before.
+
+Letters from "Belle Etoile" delight the wanderer. He learns of the
+well-being of his friends. Judge Valois' advice to Maxime decides
+him to cast his lot in with the new State. It is soon to be called
+California by legal admission.
+
+Philip Hardin is a leader of the embryo bar of the city. Courts,
+books, two newspapers and the elements of a mercantile community
+are the newest signs of a rapid crystallization toward order. With
+magic strides the boundaries of San Francisco enlarge. Every day
+sees white-winged sails fluttering. Higher rises the human tumult.
+From the interior mines, excited reports carry away half the
+arrivals. They are eager to scoop up the nuggets, to gather the
+golden dust. New signs attract the eye: "Bank," "Hotel," "Merchandise,"
+"Real Estate." Every craft and trade is represented. It is the
+vision of a night.
+
+Already a leader, Hardin daily extends his influence as man,
+politician, and counsellor.
+
+The great game is being played at the nation's capital for the last
+sanction to the baptism of the new star in the flag.
+
+California stands knocking at the gates of the Union, with
+treasure-laden hands. In Congress the final struggle on admission
+drags wearily on. Victorious Sam Houston of Texas, seconded by
+Jefferson Davis, fresh laurelled from Buena Vista, urges the claims
+of slavery. Foote "modestly" demands half of California, with a
+new slave State cut out from the heart of blood-bought Texas. But
+the silver voice of Henry Clay peals out against any extension
+of slave territory. Proud King of Alabama appeals in vain to his
+brethren of the Senate to discipline the two ambitious freemen of
+the West, by keeping them out of the Union.
+
+Great men rally to the bugle notes of their mighty leaders.
+
+The gallant son of the South, General Taylor, finds presidential
+honors following his victories. In formal message he announces
+on February 13, 1850, to Congress that the new State waits, with
+every detail of first organization, for admission.
+
+Stern Calhoun, chief of the aspiring Southerners, proudly claims
+a readjustment of the sectional equality thus menaced. Who shall
+dare to lift the gauntlet thrown down by South Carolina's mighty
+chieftain?
+
+In the hush of a listening Senate, Daniel Webster, the lion
+of the North, sounds a noble defiance. "Slavery is excluded from
+California by the law of nature itself," is his warning admonition.
+
+With solemn brow, and deep-set eyes, flashing with the light
+of genius, he appeals to the noblest impulses of the human heart.
+Breathless senators thrill with his inspired words. "We would not
+take pains to reaffirm an ordinance of nature," he cries, and, as
+his grave argument touches the listeners, he reverently adds, "nor
+to re-enact the will of God."
+
+Mighty Seward rises also to throw great New York's gauntlet in the
+teeth of slavery.
+
+Taunted with its legal constitutional sanction, he exclaims grandly,
+"There is a higher law than the Constitution."
+
+Long years have passed since both the colossus of the North and
+the great Governor entered into the unbroken silence of the grave.
+Their immortal words ring still down the columned years of our
+country's history. They appeal to noble sons to emulate the heroes
+of this great conflict. Shall the slave's chains clank westward?
+No! Above the din of commoner men, the logic of John Bell, calm and
+patriotic, brings conviction. The soaring eloquence of Stephen A.
+Douglas claims the Western shores for freedom.
+
+Haughty Foote and steadfast Benton break lances in the arena.
+
+Kentucky's greatest chieftain, whose gallant son's life-blood
+reddened Buena Vista's field, marshals the immortal defenders of
+human liberty. Henry Clay's paternal hand is stretched forth in
+blessing over the young Pacific commonwealth. All vainly do the
+knights of the Southern Cross rally around mighty Calhoun, as he
+sits high on slavery's awful throne.
+
+Cold Davis, fiery Foote, ingenious Slidell, polished and versatile
+Soule, ardent King, fail to withstand that mighty trio, "Webster,
+Seward, and Clay," the immortal three. The death of the soldier-President
+Taylor calms the clamor for a time. The struggle shifts to the
+House. Patriotic Vinton, of Ohio, locks the door on slavery. On
+the 9th day of September, 1850, President Millard Fillmore signs
+the bill which limits the negro hunter to his cotton fields and cane
+brakes at home. The representatives of the new State are admitted.
+A new golden star shines unpolluted in the national constellation.
+
+Westward the good news flies by steamer. All the shadows on
+California's future are lifted.
+
+While wearied statesmen rest from the bitter warfare of two long
+years, from North and South thousands eagerly rush to the golden
+land.
+
+The Southern and Border States send hosts of their restless youths.
+
+From the Northwest sturdy freemen, farmers with families, toil
+toward new homes under freedom's newest star. The East and Middle
+States are represented by all their useful classes.
+
+The news of California's admission finds Hardin and Valois already
+men of mark in the Occidental city.
+
+Disappointed at the issue, Hardin presses on to personal eminence;
+he turns his energies to seeking honors in the legal forum.
+
+Maxime Valois, quietly resuming his studies for the bar, guards his
+funds, awaiting opportunity for investment. He burns the midnight
+oil in deep studies. The two men wander over the growing avenues
+of the Babel of the West. Every allurement of luxury, every scheme
+of vice, all the arts of painted siren, glib knave, and lurking
+sharper are here; where the game is, there the hunter follows.
+Rapidly arriving steamers pour in hundreds. The camp followers of
+the Mexican war have streamed over to San Francisco. The notable
+arrival of the steamer California brings crowds of men, heirs to
+future fame, and good women, the moral salt of the new city. It
+also has its New York "Bowery Boys," Philadelphia "Plug Uglies,"
+Baltimore "Roughs," and Albany "Strikers."
+
+By day, new occupations, strange callings, and the labor of organizing
+a business community, engage all men. The ebb and flow of going
+and returning miners excite the daylight hours. From long wharves,
+river steamers, laden to the gunwales, steam past the city shores
+to Sacramento. At night, deprived of regular homes, the whole
+city wanders in the streets, or crowds flashy places of amusement.
+Cramped on the hilly peninsula, there are no social lines drawn
+between good and bad. Each human being is at sea in a maelstrom
+of wild license.
+
+The delegated representatives of the Federal Government soon arrive.
+Power is given largely to the Southern element. While many of the
+national officials are distinguished and able, they soon feel the
+inspiring madness of unrebuked personal enjoyment.
+
+Money in rough-made octagonal fifty-dollar slugs flows freely. Every
+counter has its gold-dust scales. Dust is current by the ounce,
+half ounce, and quarter ounce. The varied coins of the whole
+world pass here freely. The months roll away to see, at the end of
+1850, a wider activity; there is even a greater excitement, a more
+pronounced madness of dissipation. Speculation, enterprise, and
+abandonment of old creeds, scruples, and codes, mark the hour.
+
+The flying year has brought the ablest and most daring moral refugees
+of the world to these shores, as well as steady reinforcements of
+worthy settlers. Pouring over the Sierras, and dragging across
+the deserts, the home builders are spreading in the interior. The
+now regulated business circles, extending with wonderful elasticity,
+attract home and foreign pilgrims of character. Though the Aspasias
+of Paris, New Orleans, and Australia throng in; though New York
+sends its worthless womanhood in floods, there are even now worthy
+home circles by the Golden Gate. Church, school, and family begin
+to build upon solid foundations. All the government bureaus are in
+working order. The Custom House is already known as the "Virginia
+Poor House." The Post-Office and all Federal places teem with the
+ardent, haughty, and able ultra Democrats of the sunny South. The
+victory of the Convention bids fair to be effaced in the high-handed
+control of the State by Southern men. As the rain falleth on the
+just and unjust, so does the tide of prosperity enrich both good
+and bad. Vice, quickly nourished, flaunts its early flowers. The
+slower growth of virtue is yet to give golden harvest of gathered
+sheaves in thousands of homes yet to be in the Golden State. Long
+after the maddened wantons and noisy adventurers have gone the
+way of all "light flesh and corrupt blood," the homes will stand.
+Sailing vessels stream in from the ports of the world. On the narrow
+water-front, Greek and Lascar, Chinaman and Maltese, Italian and
+Swede, Russian and Spaniard, Chileno and Portuguese jostle the
+men of the East, South, and the old country. Fiery French, steady
+German, and hot-headed Irish are all here, members of the new empire
+by the golden baptism of the time.
+
+Knife and revolver, billy and slung-shot, dirk and poniard, decide
+the ARGUMENTUM AD HOMINEM.
+
+In the enjoyment of fraternal relations with the leaders of the
+dominant party East, Philip Hardin becomes a trusted counsellor
+of the leading officials. He sees the forum of justice opened in
+the name of Union and State. He ministers at the altars of the Law.
+He gains, daily, renown and riches in his able conduct of affairs.
+
+Hardin's revenue rises. He despises one of the State judgeships
+easily at his hand. As his star mounts, his young neophyte, Maxime
+Valois, shares his toils and enjoys his training. Under his guidance
+he launches out on the sea of that professional legal activity,
+which is one continued storm of contention.
+
+Valois has trusted none of the mushroom banks. He keeps his gold
+with the Padres. He makes a number of judicious purchases of blocks
+and lots in the city, now growing into stable brick, stone, and
+even iron.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+THE QUEEN OF THE EL DORADO.--GUILTY BONDS.
+
+
+
+
+
+In the dreary winter of 1850-51, there are luxurious resting places
+for the crowds driven at night from the narrow plank sidewalks of
+the Bay City. Rain torrents make the great saloons and gambling
+houses the only available shelter.
+
+Running east and west, Sacramento, Clay, Washington, and Jackson
+Streets rise in almost impracticable declivity to the hills. Their
+tops, now inaccessible, are to be the future eyries of self-crowned
+railroad nobs and rude bonanza barons.
+
+Scrubby chaparral, tenanted by the coyote, fox, and sand rabbit,
+covers these fringing sand hills. North and south, Sansome,
+Montgomery, Kearney, Dupont, Stockton, and a faint outline of Powell
+Street, are roadways more or less inchoate. An embryo western Paris.
+
+Around the plaza, bounded by Clay, Washington, Dupont, and Kearney,
+the revelry of night crystallizes. It is the aggregating sympathy
+of birds of a feather.
+
+The peculiar unconquered topography makes the handcart, wheelbarrow,
+and even the Chinaman's carrying poles, necessary vehicles of
+transit.
+
+Water, brought in iron boats from Sansalito, is dragged around
+these knobby hills in huge casks on wheels. The precious fluid is
+distributed in five-gallon tin buckets, borne on a yoke by the
+dealer, who gets a dollar for two bucketfuls. No one finds time
+to dig for water. All have leisure to drink, dance, and gamble.
+They face every disease, danger, and hardship. They breast
+the grizzly-bear-haunted canyons in search of gold. No one will
+seek for water. It is the only luxury. The incoming and outgoing
+merchandise moves only a few rods from the narrow level city front.
+At the long wharves it is transshipped from the deep-water vessels,
+across forty feet of crazy wooden pier, to the river steamers. Lighters
+in the stream transfer goods to the smaller vessels beginning to
+trade up and down the coast.
+
+In the plaza, now dignified by the RAFFINE name of "Portsmouth
+Square," the red banners of vice wave triumphant over great citadels
+of sin. Virtue is pushed to the distant heights and knolls. The
+arriving families, for sheer self-protection, avoid this devil's
+maelstrom. It sucks the wide crowd into the maddened nightly orgies
+of the plaza.
+
+In the most pretentious buildings of the town, the great trinity
+of unlawful pleasures holds high carnival. Day and night are the
+same: drink, gaming, and women are worshipped. For the average
+resident there is no barrier of old which has not been burned away
+in the fever of personal freedom and the flood of gold.
+
+A motley mass of twenty thousand men and women daily augments. They
+are all of full capacity for good and evil. They are bound by no
+common ties. They serve no god but pleasure. They fear no code. With
+no intention to remain longer than the profit of their adventures
+or the pleasures of their wild life last, they catch the passing
+moment.
+
+Immense saloons are made attractive by displays of gaudy luxuries,
+set out to tempt the purses of the self-made autocrats of wealth.
+Gambling houses here are outvying in richness, and utter wantonness
+of wasted expense, anything yet seen in America. They are open
+always. Haunts abound where, in the pretended seclusion of a few
+yards' distance, rich adventurers riot with the beautiful battalions
+of the fallen angels. It were gross profanation to the baleful
+memories of Phryne, Aspasia, and Messalina to find, from all
+the sin-stained leaves of the world's past, prototypes of these
+bold, reckless man-eaters. They throng the softly carpeted, richly
+tapestried interiors of the gilded hells of Venus.
+
+Drink and play. Twins steeds of the devil's car on the road to
+ruin. They are lashed on by wild-eyed, bright, beautiful demons.
+All follow the train of the modern reigning star of the West, Venus.
+
+Shabby dance-halls, ephemeral Thespian efforts, cheap dens of the
+most brutal vice, and dark lairs abound, where sailors, laborers,
+and crowding criminals lurk, ready for their human prey. Their female
+accomplices are only the sirens watching these great strongholds
+of brazen vice. A greater luxury only gilds a lower form of human
+abasement. The motley horde, wallowing on the "Barbary Coast" and
+in the mongrel thieves' haunts of "Pacific Street," the entrenched
+human devils on "Telegraph Hill" are but natural prey of the
+coarsest vices.
+
+The ready revolver, Colt's devilish invention, has deluged the
+West and South with blood. Murder's prime minister hangs in every
+man's belt. Colonel James Bowie's awful knife is a twin of this
+monstrous birth. In long years of dark national shame our country
+will curse the memory of the "two Colonels." They were typical of
+their different sectional ideas. These men gave us the present
+coat of arms of San Francisco: the Colt's revolver and the Bowie
+knife.
+
+Yes, thousands of yet untenanted graves yawn for the future victims
+of these mechanical devices. The skill of the Northern inventor,
+and the devilish perfection of the heart-cleaving blade of the
+Southern duellist are a shame to this wild age.
+
+The plaza with impartial liberality yields up its frontages to
+saloon, palace of play, and hotels for the fair ministers of His
+Satanic Majesty. It is the pride of the enterprising "sports" and
+"sharpers," who represent the baccalaureate degree of every known
+vice. On the west, the "Adelphi" towers, with its grand gambling
+saloon, its splendid "salle a manger," and cosey nooks presided
+over by attractive Frenchwomen. Long tables, under crystal
+chandeliers, offer a choice of roads to ruin. Monte, faro, rouge
+et noir, roulette, rondo and every gambling device are here, to lure
+the unwary. Dark-eyed subtle attendants lurk, ready to "preserve
+order," in gambling parlance. At night, blazing with lights, the
+superb erotic pictures on the walls look down on a mad crowd of
+desperate gamesters. Paris has sent its most suggestive pictures
+here, to inflame the wildest of human passions. Nymph and satyr
+gleam from glittering walls; Venus approves with melting glances,
+from costliest frames, the self-immolation of these dupes of fortune.
+Every wanton grace of the artist throws a luxurious refinement of
+the ideal over the palace of sin and shame.
+
+Long counters, with splendid mirrors, display richest plate. They
+groan with costliest glass, and every dark beverage from hell's
+hottest brew. Card tables, and quiet recesses, richly curtained,
+invite to self-surrender and seclusion. The softest music breathes
+from a full orchestra. Gold is everywhere, in slugs, doubloons,
+and heaps of nuggets. Gold reigns here. Silver is a meaner metal
+hardly attainable. Bank notes are a flimsy possibility of the
+future. Piles of yellow sovereigns and the coinage of every land
+load the tables. Sallow, glittering-eyed croupiers sweep in, with
+affected nonchalance, this easy-gained harvest of chance or fraud.
+
+As the evening wears on, these halls fill up with young and old.
+The bright face of youth is seen, inflamed with every burning
+passion, let loose in the wild uncontrolled West. It is side by
+side with the haggard visage of the veteran gamester. Every race
+has its representatives. The possession of gold is the cachet of
+good-fellowship. Anxious crowds criticise rapid and dashing play.
+The rattle of dice, calls of the dealers, shouts of the attendants
+ring out. The sharp, hard, ringing voices of the fallen goddesses
+of the tables rise on the stifling air, reeking of smoke and wine.
+Dressed with the spoils of the East, bare of bosom, bright of eye,
+hard of heart, glittering in flashing gems, and nerved with drink,
+are these women. The painted sirens of the Adelphi smile, with
+curled carmine lips which give the lie to the bold glances of the
+wary eyes of those she-devils.
+
+With a hideous past thrown far behind them, they fear no future.
+Desperate as to the present, ministering to sin, inciting to violence,
+conspiring to destroy body and soul, these beautiful annihilators
+of all decency vie in deviltry only with each other.
+
+They flaunt, by day, toilettes like duchesses' over the muddy
+streets; their midnight revels outlast the stars sweeping to the
+pure bosom of the Pacific. The nightly net is drawn till no casting
+brings new gudgeons. An unparalleled display of wildest license
+and maddest abandonment marks day and night.
+
+Across the square the Bella Union boasts similar glories, equal
+grandeur, and its own local divinities of the Lampsacene goddess.
+
+It is but a stone's throw to the great Arcade. From Clay to Commercial
+Street, one grand room offers every allurement to hundreds, without
+any sign of overcrowding. The devil is not in narrow quarters.
+
+On the eastern front of the plaza, the pride of San Francisco
+towers up: the El Dorado. Here every glory of the Adelphi, Arcade,
+and Bella Union is eclipsed. The unrivalled splendor of rooms,
+rich decorations, and unexcelled beauty of pictures excite all. The
+rare liveliness of the attendant wantons marks them as the fairest
+daughters of Beelzebub. The world waves have stranded these children
+of Venus on the Pacific shores. Music, recalling the genius of the
+inspired masters, sways the varying emotions of the multitude. The
+miners' evenings are given up to roaming from one resort to another.
+Here, a certain varnish of necessary politeness restrains the throng
+of men; they are all armed and in the flush of physical power;
+they dash their thousands against impregnable and exciting gambling
+combinations at the tables. With no feeling of self-abasement, leading
+officials, merchants, bankers, judges, officers, and professional
+men crowd the royal El Dorado. Here they relax the labors of the
+day with every distraction known to human dissipation.
+
+Staggering out broken-hearted, in the dark midnight, dozens
+of ruined gamesters have wandered from these fatal doors into the
+plaza. The nearest alley gives a shelter; a pistol ball crashes
+into the half-crazed brain.
+
+Suicide!--the gambler's end! Already the Potter's Field claims
+many of these victims. The successful murderers and thugs linger
+in the dark shadows of Dupont Street. They crowd Murderer's Alley,
+Dunbar's Alley, and Kearney Street.
+
+When the purse is emptied, so that the calculating women dealers
+scorn to notice the last few coins, they point significantly to
+the outer darkness. "Vamos," is the word. A few rods will bring
+the plucked fool to the "Blue Wing," the "Magnolia," or any one of
+a hundred drinking dens. Here the bottle chases away all memories
+of the night's play.
+
+In utter defiance of the decent community, these temples of pleasure,
+with their quick-witted knaves, and garrisons of bright-eyed
+bacchanals, ignore the useful day; at night, they shine out, splendid
+lighthouses on the path to the dark entrance of hell. By mutual
+avoidance, the good and bad, the bright and dark side of human effort
+rule in alternation the day and night. Sin rests in the daytime.
+
+In the barracks, where the serried battalions of crime loll away
+the garish day, silence discreetly rules. Sleep and rest mark the
+sunlit hours. The late afternoon parade is an excitant.
+
+All over San Francisco, in its queerly assorted tenancy, church
+and saloon, school and opium den, thieves' resort and budding home,
+are placed side by side. Vigorous elbowing of the criminal and base
+classes finally forces all that is decent into a semi-banishment.
+Decency is driven to the distant hills, crowned with their scrubby
+oaks. Vice needs the city centre. It always does.
+
+Philip Hardin is cynical and without family ties. Able by nature,
+skilled in books, and a master of human strategy he needs some
+broader field for the sweep of his splendid talents than the narrowed
+forum of the local courts. Ambition offers no immediate prize to
+struggle for. The busy present calls on him for daily professional
+effort. Political events point to an exciting struggle between
+North and South in the future; but the hour of fate is not yet on
+the dial.
+
+In the Southerner's dislike of the contact of others, looking to his
+place as a social leader of the political element, Philip Hardin
+lives alone; his temporary cottage is planted in a large lot removed
+from the immediate danger of fires. His quick wit tells him they
+will some day sweep the crowded houses in the eastern part of the
+city, as far as the bay. The larger native oaks still afford a
+genial shade. Their shadows give the tired lawyer a few square rods
+of breathing space. Books and all the implements of the scholar
+are his; the interior is crowded with those luxuries which Hardin
+enjoys as of right. Deeply drinking the cup of life, even in his
+social vices, Philip Hardin aims at a certain distinction.
+
+Around his table gather the choicest knights-errant of the golden
+quest. Maxime Valois here develops a social talent as a leader of
+men, guided by the sardonic Mephisto of his young life.
+
+Still the evening hours hang heavily on the hands of the two lawyers.
+When the rapidly arriving steamers bring friends, with letters or
+introductions, they have hospitality to dispense. The great leaders
+of the South are now systematically colonizing California. Guests
+abound at these times at Hardin's board. Travel, mining, exploration,
+and adventure carry them away soon; extensive tours on official
+duty draw them away. As occupations increase, men grow unmindful
+of each other and meet more rarely.
+
+For the saloons, rude hotels, gaming palaces, and resorts of
+covert pleasures are the usual rendezvous of the men of fortune
+and power. In such resorts grave intrigues are planned; future
+policies are mapped out; business goes on under the laughter of
+wild-eyed Maenads; secrets of state are whispered between glass
+and glass.
+
+Family circles, cooped up, timid and distant, keep their doors
+closed to the general public. No one has yet dared to permanently
+set up here their Lares and Penates. The subordination of family
+life to externals, and insincerity of social compacts, are destined
+to make California a mere abiding place for several generations. The
+fibres of ancestry must first knit the living into close communion
+with their parents born on these Western shores. Hardin's domineering
+nature, craving excitement and control over others, carries him often
+to the great halls of play; cigar in mouth, he stands unmoved; he
+watches the chances of play. Nerved with the cognac he loves, he
+moves quickly to the table; he astonishes all by the deliberate
+daring of his play. His iron nerve is unshaken by the allurements
+of the painted dancers and surrounding villains. Towering high
+above all others, the gifted Mississippian nightly refreshes his
+jaded emotions. He revels in the varying fortunes of the many games
+he coolly enjoys. Unheeding others, moving neither right nor left
+at menace or danger, Hardin scorns this human circus, struggling
+far below his own mental height.
+
+Heartless and unmoved, he smiles at the weaknesses of others.
+The strong man led captive in Beauty's train, the bright intellect
+sinking under the craze of drink, the weak nature shattered by the
+loss of a few thousands at play--all this pleases him. He sees,
+with prophetic eye, hundreds of thousands of future dwellers between
+the Sierras and the sea. His Southern pride looks forward to a
+control of the great West by the haughty slave-owners.
+
+This Northern trash must disappear! To ride on the top wave of the
+future successful community, is his settled determination. Without
+self-surrender, he enjoys every draught of pleasure the cup of life
+can offer. Without scruple, void of enthusiasm, his passionless
+heart is unmoved by the joys or sorrows of others. His nature
+is as steady as the nerve with which he guides his evening pistol
+practice. The welcome given to Maxime Valois by him arises only
+from a conviction of that man's future usefulness. The general
+acceptability of the young Louisianian is undoubted. His blood,
+creed, and manners prove him worthy of the old Valois family. Their
+past glories are well known to Philip Hardin. "Bon sang ne peut
+mentir." Hardin's legal position places him high in the turmoils
+of the litigations of the great Mexican grants. Already, over the
+Sonoma, Napa, Santa Clara, San Joaquin and Sacramento valleys all
+is in jeopardy. The old Dons begin to seek confirmations of the legal
+lines, to keep the crowding settlers at bay. The mining, trading,
+and land-grabbing of the Americans are pushed to the limits of the
+new commonwealth. A backward movement of the poor Mexican natives
+carries them between the Americans and the yet powerful land barons
+of their own race. Harassed, unfit to work, unable to cope with the
+intruders, the native Californians become homeless rovers. They
+are bitter at heart. Many, in open resentment, rise on the plains
+or haunt the lonely trails. They are now bandits, horse-thieves,
+footpads and murderers. True to each other, they establish a chain
+of secret refuges from Shasta to San Diego. Every marauder of
+their own blood is safe among them from American pursuers.
+
+Every mining camp and all the settlements are beginning to send
+refugees of the male foreign criminal classes to join these wandering
+Mexican bands.
+
+With riot in the camps, licentiousness ruling the cities, and
+murder besetting every path, there is no safety for the present.
+California sees no guarantee for the future. Judge Lynch is the only
+recognized authority. He represents the rough justice of outraged
+camps and infuriated citizens. Unrepressed violent crimes lead
+to the retaliatory butchery of vigilance committees. Innocent and
+guilty suffer without warrant of law. Foreign criminal clans herd
+together in San Francisco for mutual aid. The different Atlantic
+cities are separately represented in knots of powerful villains.
+Politics, gambling, and the elements of wealth flourishing in
+dens and resorts, are controlled by organized villains. They band
+together against the good. Only some personal brawl throws them
+against each other.
+
+Looking at the dangerous mass of vicious men and women, Valois
+determines that the real strength of the land will lie in the
+arrivals by the overland caravans. These trains are now filling
+the valleys with resolute and honest settlers.
+
+His determination holds yet to acquire some large tract of land where
+he may have a future domain. On professional visits to Sacramento,
+Stockton, and San Jose he notes the rising of the agricultural
+power in the interior. In thought he yearns often for the beauties
+of splendid Lagunitas. Padre Ribaut writes him of the sullen
+retirement of Don Miguel. He grows more morose daily. Valois learns
+of the failing of the sorrow-subdued Donna Juanita. The girlish
+beauty of young Dolores is pictured in these letters. She approaches
+the early development of her rare beauty. Padre Francisco has his
+daily occupation in his church and school. The higher education of
+pretty Dolores is his only luxury. Were it not for this, he would
+abandon the barren spiritual field and return to France. Already
+in the canyons of the Mariposa, Fresno, and in the great foot-hills,
+miners are scratching around the river beds. Hostile settlers are
+approaching from the valley the Don's boundaries. These signs are
+ominous.
+
+Padre Francisco writes that as yet Don Miguel is sullenly ferocious.
+He absolutely refuses any submission of his grant titles to the
+cursed Gringos. Padre Francisco has not been able to convince the
+ex-commandante of the power of the great United States. He knows
+not it can cancel or reject his title to the thousands of rich acres
+where his cattle graze and his horses sweep in mustang wildness.
+Even from his very boundaries the plough can now be seen breaking
+up the breast of the virgin valley. The Don will take no heed. He
+is blinded by prejudice. Maxime promises the good priest to visit
+him. He wonders if the savage Don would decline a word. If the
+frightened, faded wife would deign to speak to the Americano. If
+the budding beauty would now cast roses slyly at him from the bowers
+of her childhood.
+
+Maxime's heart is young and warm. He is chilled in his affections.
+The loss of his parents made his life lonely. Judge Valois, his
+uncle, has but one child, a boy born since Maxime's departure on
+the Western adventure. Between Hardin and himself is a bar of twenty
+years of cool experience. It indurates and blunts any gracefulness
+Hardin's youth ever possessed. If any man of forty has gained
+knowledge of good and evil, it is the accomplished Hardin. He is
+a law unto himself.
+
+Fearing neither God nor man, insensible to tenderness, Philip
+Hardin looks in vain to refresh his jaded emotions by the every-day
+diversions of the city by the sea. The daily brawls, the excited
+vigilance committee of the first winter session of popular justice,
+and partial burning of the city, leave Hardin unmoved. It is a
+dismal March night of 1851 when he leaves his residence for a stroll
+through the resorts of the town. Valois listlessly accompanies
+him. He does not gamble. To the El Dorado the two slowly saunter.
+The nightly battle over the heaps of gold is at its height. At the
+superb marble counter they are served with the choicest beverages
+and regalias of Vuelta Abajos' best leaf. The human mob is dense.
+Wailing, passionate music beats upon the air. There is the cry of
+lost souls in its under-toned pathos. Villany and sentiment go hand
+in hand at the El Dorado. The songs of old, in voice and symphony,
+unlock the gates of memory. They leave the lingerers, disarmed, to
+the tempting allurements of beauty, drink, and gaming.
+
+There is an unusual crowd in the headquarters of gilded folly.
+Maxime, wandering alone for a few minutes, finds a throng around a
+table of rouge et noir. It is crowded with eager gamesters. Nodding
+to one and another, he meets many acquaintances--men have no real
+friends as yet in this egoistic land. The Louisianian moves toward
+the goal whither all are tending. Jealous glances are cast by
+women whose deserted tables show their charms are too well known.
+All swarm toward a new centre of attraction. Cheeks long unused
+to the blush of shame are reddened with passion, to see the fickle
+crowd surge around the game presided over by a new-comer to the
+sandy shores of San Francisco. She is an unknown goddess.
+
+"What's all this?" asks Maxime, of a man he knows. He is idling
+now, with an amused smile. He catches a glimpse of the tall form
+of Philip Hardin in the front row of players, near the yellow
+bulwarks of gold.
+
+"Why, Valois, you are behind the times!" is the reply. "Don't you
+know the 'Queen of the El Dorado'?"
+
+"I confess I do not," says the Creole. He has been absent for some
+time from this resort of men with more gold than brains. "Who is
+she? What is she?" continues Maxime.
+
+His friend laughs as he gaily replies, "As to what she is, walk
+up to the table. Throw away an ounce, and look at her. It's worth
+it. As to who she is, she calls herself Hortense Duval." "I suppose
+she has as much right to call herself the daughter of the moon
+as to use that aristocratic name." "My dear boy, she is, for all
+that--" "Queen Hortense?" "Queen of the El Dorado." He saunters
+away, to allow Valois a chance to edge his way into the front row.
+There the dropping gold is raked in by this fresh siren who draws
+all men to her.
+
+Dressed in robes of price, a young woman sits twirling the arrow
+of destiny at the treasure-laden table. Her exquisite form is
+audaciously and recklessly exposed by a daring costume. Her superb
+arms are bared to the shoulder, save where heavy-gemmed bracelets
+clasp glittering badges of sin around her slender wrists. An
+indescribable grace and charm is in every movement of her sinuous
+body. Her well-poised head is set upon a neck of ivory. The lustrous
+dark eyes rove around the circle of eager betters with languishing
+velvety glances. A smile, half a sneer, lingers on the curved lips.
+Her statuesque beauty of feature is enhanced by the rippling dark
+masses of hair crowning her lovely brows. In the silky waves of
+her coronal, shines one diamond star of surpassing richness. In
+all the pride and freshness of youth her loveliness is unmarred by
+the tawdry arts of cosmetic and make-up. Unabashed by the admiration
+she compels, she calmly pursues her exciting calling. The new-comer
+is well worthy the rank, by general acclaim, of "Queen of the El
+Dorado." In no way does she notice the eager crowd. She is an
+impartial priestess of fortune. Maxime waits only to hear her speak.
+She is silent, save the monosyllabic French words of the game.
+Is she Cuban, Creole, French, Andalusian, Italian, or a wandering
+gypsy star? A jewelled dagger-sheath in her corsage speaks of Spain
+or Italy. Maxime notes the unaccustomed eagerness with which Hardin
+recklessly plays. He seems determined to attract the especial
+attention of the divinity of the hour. Hardin's color is unusual.
+His features are sternly set. Near him stands "French Charlie," one
+of the deadliest gamesters of the plaza. Equally quick with card,
+knife, or trigger, the Creole gambler is a man to be avoided. He
+is as dangerous as the crouching panther in its fearful leap.
+
+Hardin, betting on black, seems to win steadily. "French Charlie"
+sets his store of ready gold on the red. It is a reckless duel of
+the two men through the medium of the golden arrow, twirled by the
+voluptuous stranger.
+
+A sudden idea strikes Valois. He notes the ominous sparkle of "French
+Charlie's" eye. It is cold as the depths of a mountain-pool. Is
+Hardin betting on the black to compliment the presiding dark beauty?
+Murmurs arise among the bystanders. The play grows higher. Valois
+moves away from the surging crowd, to wait his own opportunity. A
+glass of wine with a friend enables him to learn her history. She
+has been pursued by "French Charlie" since her arrival from Panama
+by steamer. No one knows if the reigning beauty is Havanese or
+a French Creole. Several aver she speaks French and Spanish with
+equal ease. English receives a dainty foreign accent from the
+rosebud lips. Her mysterious identity is guarded by the delighted
+proprietors. The riches of their deep-jawed safes tell of her
+wonderful luck, address, or skill.
+
+Charlie has in vain tried to cross the invisible barrier which
+fences her from the men around her. To-night he is as unlucky in
+his heavy play, as in arousing any passion in that wonderful beauty
+of unexplained identity. The management will answer no questions.
+This nightly excitement feeds on itself. "French Charlie" has been
+drinking deeply. His play grows more unlucky. Valois moves to the
+table, to quietly induce Hardin to leave. Some inner foreboding
+tells Valois there is danger in the gambling duel of the two men he
+watches. As he forces his way in, Charlie, dashing a last handful
+of gold upon the red, turns his ferocious eyes on Hardin. The
+lawyer calmly waits the turn of the arrow. Some quick presentiment
+reaches the mind of the woman. Her nerves are shaken with the strain
+of long repression. The arrow trembles on the line in stopping.
+The queen's eyes, for the first time, catch the burning glances of
+Philip Hardin. "French Charlie," with an oath, grasps the hand of
+the woman. She is raking in his lost coins before paying Hardin's
+bet. It is his last handful of gold.
+
+Maddened with drink and his losses, Charlie yields to jealousy
+of his victorious neighbor. "French Charlie" roughly twists the
+wrist of the woman. With a sharp shriek, she snatches the dagger
+from her bosom. She draws it over the back of the gambler's hand.
+He howls with pain. Like a flash he tears a knife from his bosom.
+He springs around the table toward the woman. With a loud scream,
+she jumps back toward the wall. She seeks to save herself, casting
+golden showers on the floor, in a rattling avalanche. Before the
+ready hireling desperadoes of the haunt can seize Charlie, the
+affrighted circle scatters. Valois' eye catches, the flash of a
+silver-mounted derringer. Its barking report rings out as "French
+Charlie's" right arm drops to his side. His bowie-knife falls
+ringing on the floor. A despairing curse is heard. The Creole
+gambler snatches, with the other hand, a pistol. He springs like
+a lion on Philip Hardin. One step back Hardin retreats. No word
+comes from his closed lips. The mate of the derringer rings out
+loudly Charlie's death warrant. The gambler crashes to the floor.
+His heart's blood floods the scattered gold. The pistol is yet
+clenched in his stiffened left hand. Valois rushes to Hardin. He
+brushes him aside, and springs to the side of the "Queen of the
+El Dorado." She falls senseless in his arms. In a few moments the
+motley crowd has been hurried from the doors. The great entrances
+are barred. The frightened women dealers seek their dressing-rooms.
+All fear the results of this brawl. Their cheeks are ashy pale under
+paint and powder. The treasures are swiftly swept from the gaming
+tables by the nimble-witted croupiers. Hardin and Valois are left
+with the unconscious fallen beauty. A couple of the lately organized
+city police enter and take charge. Even the blood stained gold is
+gathered from the floor. Light after light is turned out. The main
+hall has at last no tenants but the night watchman and the police,
+waiting by the dead gambler. He lies prone on the floor, awaiting
+his last judge, the city coroner. This genial official is sought
+from his cards and cups, to certify the causes of death of the
+outcast of society. A self-demonstrating problem. The gaping wound
+tells its story.
+
+Valois is speechless and stunned with the quickness of the deadly
+quarrel. He gloomily watches Hardin supporting the fainting woman.
+Slowly her eyes unclose. They meet Hardin's in one long, steadfast,
+inscrutable glance. She shudders and says, "Take me away." She
+covers her siren face with her jewelled hands, to avoid the sight
+of the waxy features and stiffening form of the thing lying there.
+Ten minutes ago it was the embodiment of wildest human passion and
+tiger-like activity. Vale, "French Charlie."
+
+Hardin has quickly sent for several influential friends. On their
+arrival he is permitted to leave, escorted by a policeman. The
+shaken sorceress, whose fatal beauty has thrown two determined
+men against each other in a sudden duel to the death, walks at his
+side. There is a bond of blood sealed between them. It is the mere
+sensation of a night; the talk of an idle day. On the next evening
+the "El Dorado" is thronged with a great multitude. It is eager
+to gaze on the wondrous woman's face, for which "French Charlie"
+died. Their quest is vain. Another daughter of the Paphian divinity
+presides at the shrine of rouge et noir. The blood-stains are
+effaced from the floor. A fresh red mound in the city cemetery
+is the only relic of French Charlie. Philip Hardin, released upon
+heavy bail, awaits a farcical investigation. After a few days he
+bears no legal burden of this crime. Only the easy load upon his
+conscience. Although the mark of Cain sets up a barrier between
+him and his fellows, and the murder calls for the vengeance of God,
+Philip Hardin goes his way with unclouded brow. His eyes have a
+strange new light in them.
+
+The "Queen of the El Dorado" sits no more at the wheel of fortune.
+Day succeeds to day. Nightly expectation is balked. Her absent
+charms are magnified in description. The memory of the graceful,
+dazzling Hortense Duval fades from the men who struggle around the
+gaming boards of the great "El Dorado." She never shows her charming
+face again in the hall.
+
+The secret of the disappearance of this mysterious sovereign of
+chance is known to but few. It is merely surmised by others. To
+Maxime Valois the bloody occurrence has borne fruits of importance.
+As soon as some business is arranged, the shadowy barrier of this
+tragedy divides the two men. Though slight, it is yet such that
+Valois decides to go to Stockton. The San Joaquin valley offers
+him a field. Land matters give ample scope to his talents. The
+investment in lands can be better arranged from there. The Creole
+is glad to cast his lot in the new community. By sympathy, many
+Southerners crowd in. They gain control of the beautiful prairies
+from which the herds of elk and antelope are disappearing.
+
+Philip Hardin's safety is assured. With no open breach of friendship
+between them, Maxime still feels estranged. He visits the scene
+of his future residence. His belongings follow him. It was an
+intuition following a tacit understanding. Man instinctively shuns
+the murderer.
+
+Maxime never asked of the future of the vanished queen of the El
+Dorado. In his visits to San Francisco he finds that few cross
+Philip Hardin's threshold socially. Even these are never bid to
+come again. Is there a hidden queen in the house on the hill? Rumor
+says so.
+
+Rising in power, Philip Hardin steadily moves forward. He asks no
+favors. He seeks no friends. All unmindful is he of the tattle
+that a veiled lady of elegant appearance sometimes walks under the
+leafy bowers shading his lovely home.
+
+The excitable populace find new food for gossip. There are more
+residences than one in San Francisco, where dreamy luxury is hidden
+within the unromantic wooden boxes called residences.
+
+Fair faces gleam out furtively from these casements. At open doors,
+across whose thresholds no woman of position ever sets a foot,
+wealth stands on guard. Silence seals the portals. The vassals of
+gold wait in velvet slippers. The laws of possession are enforced
+by the dangers of any trespass on these Western harems.
+
+While the queen city of the West rises rapidly it is only a modern
+Babylon on the hills of the bay. The influx augments all classes.
+Every element of present and future usefulness slowly makes headway
+against the current of mere adventure. Natural obstacles yield
+to patient, honest industry. California begins in grains, fruits,
+and all the rich returns of nature, to show that Ceres, Flora, and
+Pomona are a trinity of witching good fairies. They beckon to the
+world to wander hither, and rest under these blue-vaulted balmy
+skies. Near the splendid streams, picturesque ridges, and lovely
+valleys of the new State, health and happiness may be found, even
+peace.
+
+The State capital is located, drawn by the golden magnet, at
+Sacramento. The only conquest left for the dominating Americans, is
+the development of this rich landed domain. Here, where the Padres
+dreamed over their monkish breviaries, where the nomad native
+Californians lived only on the carcasses of their wild herds, the
+richest plains on earth invite the honest hand of the farmer.
+
+The era of frantic dissipation, wildest license, insane speculation,
+and temporary abiding wears away. Bower and blossom, bird and bee,
+begin to adorn the new homes of the Pacific.
+
+Mighty-hearted men, keen of vision, strong of purpose, appear.
+The face of nature is made to change under the resolute attacks
+of inventive man. Roads and bridges, wharves and storehouses,
+telegraph lines, steamer routes, express and stage systems, banks
+and post-offices, courts, churches, marts and halls, all come as
+if at magic call. The school-master is abroad. Public offices and
+records are in working order. Though the fierce hill Indians now
+and then attack the miners, they are driven back toward the great
+citadel of the Sacramento River. The huge mountain ranges on the
+Oregon border are their last fastnesses.
+
+In every community of the growing State, the law is aided by quickly
+executed decrees of vigilance committees. Self-appointed popular
+leaders, crafty politicians, scheming preachers, aspiring editors,
+and ambitious demagogues crop up. They are the mushroom growth of
+the muck-heap of the new civilization.
+
+Hardin gathers up with friendships the rising men of all the counties.
+At the newly formed clubs of the city his regular entertainments
+are a nucleus of a socio-political organization to advance the
+ambitious lawyer and the cause of the South.
+
+Men say he looks to the Senate, or the Supreme Bench. Maxime Valois,
+rising in power at Stockton, retains the warmest confidence of
+Hardin. He knows the crafty advocate is the arch-priest of Secession.
+Month by month, he is knitting up the web of his dark intrigues.
+He would unite the daring sons of the South in one great secret
+organization, ready to strike when the hour of destiny is at
+hand. It comes nearer, day by day. Here, in this secret cause of
+the South, Valois' heart and soul go out to Hardin. He feels the
+South was juggled out of California. Both he and his Mephisto are
+gazing greedily on the wonderful development of the coast. Even
+adjoining Arizona and New Mexico begin to fill up. The conspirators
+know the South is handicapped in the irrepressible conflict unless
+some diversion is made in the West. They must secure for the
+states of the Southern Republic their aliquot share of the varied
+treasures of the West. The rich spoil of an unholy war.
+
+Far-seeing and wise is the pupil of Calhoun and Slidell. He is the
+coadjutor of the subtle Gwin. Hardin feeds the flame of Maxime
+Valois' ardor. The business friendship of the men continues unabated.
+They need each other. With rare delicacy, Valois never refers to
+the blood-bought "beauty of the El Dorado." Her graceful form never
+throws its shadow over the threshold of the luxurious home of the
+lawyer. On rare visits to the residence of his friend, Valois'
+quick eye notes the evidence of a reigning divinity. A piano and
+a guitar, a scarf here, a few womanly treasures there, are indications
+of a "manage a deux." They prove to Maxime that the Egeria of this
+intellectual king lingers near her victim. He is still under her
+mystic spell. Breasting the tide of litigation in the United States
+and State courts, popular and ardent, the Louisianian thrives. He
+rises into independent manhood. He is toasted in Sacramento, where
+in legislative halls his fiery eloquence distinguishes him. He is
+the king of the San Joaquin valley.
+
+Preserving his friendship with the clergy, still warmly allied
+to Padre Francisco, Maxime Valois gradually gains an unquestioned
+leadership. His friends at New Orleans are proud of this young
+pilgrim from "Belle Etoile." Judge Valois hopes that the coming
+man will return to Louisiana in search of some bright daughter of
+that sunny land, a goddess to share the honors of the younger branch
+of the old Valois family. Rosy dreams!
+
+Maxima, satisfied, yet not happy, sees a great commonwealth grow
+up around him. Looking under the tides of the political struggles,
+he can feel the undertow of the future. It seems to drag him back
+to the old Southern land of his birth, "Home to Dixie."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+JOAQUIN, THE MOUNTAIN ROBBER.--THE DON'S PERIL.
+
+
+
+
+
+The leaders of the San Joaquin meet at the office of Counsellor
+Maxime Valois. He is the rising political chief. While multitudes
+yet delve for gold, Valois wisely heads those who see that the
+miners are merely nomadic. They are all adventurers. The great men
+of the coast will be those who control its broad lands, and create
+ways of communication. The men who develop manufactures, start
+commercial enterprises, and the farmers, will develop resources
+of this virgin State. The thousand vocations of civilization are
+building up a solid fabric for future generations.
+
+True, the poet, the story-writer, and the careless stranger will be
+fascinated by the heroes of camp and glen. High-booted, red-shirted,
+revolver-carrying, bearded argonauts are they, braving all hardships,
+enjoying sudden wealth, and leading romantic lives. Stories of camp
+and cabin, with brief Monte-Cristo appearances at San Francisco,
+are the popular rage. These rough heroes are led captive, even
+as Samson was betrayed by Delilah. The discovery of quartz mining
+leads Valois to believe that an American science of geologic mining
+will be a great help in the future. Years of failure and effort,
+great experience, with associated capital, will be needed for
+exploring the deep quartz veins. Their mysterious origin baffles
+the scientist.
+
+Long after the individual argonauts have laid their weary brows
+upon the drifted pine needles in the deep eternal sleep of Death,
+the problem will be solved. When their lonely graves are landmarks
+of the Sierras; when the ephemeral tent towns have been folded up
+forever, the broad lands of California will support great communities.
+To them, these early days will be as unreal as the misty wreaths
+clinging around the Sierras.
+
+The romance of the Gilded Age! Each decade throws a deeper mantle
+of the shadowy past over the struggles of fresh hearts that failed
+in the mad race for gold.
+
+Their lives become, day by day, a mere disjointed mass of paltry
+incident. Their careers point no moral, even if they adorn the
+future tale. The type of the argonaut itself begins to disappear.
+Those who returned freighted with gold to their foreign homes are
+rich, and leading other lives far away. Those who diverted their
+new-found wealth into industries are prospering. They will leave
+histories and stable monuments of their life-work. But the great
+band of placer hunters have wandered into the distant territories
+of the great West. They leave their bones scattered, under the
+Indian's attack, or die on distant quests. They drop into the stream
+of unknown fate. No moral purpose attended their arrival. No high
+aim directed their labors. As silently as they came, the rope of
+sand has sifted away. Their influence is absolutely nothing upon the
+future social life of California. Even later Californian society
+owes nothing of its feverish strangeness to these gold hunters.
+They toiled in their historic quest. The prosaic results of the
+polyglot settlement of the new State are not of their direction.
+
+The bizarre Western character is due to an admixture of ill-assorted
+elements. Not to gold itself or the lust of gold. The personal
+history of the gold hunters is almost valueless. No hallowed memory
+clings to the miner's grave. No blessing such as hovers over the
+soldier, dead under his country's banner.
+
+The early miners fell by the way, while grubbing for gold. Their
+ends were only selfish gain. Their gold was a minister of vilest
+pleasures. A fool's title to temporary importance.
+
+Among them were many of high powers and great capacity, worthy of
+deeds of derring-do, yet it cannot be denied that the narrowest
+impulses of human action drove the impetuous explorers over the
+high Sierras. Gain alone buried them in the dim canons of the Yuba
+and American. The sturdy citizens pouring in with their families,
+seeking homes; those who laid the enduring foundations of the social
+fabric, the laws and enterprises of necessity, pith, and moment,
+are the real fathers of the great Golden State. In the rapidity of
+settlement, all the manifold labors of civilization began together.
+Laus Deo! There were hands, brains, and hearts for those trying
+hours of the sudden acquisition of this royal domain.
+
+The thoughtful scholar Nevins, throwing open the first public
+school-room to a little nursery-like brood, planted the seeds of
+a future harvest, far richer than the output of the river treasuries.
+
+A farmer's wife toiling over the long plains, caring for two
+beehives, mindful of the future, introduced a future wealth, kinder
+in prophetic thought, than he who blindly stumbled on a bonanza.
+
+Humble farmer, honest head of family, intelligent teacher, useful
+artisan, wise doctor, and skilled mechanic, these were the real
+fathers of the State.
+
+The sailor, the mechanic, and the good pioneer women, these are
+the heroes and heroines gratefully remembered now. They regulated
+civilization; they stood together against the gold-maddened floating
+miners; they fought the vicious camp-followers.
+
+Maxime Valois, learned in the civil law of his native State, speaking
+French and Spanish, soon plunged in the vexatious land litigation
+of his generation. Mere casual occupancy gave little color of title
+to the commoner Mexicans. Now, the great grant owners are, one by
+one, cited into court to prove their holdings; many are forced in
+by aggressive squatters.
+
+While gold still pours out of the mines, and the young State feels
+a throbbing life everywhere, the native Californians are sorely
+pressed between the land-getting and the mining classes. Wild herds
+no longer furnish them free meat at will. The mustangs are driven
+away from their haunts. Growing poverty cuts off ranch hospitality.
+Without courage to labor, the poorer Mexicans, contemptuously
+called Greasers, go to the extremes of passive suffering. All the
+occupations of the vaqueros are gone. These desperate Greasers are
+driven to horse-stealing and robbery.
+
+Expert with lasso, knife, and revolver, they know every trail.
+These bandits mount themselves at will from herds of the new-comers.
+
+The regions of the north, the forests of the Sierras, and the
+lonely southern valleys give them safe lurking-places. Wherever
+they reach a ranch of their people, they are protected; the pursuers
+are baffled; they are misled by the sly hangers-on of these gloomy
+adobe houses.
+
+In San Joaquin, the brigands hold high carnival; they sally out on
+wild rides across the upper Sacramento. The mining regions are in
+terror. Herds of stolen horses are driven by the Livermore Pass to
+the south. Cattle and sheep are divided; they are used for food.
+Sometimes the brands are skilfully altered by addition or counterfeit.
+
+Suspicious Mexicans are soon in danger. Short shrift is given to
+the horse-thief. The State authorities are powerless in face of
+the duplicity of these native residents. They feel they have been
+enslaved by the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. The roads became
+unsafe. Travellers are subject to a sudden volley from ambush.
+The fatal lasso is one trick; the midnight stab, when lodging in
+Mexican wayside houses, is another. There is no longer safety save
+in the large towns. From San Diego to Shasta, a chain of criminals
+leaves a record of bloody deeds. There are broader reasons than the
+mere friction of races. The native Californians are rudely treated
+in the new courts; their personal rights are invaded; their homes
+are not secure; their women are made the prey of infamous attack.
+
+A deadly feud now rises between the Mexicans and Americans. These
+brutal encroachments of the new governing race bring reprisals in
+chance duels and secret crimes. This organized robbery is a return
+blow. The Americans are forced to travel in posses. They reinforce
+their sheriffs. They establish armed messengers. In town and county
+they execute suspects by a lively applied Lynch law.
+
+All that is needed to create a general race-war is a determined
+leader.
+
+As months roll on, the record of violence becomes alarming. Small
+stations are attacked, many desperate fights occur. Dead men are
+weltering in their blood, on all the trails. A scheming intelligence
+seems now to direct the bandits. Pity was never in the Mexican
+heart. But now unarmed men are butchered while praying for mercy.
+Their bodies are wantonly gashed. Droves of poor, plodding, unarmed
+Chinese miners are found lying dead like sheep in rows. Every
+trail and road is unsafe. Different bodies of robbers, from five
+to twenty, operate at the same time. There is no telegraph here
+as yet, to warn the helpless settlers. The following of treasure
+trains shows that spies are aiding the bandits.
+
+The leading men of the new State find this scourge unbearable.
+Lands are untenanted, cattle and herds are a prey to the robbers.
+Private and public reward has failed to check this evil. Sheriff's
+posses and occasional lynching parties shoot and hang. Still the
+evil grows. It is an insult to American courage. As 1852 is ushered
+in, there are nearly two hundred and fifty thousand dwellers in the
+new State. Still the reign of terror continues. One curious fact
+appears. All of the bandits chased south toward Monterey or Los
+Angeles are finally driven to bay, killed, or scattered as fugitives.
+In the middle regions, the organization of the Mexican murderers
+seems to be aided by powerful friends. They evidently furnish news,
+supplies, and give concealment to these modern butchers. They are
+only equalled by the old cutthroats of the Spanish main.
+
+A meeting of citizens is called at Stockton. It is privately held,
+for fear of betrayal. Maxime Valois is, as usual, in the van. His
+knowledge of the country and his renown as a member of Fremont's
+party fit him to lead. A secret organization is perfected. The
+sheriff of the county is made head of it. He can use the power
+of posse and his regular force. The plundered merchants agree to
+furnish money as needed. Maxime Valois is needed as the directing
+brain. In study over news and maps, the result proves that the
+coast and south are only used for the sale of stock or for refuge.
+
+The extreme north of the State shows no prey, save the starving
+Klamath Indians. It is true the robbers never have cursed the
+upper mountains. Their control sweeps from Shasta to Sonoma, from
+Marysville and Nevada as far as the gates of Sacramento, and down
+to the Livermore Pass. Mariposa groans under their attacks.
+
+Valois concludes this bloody warfare is a logical result of the
+unnecessary conquest of California. To lose their nationality is
+galling. To see Mexico, which abandoned California, get $15,000,000
+in compensation for the birthright of the Dons is maddening. It
+irritates the suspicious native blood. To be ground down daily,
+causes continual bickering. Ranch after ranch falls away under
+usury or unjust decisions. In this ably planned brigandage, Valois
+discerns some young resentful Californian of good family has assisted.
+The terrific brutality points also to a relentless daring nature,
+aroused by some special wrong.
+
+Valois muses at night in his lonely office. His ready revolvers are
+at hand. Even here in Stockton a Mexican, friendly to the authorities,
+has been filled with bullets by a horseman. The assailant was swathed
+to his head in his scrape. He dashed away like the wind. There is
+danger everywhere.
+
+The young lawyer pictures this, the daring bravo--hero by nature--made
+a butcher and a fiend by goading sorrows. It must be some one who
+knows the Americans, who has travelled the interior, and has personal
+wrongs to avenge.
+
+These dark riders strike both innocent and guilty. They kill without
+reason, and destroy in mere wantonness. The band has never been
+met in its full muster. The general operations are always the same.
+It seems to Valois that there are two burning questions:
+
+First--Who is the leader?
+
+Second--Where is the hiding-place or stronghold?
+
+To paralyze the band, this master intelligence must be neutralized
+by death. To finish the work, that stronghold must be found or
+destroyed.
+
+There is as yet no concurrent voice as to their leader. Maxime
+Valois is positive, however, that the stronghold is not far from
+the slopes of Mariposa. The deadly riders seem to disappear,
+when driven towards Stockton. They afterwards turn up, as if sure
+shelter was near.
+
+But who will hound this fiend to his lair? Valois sends for the
+sheriff. They decide to organize a picked corps of men. They will
+ride the roads, with leaders selected from veteran Indian fighters.
+Others are old soldiers of the Mexican war. The heaviest rewards
+are offered, to stimulate the capture of the bandit chiefs. Valois
+knows, though, that money will never cause a Mexican to betray any
+countryman to the Americans. A woman's indiscretion, yes, a jealous
+sweetheart's bitter hatred might lead to gaining the bandit chief's
+identity. But gold. Never! The Mexicans never needed it, save to
+gamble. Judas is their national scapegoat.
+
+The sheriff has collated every story of attack. Valois draws out
+the personality of the leading actor in this revelry of death. A
+superb horseman, of medium size, who handles his American dragoon
+revolvers with lightning rapidity. A young man in a yellow,
+black-striped scrape. He is always superbly mounted. He has curling
+blackest hair. Two dark eyes, burning under bushy brows, are the
+principal features. This man has either led the murderers or been
+present at the fiercest attacks. In many pistol duels, he has
+killed some poor devil in plain sight of his comrades.
+
+Valois decides to search all towns where Spanish women abound,
+for such a romantic figure. This bandit must need supplies and
+ammunition. He must visit women, the fandango, and the attractions
+of monte. He must have friends to give him news of treasure movements.
+Valois watches secretly the Spanish quarters of all the mountain
+towns and the great ranchos.
+
+The Louisianian knows that every gambling-shop and dance-house is
+a centre of spies and marauders. The throngs of unnoticed Mexicans,
+in a land where every traveller is an armed horseman, enable these
+robber fiends to mingle with the innocent. The common language,
+hatred of the Americans, the hospitality to criminals of their
+blood, and the admiration of the sullen natives for these bravos,
+prevent any dependence on the Mexican population.
+
+The pursuers have often failed because of lack of supplies, and
+worn-out steeds. The villains are secretly refitted by those who
+harbor them. An hour suffices to drive up the "caballada," and
+remount the bandits at any friendly interior ranch.
+
+Obstinate silence is all the roadside dwellers' return to questions.
+
+Valois cons over the bloody record of the last two years. The
+desperate crimes begin with Andres Armijo and Tomas Maria Carrillo.
+They were unyielding ex-soldiers. Both of these have been run to
+earth. Salamon Pico, an independent bandit, of native blood, follows
+the same general career. John Irving, a renegade American, has
+held the southern part of the State. With his followers, he murdered
+General Bean and others. He was only an outcast foreigner.
+
+Maxime Valois knows that Irving and his band have been butchered
+by savage Indians near the Colorado. Yet none of these have killed
+for mere lust of blood. This mysterious chieftain who murders for
+personal vengeance, is soon known to the determined Louisianian.
+In the long trail of tiger-like assassinations, the robber is
+disclosed by his unequalled thirst for blood.
+
+"Joaquin Murieta, Joaquin the Mountain Robber, Joaquin the Yellow
+Tiger." He flashes out from the dark shades of night, or the depths
+of chaparral and forest. His insane butchery proves Valois to be
+correct.
+
+Dashing through camps, lurking around towns, appearing in distant
+localities, he robs stages, plunders stations, and personally
+murders innocent travellers. Express riders are ambushed. The word
+"Joaquin," scrawled on a monte card, and pinned to the dead man's
+breast, often tells the tale. Lonely men are found on the trails with
+the fatal bullet-hole in the back of the head, shot in surprise.
+Sometimes he appears with followers, often alone. Now openly daring
+individual conflict, then slinking at night and in silence. Sneak,
+bravo, and tiger. He is a Turpin in horsemanship. A fiend in his
+thirst for blood. A charmed life seems his. On magnificent steeds,
+he rides down the fleeing traveller. He coolly murders the exhausted
+"Gringo," taunting his hated race with cowardice. Sweeping from
+north to south, five hundred miles, this yellow-clad fiend always
+keeps the Sacramento or San Joaquin between him and the coast. Men
+shudder at the name of Joaquin Murieta.
+
+Valois sees that the robber chief's permanent haunt is somewhere
+in the Sierras. This must be found. The sheriffs of Placer, Nevada,
+Sierra, El Dorado, Tuolumne, Calaveras, and Mariposa counties
+are in the field with posses. Skirmish after skirmish occurs. All
+doubtful men are arrested. Yet the red record continues. Doubling
+on the pursuers, hiding, the bandit whirls from Shasta to Tehama,
+from Oroville to Sacramento, from Marysville to Placerville.
+Stockton, San Andreas, Sonora, and Mariposa are terrorized. Plundered
+pack-trains, murdered men, and robbed wayfarers prove that Joaquin
+Murieta is ever at work. His swoop is unerring. The yellow serape,
+black banded, the dark scowling face, and the battery of four
+revolvers, two on his body, two on his saddle, soon make him known
+to all the State.
+
+The Governor offers five thousand dollars State reward for Joaquin's
+head. County rewards are also published. Valois watches all the
+leading Mexican families. Some wild son or member must be unaccounted
+for. No criminal has yet appeared of good blood, save Tomas Maria
+Carrillo. But he has been dead a year, shot in his tracks by a brave
+man. The bandits hover around Stockton. The Americans go heavily
+armed, and only travel in large bodies. Public rage reaches its climax,
+when there is found pinned on the body of a dead deputy-sheriff a
+printed proclamation of the Governor of $5,000 for Joaquin's head.
+
+Under the printed words is the scrawl:
+
+"I myself will give ten thousand.
+
+"JOAQUIN."
+
+The passions of the Americans break loose. Innocent Mexicans are
+shot and hanged; all stragglers driven out.
+
+The San Joaquin valley becomes a theatre of continued conflict.
+
+"Claudio," another dark chief, ravages the Salinas. He is the
+robber king of the coast. The officers find a union between the
+coast and inland bandits. Now the manly settlers of the San Joaquin
+rise in wrath. Texan rangers, old veterans, heroes of Comanche and
+Sioux battles, all swear to hunt Joaquin Murieta to death.
+
+Maxime Valois takes the saddle. He posts strong forces in the defiles
+opening to the coast. A secret messenger leaves for Monterey. A
+vigorous attack on the coast bandits drives them toward the inland
+passes.
+
+"Claudio" and his followers are killed, after a bitter hand-to-hand
+duel. One or two are hanged. Sheriff Cocks is the hero of the
+coast. Maxime Valois calls his ablest men together.
+
+Dividing the main forces into several bodies, a leader is selected
+for each squad. Scouts are thrown out. They report daily to the
+heads of divisions. The moving forces are ready to close in and
+envelop their hated enemy.
+
+Learning of the death of "Claudio," and that a strong body of
+Southern settlers is also in the field, Maxime Valois feels the
+band of Joaquin is cut off in the square between Placerville and
+Sonora, Stockton and the Sierras. It is agreed that the fortunate
+division striking the robbers, shall follow the warm trail to the
+last man and horse. Reinforcements will push after them.
+
+The sheriff has charge of one, Maxime Valois of another, Captain
+Harry Love, a swarthy long-haired Texan ranger, of the third. Love's
+magnificent horsemanship, his dark features, drooping mustache and
+general appearance, might class him as a Spaniard. Blackened with
+the burning sun of the plains, the deserts, and tropic Mexico, his
+cavalier locks sweep to his shoulders. The heavy Kentucky rifle,
+always carried across his saddle, proves him the typical frontiersman
+and ranger. He is a dead shot. Many a Comanche and guerilla have
+fallen under the unerring aim of Harry Love. His agile frame,
+quickness with the revolver, and nerve with the bowie-knife, have
+made him equally feared at close quarters.
+
+In the dark hours of a spring morning of 1854, the main command
+breaks into its three divisions. The sheriff covers the lines
+towards the north and San Andreas. Maxime skirts the Sierras. Harry
+Love, marching silently and at night, hiding his command by day,
+marches towards Sonora. He sweeps around and rejoins Valois' main
+body. The net is spread.
+
+Scouts are distributed over this region. The mad wolf of the Sierras
+is at last to be hunted to his lair.
+
+The unknown retreat must be in the Sierras. He determines to throw
+his own command over the valley towards the unvisited Lagunitas
+rancho. Padre Francisco will be there, a good adviser. Valois,
+the rich and successful lawyer, is another man from the penniless
+prisoner of seven years before. Knowing the hatred of Don Miguel
+for the Americans, he has never revisited the place. Still he
+would like to meet the beloved padre again. He will not uselessly
+enrage the gloomy lord of Lagunitas. Don Miguel is a hermit now.
+
+Three days' march, skilfully concealed, brings him to the notched
+pass, where Lagunitas lies under its sentinel mountains.
+
+Brooding over the past, thinking of the great untravelled regions
+behind the grant, stories from the early life of Don Miguel haunt
+the sleepless hours of the anxious young Southern leader. He lies
+under the stars, wrapped in his blankets. Lagunitas, once more!
+
+Up before day, filing through light forest and down the passes of
+the foothills, the command threads its way. Valois calls his leading
+subordinates together. He arranges the visit to the ranch. He
+sends a squad of five to ride down the roads a few miles, and meet
+any scouts or vedettes of the other Southern party. Valois directs
+his men where to rejoin him. He points out, a few miles ahead, a
+rocky cliff, behind which the rolling hills around Lagunitas offer
+several hidden approaches to the rancho. Cautiously leading his men,
+to avoid a general alarm, he skirts the woods. The party rides in
+Indian file, to leave a light trail only.
+
+Before the frowning cliff is neared, Valois' keen eye sees his
+scouts straggling back. They are galloping at rapid speed, making
+for the cliff. The whole command, with smoking steeds, soon joins
+the scouts. With them are two of Love's outriders. The bandits
+are near at hand. For the scouts, riding up all night from Love's
+body, have taken the main road. Within ten miles they find several
+dead men--the ghastly handiwork of Joaquin. Their breathless report
+is soon over. Detaching ten fresh men, with one of the news-bearers,
+to join Love and bring him up post-haste, Maxime Valois orders every
+man to prepare his girths and arms for action. Guided by the other
+scouts, the whole command pricks briskly over to the concealment
+of a rolling valley. There is but one ridge between it, now, and
+Lagunitas.
+
+Maxime calls up his aids. He gives them his rapid directions. Only
+the previous knowledge of the ex-pathfinder enabled him to throw
+his men behind the sheltering ridge, unseen from the old Don's
+headquarters.
+
+In case of meeting any robbers, the subordinates are to seize and
+hold the ranch with ten determined men. He throws the rest out in
+a strong line, to sweep east and south, till Love's column is met.
+Winding into the glen, Valois takes five men and mounts the ridge.
+
+He now skilfully nears the crest of the ridge. The main command
+is moving slowly, a few hundred yards below. With the skill of
+the old scout of the plains, he brings his little squad up to the
+shoulder of the ridge to the south of the rancho. Dismounting,
+Indian-like, he crawls up to the summit, from which the beautiful
+panorama of glittering Lagunitas lies before him. By his side is
+a tried friend. A life and death supporter.
+
+Lagunitas again! It is backed by the forest, where swaying pines are
+singing the same old song of seven long years ago. His eye sweeps
+over the scene.
+
+Quick as a flash, Valois springs back to the horses. Two mounted
+cavaliers, followed by a serving man, can be seen smartly loping
+away to the southeast. They are bending towards the region where
+Love's course, the trail of the bandits, and Maxime's march intersect.
+Is it treachery? Some one to warn the robbers!
+
+Not a moment to lose! "Harris," cries Valois to his companion,
+"lead the main command over to that mountain. Be ready to strike
+any moment. Send Hill and ten men to capture the ranch by moving
+over the ridge. Keep every one there. Hold every human inmate.
+I'll cut these men off." Away gallops Harris. Valois leads the
+four over the other spur. They drop down the eastern slope of the
+point. The riders have to pass near. In rapid words he orders them
+to throw themselves quickly, at a dead run, ahead of the travellers.
+He waits till, six or eight hundred yards away, the strange horsemen
+pass the lowest point of the ridge. The first three scouts are now
+well across the line of march of the quick-moving strangers. Then,
+with a word, "Now, boys, remember!" Valois spurs his roan out into
+the open. At a wild gallop he cuts off the retreat of the horsemen.
+
+Ha! one turns. They are discovered. In an instant the wild mustangs
+are racing south. Valois dashes along in pursuit. He has warned his
+men to use no firearms till absolutely necessary. He shouts to his
+two followers to wait till the last. He would capture, not kill,
+these three spies.
+
+Out from the slopes below, the main column, at a brisk trot, cross
+the valley. They are led by the quick-eyed scout, who knows how to
+throw them on the narrowing suspected region. Love's men and the
+band of Joaquin, if here, must soon meet. The three men in advance
+ride up at different points. They have seen pursuer and pursued
+galloping madly towards them. Instantly the man following the first
+rider darts northward, and spurring up a ridge disappears, followed
+by two of the three scouts in advance. The other rider draws up
+and stands his ground with his servant. As Valois and his companions
+ride up, the crack, crack, crack, of heavy dragoon revolvers is wafted
+over the ridge. It is now too late for prudence. The horseman at
+bay has wheeled. Maxime recognizes the old Don.
+
+Miguel Peralta is no man to be bearded in his own lair, unscathed.
+He spurs his horse back towards the ranch. He fires rapidly into
+the three pursuers as he darts by. He is a dangerous foe yet.
+
+Valois feels a sharp pang in his shoulder. He reels in his saddle.
+His revolver lies in the dust. The ringing reports of his body-guard
+peal out as they empty their pistols at fleeing horse and man, The
+servant runs up, thoroughly frightened.
+
+Don Miguel's best horse has made its last leap. It crashes down,
+pinioning the old soldier to the ground. A bullet luckily has
+pierced its brain.
+
+Before the old ranchero can struggle to his feet, his hands are
+twisted behind his back. A couple of turns of a lariat clamp his
+wrists with no fairy band. A cocked pistol pressed against his
+head tells him that the game is up.
+
+Valois drops, half fainting, from his horse, while his men disarm
+and bind the sullen old Mexican. The blood pouring from Valois'
+shoulder calls for immediate bandaging. The two pursuers of the
+other fugitive now ride smartly back.
+
+One lags along, with a torn and shattered jaw. His companion is
+unhurt. He bears across his saddle bow a well-known emblem, the
+yellow and black scrape of Joaquin Murieta. Several ball holes
+prove it might have been his shroud. Valois quickly interrogates
+the two; after a hasty pistol duel, in which the flowing serape
+misled the two practised shots, the fugitive plunged down a steep
+slope, with all the recklessness of a Californian vaquero. It was
+Joaquin!
+
+When the pursuers reached the trail, it was marked by the abandoned
+blanket. A heavy saddle also lay there, cut loose. Joaquin Murieta
+was riding away on the wings of the wind, but unwittingly into the
+jaws of death. Two or three from the main body took up the trail.
+The whole body pushed ahead on the track of the flying bandit--ready
+for fight.
+
+With failing energies, Valois directs the unwounded pursuer to
+rejoin the column. He sends stern orders to Harris, to spare neither
+man nor beast, to follow the trail to the last. Even to the heart
+of the gloomy forests, this great human vampire must be hounded on
+his lonely ride to death.
+
+In the saddle, held up by his men, Maxime Valois toils slowly towards
+Lagunitas. Beside him the wounded scout, pistol in hand, rides as
+a body-guard. In charge of growling old Don Miguel, a man leads
+him, dismounted, by a lariat. His horse and trappings lie on the
+trail, after removing all the arms. He is sullen and silent. His
+servant is a mere human animal. Cautiously approaching, the plaza
+lies below them. In the square, the horses of the captors can be
+seen peacefully grazing. Sentinels are mounted at several places.
+Valois at last reenters the old hacienda, wounded, but in pride,
+as a conqueror.
+
+He is met at the priest's door by Padre Francisco. Don Miguel
+Peralta, the last of the land barons of the San Joaquin, is now
+a prisoner in the sacristy of the church. Time has its revenges.
+The turns of fortune's wheel. Padre Francisco assembles the entire
+population of the home ranch by the clanging of the church bell.
+In a few words he explains the reasons of the occupancy. He orders
+the hired men to remain in the enclosure under the guard of the
+sentinels. He dresses skilfully the wound of Maxime. He patches up
+the face of the wounded scout, whose proudest future boast will be
+that Joaquin Murieta gave him those honorable scars.
+
+Maxime, worn and faint, falls into a fevered sleep. His subordinate
+holds the ranch, with all the force ready for any attack. The
+afternoon wears on. In sleep Valois forgets both the flying bandit
+and his fate. The old Don, his eyes filled with scalding tears,
+rages in his bonds. Pale, frightened Donna Juanita clasps her hands
+in the agony of prayer before the crucifix in the chapel. Beside
+her stands Dolores, now a budding beauty, in radiant womanhood.
+The dark-eyed young girl is mute. Her pathetic glances are as shy
+as a wounded deer's dying gaze. "The dreaded Americanos."
+
+Over the beautiful hills, fanned by the breezes of sunset, the
+softened shadows fall. Twilight brings the hush and rest of early
+evening. The stars mirror themselves in the sparkling bosom of
+Lagunitas.
+
+Watching the wounded leader, Padre Francisco's seamed, thoughtful
+face is very grave. His thin fingers tell the beads of the rosary.
+Prayer after prayer passes his moving lips.
+
+The shadow of sorrow, sin, and shame is on Lagunitas. He fears
+for the future of the family. There has been foul play. There the
+tiger of Sonora has made his lair in the trackless canons and rich
+valleys of the foot-hills. The old Don must have known all.
+
+Prayers for the dead and dying fall on the silence of the night.
+They are roughly broken by the trampling of horses' feet. The priest
+is called out by the sentinel. By the dim light of the stars, he
+sees two score shadowy horsemen. Between their lines, several poor
+wretches are bound and shivering in captivity.
+
+A swarthy figure swings from the saddle. Captain Harry Love springs
+across the threshold. Unmindful of the warning of the priest,
+he rouses Valois. He cries exultantly, "We have him this time,
+squire!" Lying on the portico, tied in the sack, in which it swung
+at the ranger's saddle-horn, is the head of Joaquin Murieta. Valois
+struggles to his feet. Surrounded by the victors, by the light of
+a torch, he gazes on the awful token of victory. As the timid priest
+sees the fearful object, he cries, "Joaquin Carrillo!"
+
+It is indeed he. The disgraced scion of an old and proud line. The
+good priest shudders as Harry Love, leaning on the rifle which sent
+its ball into Joaquin's heart, calmly says, "That thing is worth
+ten thousand dollars to me to-night, Valois!"
+
+Already, swift riders are bringing up the forces of the sheriff. In
+the morning the history is known. The converging columns struck
+the bandits, who scattered. The work of vengeance was quick.
+"Three-fingered Jack," the murderous ancient of the bandit king,
+is killed in the camp. Several fugitives are captured. Several more
+hung. Joaquin Murieta, exhausted in the flight of the morning, his
+horse tired and wounded, drops from the charger, at a snap shot of
+the intrepid ranger, Love. The robber has finished his last ride.
+
+Valois recovers rapidly. He has much to do to stem the resentment
+of the pursuers. The head of Joaquin and the hand of Three-fingered
+Jack are poor, scanty booty. Not as ghastly as the half-dozen
+corpses swinging on Lagunitas' oaks, and ghastly trophies of a
+chase of months. The prisoners are lynched. Far and wide, cowardly
+avengers butcher suspected Mexicans. California breathes freely
+now. Joaquin Murieta Carrillo will weave no more guerilla plots.
+
+The padre and Valois commune with the frightened lady of the
+hacienda. Donna Juanita implores protection. Shy Dolores puts her
+slender hand in his, and begs him to protect her beloved father.
+
+Maxime, in pity for the two women, conceals the history gathered
+from honorable Francois Ribaut. Joaquin played skilfully upon Don
+Miguel's hatred of the Americans. He knew of the lurking places
+behind Lagunitas. From these interior fastnesses, known to Don
+Miguel from early days, Joaquin could move on several short lines.
+He thus appeared as if by magic. With confederates at different
+places, his scattered bands had a rendezvous near Lagunitas.
+His followers mingled with different communities, and were picked
+up here and there on his raids. Special attacks were suggested by
+treasure movements. The murdering was not executed by the general
+banditti, but by Joaquin alone, and one or two of his special
+bravos. Examining the captives, Padre Francisco, by the agency
+of the Church, learned that, a few years before, a lovely Mexican
+girl, to whom Joaquin was bound by a desperate passion, was the
+victim of foul outrage by some wandering American brutes. Her death,
+broken-hearted, caused the desperado to swear her grave should be
+watered with American blood. Pride of race, and a bitter thirst
+for revenge, made Joaquin Murieta what he was,--a human scourge.
+His boyhood, spent roaming over the interior, rendered him matchless
+in local topography.
+
+It was possible to disguise the fact of supplies being drawn from
+Lagunitas. Don Miguel was a great ranchero. As days rolled on,
+the plunder of the bandits was brought to the rancho. Joaquin's
+mutilated body was a prey to the mountain wolf. The ghastly evidences
+of victory were sent to San Francisco, where they remained for
+years, a reminder of bloody reprisal.
+
+Padre Francisco saw with fear the rising indignation against Don
+Miguel. A clamor for his blood arose. Maxime Valois plead for the
+old Commandante. He had really imagined Joaquin's vendetta to be
+a sort of lawful war.
+
+The forces began to leave Lagunitas. Only a strong escort body
+remained. Valois prepares his departure.
+
+In a last interview, with Padre Francisco present, the lawyer warned
+Don Miguel not to leave his hacienda for some time. His life would
+surely be sacrificed to the feelings of the Americans. Thankful
+for their safety, the mother and sweet girl Dolores gratefully bid
+adieu to Maxime. He headed, himself, the last departing band of
+the invaders. The roads were safe to all. No trace of treasures
+of Joaquin was found. Great was the murmuring of the rangers. Were
+these hoards concealed on the rancho? Search availed nothing.
+Valois spurs down the road. Lagunitas! He breathes freer, now that
+the avengers are balked, at Lagunitas. They would even sack the
+rancho. Camping twenty miles away, Maxime dreams of his Southern
+home, as the stars sweep westward.
+
+In the morning, a rough hand rouses him. It is the sentinel.
+
+"Captain, wake up!"
+
+He springs to his feet. "What is it?" he cries.
+
+"Half the men are gone, sir. They have stolen back to hang the old
+Spaniard. They think he has concealed Joaquin's treasures."
+
+Valois rouses several tired friends.
+
+"My horse!" he yells.
+
+As he springs to the saddle, the sentinel tells him a friend
+disclosed the plot. Fear kept him silent till the mutineers stole
+away.
+
+"There are yet two hours to day. Is there time?" Maxime stretches
+out in the gallop of a skilled plainsman. He must save the priest
+and the women at least.
+
+The mutineers will wait till daylight for their swoop. They are
+mad with the thirst for the lost treasures of Joaquin.
+
+On, on, with the swing of the prairie wolf, the young leader
+gallops. He rides down man after man. As he gallops he thinks of
+Senora Juanita, the defenceless priest, the wounded old Commandante,
+and the sweet blossoming beauty of the Sierras, star-eyed young
+Dolores. They must be saved. On, on!
+
+Day points over the hills as Maxime dashes into the unguarded plaza
+of the ranch. There are sounds of shots, yells, and trampling feet.
+He springs from his exhausted steed. The doors of the ranch-house
+give way. He rushes to the entrance, to find the rooms empty.
+In a moment he realizes the facts. He reaches the priest's house.
+Beating on the door, he cries: "Open quick! It is Valois." Springing
+inside he finds Padre Francisco, his eyes lit up with the courage
+of a gallant French gentleman.
+
+"They are all here," he gasps. "Safe?" queries Valois. "Yes." "Thank
+God!" Maxime cries. "Quick! Hurry them into the church. Hold the
+sacristy door."
+
+Maxime's two or three friends have followed him. The doors are
+closed behind them. The heavy adobe walls are shot-proof. The refuge
+of the church is gained none too soon.
+
+The mutineers spread through the padre's house. Pouring in through
+the sacristy passage, they are faced in the gray dawn by Valois,
+his eyes blazing. He holds a dragoon revolver in each hand. He is
+a dead shot. Yet the mutineers are fearless.
+
+"Give up the Greaser robber!" is their mad yell.
+
+"Never!" cries Valois. "He is old and foolish, but he shall not be
+abused. Let him answer to the law."
+
+"Captain," cries one, "we don't want to hurt you, but we are going
+to find Joaquin's plunder."
+
+"The first man who moves over this threshold is a dead man!" cries
+Valois.
+
+No one cares to be first, but they rage wildly. They all gather
+for a rush. Weapons are ominously clicking. As they come on, Padre
+Francisco stands before them, pale and calm in the morning light.
+
+"Kill me first, my friends," he says. His body covers Valois.
+
+The knot of desperate men stand back. They cannot shoot an unarmed
+priest, yet growling murmurs are heard: "Burn them out," "Go
+ahead,"
+
+"Shoot the old Greaser."
+
+A sound of trampling hoofs drowns their cries. The main body
+of the detachment, stung with shame, have galloped back to rescue
+Valois. It is over. The mutineers sullenly retire in a body.
+
+Three hours later the detachment rides off. The rebels have wandered
+away. Guarded by the friends of the wild night-ride, Valois remains
+at Lagunitas.
+
+Under questioning of the padre, whose honorable French blood boils
+at the domain being made a nest of assassins, the Don describes
+Joaquin's lurking-places. With one or two mozos, Valois visits all
+the old camps of the freebooters, within seventy-five miles. He
+leaves his men at Lagunitas for safety. He threads the fastnesses
+of the inviolate forests. They stretch from Shasta to Fresno, the
+great sugar pines and redwoods of California.
+
+The axe of man has not yet attacked them. No machinery, no tearing
+saws are in these early days destroying their noble symmetry. But
+they are doomed. Fires and wanton destruction are yet to come, to
+leave blackened scars over once lovely areas. Man mutilates the
+lovely face of Nature's sweetest sylvan retreats. Down the great
+gorge of the Yosemite, Valois rides past the giant Big Trees of
+Calaveras. He finds no hidden treasures, no buried deposits. The
+camps near Lagunitas disclose only some concealed supplies. No
+arms, valuables, and treasures, torn from the murdered travellers,
+in the two years' red reign of Joaquin, the Mountain Tiger.
+
+Valois concludes that Joaquin divided the gold among his followers.
+He must have used it largely to purchase assistance from his spies,
+scattered through the interior.
+
+The stolen animals were undoubtedly all scattered over the State.
+The weapons, saddlery, and gear, booty of the native horse-thief
+bands, have been sent as far as Chihuahua in Mexico. Valuable
+personal articles were scarce. Few trophies were ever recovered.
+The gold-dust was unrecognizable. Valois reluctantly gives up
+the search. He returns convinced that mere lust of blood directed
+Joaquin Murieta Carrillo.
+
+The bandits under him represented the native discontent. Their
+acts were a protest against the brutal Americans. They were goaded
+on by the loss of all property rights. This harshness drove the
+Indians, decimated, drunken, and diseased, from their patrimonial
+lands. It has effected the final ruin of the native Californians.
+Frontier greed and injustice have done a shameful work.
+
+Maxime Valois blushes for his own nation. He realizes that indigenous
+dwellers must go to the wall in poverty, to their death. They go
+down before the rush of the wolf pack, hunting gold, always gold.
+
+Taking the precaution to leave men to bear to him any messages
+from the padre, Maxime leaves Lagunitas for Stockton. The affairs
+of the community call him home. Property, covered by his investments,
+has been exposed to fire and flood at Sacramento. Sari Francisco
+has been half destroyed by a great conflagration. These calamities
+make thousands penniless.
+
+Before he rides away, old Don Miguel comes to say adieu to his savior,
+once his prisoner. "Senor Americano," he murmurs, "be pleased to
+come to my house." Followed by the padre, Valois enters. There Don
+Miguel bids Donna Juanita and Dolores thank the man who saved his
+life.
+
+"I shall not be here long, Senor Abogado," he says; "I wish you and
+the padre to watch over my wife and child. YOU are a 'caballero'
+and 'buen Cristiano.'"
+
+Padre Francisco has proved that the young leader is a true child
+of the Church.
+
+The finest horse on the rancho is led to the door. It is trapped
+with Don Miguel's state equipment. With a wave of the hand, he
+says:
+
+"Senor, vayase V. con Dios. That horse will never fail you. It is
+the pride of the Lagunitas herds."
+
+Maxime promises to aid in any future juncture. He rides out from
+lonely Lagunitas, near which tradition to-day locates those fabulous
+deposits, the vanished treasures of Joaquin, the mountain robber.
+
+A generation glides away. The riches, long sought for, are never
+found. This blood-stained gold may lie hidden beneath the soil of
+Mariposa, but it is beyond human ken.
+
+There are wild rejoicings at Stockton. Harry Love, splendid in
+gayest trappings, is the hero of the hour. The dead mountain tiger
+was the last leader of resistance to the Americans. The humbled
+Mexicans sink into the condition of wandering helots. The only
+possession left is their unconquerable pride, and the sadness
+which wraps them in a gloomy mantle.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+THE STRANGER'S FOOT AT LAGUNITAS. VALOIS' SPANISH BRIDE.
+
+
+
+
+
+Through the mines runs a paean of rejoicing. The roads are free;
+Joaquin is slain at last. Butcher bravos tire of revenging past
+deeds of blood. They slay the helpless Indians, or assassinate the
+frightened native Californians. This rude revenge element, stirred
+up by Harry Love's exploit, reaches from Klamath to the Colorado.
+Yet the unsettled interior is destined to keep up the sporadic
+banditti of the valleys for years. Every glen offers an easy ambush.
+In the far future only, the telegraph and railway will finally cut
+up the great State into localized areas of civilization.
+
+All the whiskey-drinking and revolver-carrying bravos must be swept
+into obscure graves before crime can cease. It becomes, however,
+occasional only. While bloody hands are ready, the plotting brain
+of Joaquin Murieta never is equalled by any future bandit.
+
+Coming years bring Francisco Garcia, Sebastian Flores, and the "Los
+Manilas" gang, whose seventeen years of bloodshed end finally at
+the gallows of Los Angeles. Varrella and Soto, Tiburcio Vasquez,
+Santos Lotello, Chavez, and their wild Mexican brothers, are all
+destined to die by shot or rope.
+
+"Tom Bell," "Jack Powers," and other American recruits in the army
+of villany, have only changed sides in their crimes. All these
+wretches merit the deaths awaiting them. The last purely international
+element of discord vanishes from the records of crime.
+
+Wandering Americans aptly learn stage-robbing. They are heirs of
+the old riders. The glories of "Black Bart," the lone highwayman
+of eighty stage-robberies, and the "train robbers," are reserved
+for the future. But Black Bart never takes life. He robs only the
+rich.
+
+Valois appreciates that the day has arrived when legal land spoliation
+of the Mexicans will succeed these violent quarrels. Nothing is left
+to steal but their land. That is the object of contention between
+lawyers, speculators, squatters, and the defenceless owners. Their
+domains narrow under mortgage, interest, and legal (?) robbery.
+
+"Vae victis!" The days of confiscation follow the conquest.
+
+Hydraulic mining, quartz processes, and corporate effort succeed
+the earlier mining attempts. Two different forces are now in full
+energy of action.
+
+Hills are swept bodily into the river-beds, in the search for the
+underlying gold. Rivers and meadows are filled up, sand covered,
+and ruined. Forests are thrown down, to rot by wholesale. Tunnels
+are blasted out. The face of nature is gashed with the quest for
+gold. Banded together for destruction, the miners leave no useful
+landmark behind them. All is washed away and sent seaward in the
+choking river-channels.
+
+The home-makers, in peaceful campaigns of seed-time and harvest,
+develop new treasures. Great interests are introduced. The gold of
+field, orchard, and harvest falls into the hands of the industrious
+farmers. These are the men whose only weapons are scythe and
+sickle. They are the real Fathers of the Pacific. Roving over the
+interior, the miners leave a land as nearly ruined as human effort
+can render it. In the wake of these nugget-hunters, future years
+bring those who make the abandoned hills lovely with scattered homes.
+They are now hidden by orchards, vineyards, and gardens. Peaceful
+flocks and herds prove that the Golden Age of California is not to
+be these wild days of the barbaric Forty-niner.
+
+Maxime Valois sees the land sweeping in unrivalled beauty to the
+Colorado. Free to the snowy peaks of the Sacramento, the rich plains
+roll. He knows that there will be here yet,
+
+"Scattered cities crowning these, Whose far white walls along them
+shine, With fields which promise corn and wine."
+
+He realizes that transient California must yield to stable conditions.
+Some civilized society will succeed the masses as lacking in fibre
+as a rope of sand. Already the days of roving adventure are over.
+There are wanderers, gamblers, fugitives, ex-criminals, and outcasts
+enough within the limits of the new land. Siren and adventuress,
+women of nameless history and gloomy future, yet abound. They
+throng the shabby temporary camps or tent cities. He knows there
+is no self-perpetuation in the mass of men roving in the river
+valleys. Better men must yet rule.
+
+A visit to San Francisco and other large places proves that the
+social and commercial element is supplied from the Northern, Eastern,
+and Middle States. Their professional men will be predominant also.
+
+In the interior, the farmers of the West and the sagacious planters
+of the South control.
+
+As May-day approaches, Valois, at San Francisco in 1853, sees a
+procession of growing children. There, thousands of happy young
+faces of school-children, appear bearing roses in innocent hands.
+
+Philip Hardin gives him the details of the coming struggle of North
+and South. It is a battle for the coast from Arizona to Oregon. Lost
+to England, Russia, and France, lost to the Mormons by stupidity or
+neglect, this West is lost to the South by the defeat of slavery.
+Industrious farmers come, in fairly equal numbers, from the Northern
+and Southern agricultural States. The people of the Atlantic free
+States come with their commerce, capital, and institutions. The
+fiat of Webster, Clay, and Seward has placed the guardian angel
+of freedom at the gates and passes of California. The Southerner
+cannot transfer his human slave capital to the far West. The very
+winds sing freedom's song on the wooded heights of the Sierras.
+
+Philip Hardin sighs, as he drains his glass, "Valois, our people
+have doomed the South to a secondary standing in the Union. This
+fatal blunder in the West ruins us. Benton and Fremont's precipitancy
+thwarted our statesmen. This gold, the votes of these new States,
+the future commerce, the immense resources of the West, all are cast
+in the balance against us. We must work for a Western republic.
+We must wait till we can fight for Southern rights. We will conquer
+these ocean States. We will have this land yet."
+
+The legal Mephisto and his pupil are true to the Southern cause.
+Neither of them can measure the coming forces of Freedom. Rosalie
+Leese, the pioneer white child of California, born in 1838, at Yerba
+Buena, was the first of countless thousands of free-born American
+children. In the unpolluted West the breath of slavery shall never
+blight a single human existence. Old Captain Richardson and Jacob
+Leese, pioneers of the magic city of San Francisco, gaze upon the
+beautiful ranks of smiling school-children, in happy troops. They
+have no regrets, like the knights of slavery, to see their places
+in life filled by free-born young pilgrims of life. All hail the
+native sons and daughters of the Golden West!
+
+But the Southern politicians forge to the front. The majority is
+still with them. They carry local measures. Their hands are only
+tied by the admission of California, as a free State. Too late!
+On the far borders of Missouri, the contest of Freedom and Slavery
+begins. It excites all America. Bleeding Kansas! Hardin explains
+that the circle of prominent Southerners, leading ranchers, Federal
+officials, and officers of the army and navy, are relied on for the
+future. The South has all the courts. It controls the legislature.
+It seeks to cast California's voice against the Union in the event
+of civil war. As a last resort they will swing it off in a separate
+sovereignty--a Lone Star of the West.
+
+"We must control here as we did in Texas, Valois. When the storm
+arises, we will be annexed to the Southern Confederacy."
+
+Even as he spoke, the generation of the War was ripening for the
+sickle of Death. Filled with the sectional glories of the Mexican
+war, Hardin could not doubt the final issue.
+
+"Get land, Valois," he cries. "Localize yourself. When this State
+is thrown open to slavery, you will want your natural position.
+Maxime, you ought to have a thousand field-hands when you are master
+at Lagunitas. You can grow cotton there."
+
+Valois muses. He revolves in his mind the "Southern movement." Is
+it treason? He does not stop to ask. As he journeys to Stockton he
+ponders. Philip Hardin is about to accept a place on the Supreme
+Bench of the State. Not to advance his personal fortunes, but to
+be useful to his beloved South.
+
+While the banks, business houses and factories are controlled
+by Northern men: while the pothouse politicians of Eastern cities
+struggle in ward elections, the South holds all the Federal honors.
+They govern society, dominate in the legislature and in the courts.
+They dictate the general superior intercourses of men. The ardent
+Southrons rule with iron hand. They are as yet only combated by the
+pens of Northern-born editors, and a few fearless souls who rise
+above the meekly bowing men of the free States.
+
+All see the approaching downfall of lawless pleasure and vicious
+license in San Francisco. Slowly the tide of respectable settlement
+rises. It bears away the scum of vice, swept into the Golden Gates
+in the first rush. The vile community of escaped convicts and mad
+adventurers cannot support itself. "The old order changeth, yielding
+slowly to the new."
+
+At the head of all public bodies, the gentleman of the South, quick
+to avenge his personal honor, aims, with formal "code," and ready
+pistol, to dragoon all public sentiment. He is sworn to establish
+the superiority of the cavalier.
+
+The first Mayor of San Francisco, a Congressman elect, gifted
+editor Edward Gilbert, has already fallen in an affair of honor.
+The control of public esteem depends largely on prowess in the
+duelling field. Every politician lives up to the code.
+
+Valois ponders over Hardin's advice. Averse to routine business,
+fond of a country life, he decides to localize himself. His funds
+have increased. His old partner, Joe Woods, is now a man of wealth
+at Sacramento. Maxime has no faith in quartz mines. He has no
+desires to invest in ship, or factory. He ignores commerce. To be
+a planter, a man of mark in the legislature, to revive the glories
+of the Valois family, is the lawyer's wish. While he passes the
+tule-fringed river-banks, fate is leading him back to Lagunitas. He
+has led a lonely life, this brilliant young Creole. In the unrest
+of his blood, under the teachings of Hardin, Valois feels the future
+may bear him away to unfought fields. The grandsons of those who
+fought at New Orleans, may win victories, as wonderful, over the
+enemies of that South, even if these foes are brothers born.
+
+Gliding towards his fate, the puppet of the high gods, Maxime Valois
+may dream of the surrender of Fort Sumter, and of the Southern
+Cross soaring high in victory. Appomattox is far hidden beyond
+battle-clouds of fields yet to come! The long road thither has
+not yet been drenched with the mingled blood of warring brethren.
+Dreams! Idle dreams! Glory! Ambition! Southern rights!
+
+At Stockton, Valois receives tidings from Padre Francisco. Clouds
+are settling down on Lagunitas. Squatters arc taking advantage of
+the defenceless old Mexican. If the Don would save his broad acres,
+he must appear in the law-courts of the conquerors.
+
+Alas! the good old days are gone, when the whole State of California
+boasted not a single lawyer. These are new conditions. The train
+of loyal retainers will never sweep again out of the gates of
+Lagunitas, headed by the martial Commandante, in all the bravery
+of rank and office. It is the newer day of gain and greed.
+
+Prospecting miners swarm over Mariposa. The butterflies are driven
+from rocky knoll and fragrant bower by powder blasts. The woods
+fall under the ringing axe of the squatter. Ignorant of new laws
+and strange language; strong only in his rights; weak in years,
+devoid of friends, Don Miguel's hope is the sage counsel of Padre
+Francisco. The latter trusts to Valois' legal skill.
+
+As adviser, Valois repairs to Lagunitas. Old patents, papers heavy
+with antique seal and black with stately Spanish flourish, are conned
+over. Lines are examined, witnesses probed, defensive measures
+taken.
+
+Maxime sits; catechizes the Don, the anxious Donna Juanita, and
+the padre. Wandering by the shores of Lagunitas, Valois notes the
+lovely reflection of the sweet-faced Dolores in the crystal waters.
+The girl is fair and modest. Francois Ribaut often wonders if the
+young man sees the rare beauty of the Spanish maiden. If it would
+come to pass!
+
+Over his beads, the padre murmurs, "It may be well. All well in
+time."
+
+The cause drags on slowly. After months, the famous case of the
+Lagunitas rancho is fought and won.
+
+But before its last coil has dragged out of the halls of justice,
+harassed and broken in spirit, Don Miguel closes his eyes upon the
+ruin of his race. Born to sorrow, Donna Juanita is a mere shade
+of womanly sorrow. She is not without comfort, for the last of the
+Peraltas has placed his child's hand in that of Maxime Valois and
+whispered his blessing.
+
+"You will be good to my little Dolores, amigo mio," murmurs the old
+man. He loves the man whose lance has been couched in his behalf.
+The man who saved his life and lands.
+
+Padre Francisco is overjoyed. He noted the drawing near of the young
+hearts. A grateful flash, lighting the shining eyes of Dolores, told
+the story to Maxime. His defence of her father, his championship
+of the family cause, his graceful demeanor fill sweet Dolores' idea
+of the perfect "caballero."
+
+The priest with bell, book, and candle, gives all the honors of
+the Church to the last lord of Lagunitas. Hard by the chapel, the
+old ranchero rests surrounded by the sighing forest. It is singing
+the same unvarying song, breathing incense from the altars of nature
+over the stout soldier's tomb.
+
+He has fought the fight of his race in vain. When the roses' leaves
+drift a second time on the velvet turf, Maxime Valois receives
+the hand of Dolores from her mother. The union is blessed by the
+invocation of his priestly friend. It is a simple wedding. Bride
+and groom are all in all to each other. There are none of the
+Valois, and not a Peralta to join in merrymaking.
+
+Padre Francisco and Donna Juanita are happy in the knowledge that the
+shy bird of the mountains is mated with the falcon-eyed Creole. He
+can defend the lordly heritage of Lagunitas. So, in the rosy summer
+time, the foot of the stranger passes as master over the threshold
+of the Don's home. The superb domain passes under the dominion
+of the American. One by one the old holdings of the Californian
+families pass away. The last of the Dons, sleeping in the silence
+of the tomb, are spared the bitterness of seeing their quaint
+race die out. The foreigner is ruling within their gates. Their
+unfortunate, scattered, and doomed children perish in the attrition
+of a newer civilization.
+
+Narrow-minded, but hospitable; stately and loyal; indifferent to
+the future, suspicious of foreigners, they are utterly unable to
+appreciate progress. They are powerless to develop or guard their
+domains. Abandoned by Mexico, preyed on by squatters, these courtly
+old rancheros are now a memory of the past.
+
+This wedding brings life to Lagunitas. The new suzerain organizes a
+working force. It is the transition period of California. Hundreds
+of thousands of acres only wait for the magic artesian well to
+smile in plenty. Valois gathers up the reins. Only a few pensioners
+remain. The nomadic cavalry of the natives has disappeared. The
+suggestion of "work" sets them "en route." They drift towards the
+Mexican border. The flocks and herds are guarded by corps of white
+attendants. The farm succeeds the ranch.
+
+Maxime Valois gives his wife her first sight of the Queen City.
+The formalities of receiving the "patent" call him to San Francisco.
+
+Padre Francisco remains with Donna Juanita. The new rule is
+represented by "Kaintuck," an energetic frontiersman, whose vast
+experience in occasional warfare and frequent homicide is a guarantee
+of finally holding possession. This worthy left all his scruples
+at home in Kentucky, with his proper appellation. He is a veteran
+ranger.
+
+As yet the lands yield no regular harvests. The ten-leagues-square
+tract produces less fruit, garden produce, and edibles, than
+a ten-acre Pennsylvania field in the Wyoming. But the revenue is
+large from the cattle and horses. The cattle are as wild as deer.
+The horses are embodiments of assorted "original sin," and as agile
+as mountain goats. Valois knows, however, the income will be ample
+for general improvements.
+
+His policy matures. He encourages the settlement of Southerners.
+He rents in subdivisions his spare lands.
+
+The Creole, now a landlord, hears the wails of short-sighted men.
+They mourn the green summers, the showery months of the East.
+Moping in idleness, they assert that California will produce neither
+cereal crops, fruits, nor vegetables. Prophets, indeed! The golden
+hills look bare and drear to strangers' eyes. The brown plains
+please not.
+
+In the great realm, apples, potatoes, wheat, corn, the general
+cereals and root crops are supposed to be impossible productions.
+Gold, wild cattle, and wilder mustangs are the returns of El Dorado.
+Cultivation is in its infancy.
+
+The master departs with the dark-eyed bride. She timidly follows
+his every wish. Dolores has the education imparted by gentle Padre
+Francisco. It makes her capable of mentally expanding in the
+experiences of the first journey. The gentle refinement of her
+race completes her charms.
+
+To the bride, the steamer, the sights of the bay, crowded with
+shipping, and the pageantry of the city are dazzling. The luxuries
+of city life are wonders. Relying on her husband, she glides into
+her new position. Childishly pleased at the jewels, ornaments, and
+toilets soon procured in the metropolis, Donna Dolores Valois is
+soon one of Eve's true daughters, arrayed like the lily.
+
+Months roll away. The stimulus of a brighter life develops the girl
+wife into a sweetly radiant woman.
+
+Maxime Valois rejoins Philip Hardin. He is now a judge of the Supreme
+Court. Stormy days are these of 1855 and the spring of 1856.
+
+Deep professional intrigues busy Valois. Padre Francisco and
+"Kaintuck" announce the existence of supposed quartz mines on the
+rancho. Valois will not pause in his occupations to risk explorations.
+
+For the Kansas strife, the warring of sections, and the growing
+bitterness of free and slave State men make daily life a seething
+cauldron. Southern settlers are pouring into the interior. They shun
+the cities. In city and country, squatter wars, over lot and claim,
+excite the community. San Francisco is a hotbed of politicians and
+roughs of the baser sort. While the Southerners generally control
+the Federal and State offices, Hardin feels the weakness in their
+lines has been the journalistic front of their party. Funds are
+raised. Pro-slavery journals spring into life. John Nugent, Pen
+Johnston, and O'Meara write with pens dipped in gall, and the ready
+pistol at hand. Tumult and fracas disgrace bench, bar, legislature,
+and general society. The great wars of Senators Gwin and Broderick
+precede the separation of Northern and Southern Democrats. As
+the summer of 1856 draws on, corruption, violence, and sectional
+hatred bitterly divide all citizens. School and Church, journal
+and law-giver, work for the right. The strain on the community
+increases. While the coast and interior is dotted with cities and
+towns, and the Mint pours out floods of ringing gold coins, there
+is no confidence. Farm and factory, ship and wagon train, new
+streets, extension of the city and material progress show every
+advancement. But a great gulf yawns between the human wave of old
+adventurers, and the home-makers, now sturdily battling for the
+inevitable victory.
+
+The plough is speeding in a thousand furrows everywhere. Cattle
+and flocks are being graded and improved. Far-sighted men look
+to franchise and public association. The day dawns when the giant
+gaming hells, flaunting palaces of sin, and the violent army of
+miscreants must be suppressed.
+
+Everywhere, California shows the local irritation between the
+buccaneers of the first days, and the resolute, respectable citizens.
+The latter are united in this local cause, though soon to divide
+politically on the battle-field.
+
+Driven from their lucrative vices of old, the depraved element, at
+the polls, overawes decency. San Francisco's long wooden wharves,
+its precipitous streets, its crowded haunts of the transient, and
+its flashy places of low amusement harbor a desperate gang. They
+are renegades, deserters, and scum of every seaport--graduates of
+all human villany. Aided by demagogues, the rule of the "Roughs"
+nears its culmination. Fire companies, militia, train bands, and
+the police, are rotten to the core. In this upheaval, affecting
+only the larger towns, the higher classes are powerless.
+
+Cut off, by the great plains, from the central government, the State
+is almost devoid of telegraphs and has but one little railroad. It
+has hostile Indians yet on its borders. The Chinese come swarming
+in like rats. The situation of California is critical.
+
+Personal duels and disgraceful quarrels convulse high life. The
+lower ranks are ruled only by the revolver. The criminal stalks
+boldly, unpunished, in the streets.
+
+The flavor of Americanism is no leaven to this ill-assorted
+population. The exciting presidential campaign, in which Fremont
+leads a new party, excites and divides the better citizens of the
+commonwealth.
+
+Though the hills are now studded with happy homes and the native
+children of the Golden West are rising in promise, all is unrest.
+A local convulsion turns the anger of better elements into the
+revolution of the Vigilance Committee of 1856. James Casey's pistol
+rang out the knell of the "Roughs" when he murdered the fearless
+editor of the leading journal.
+
+Valois, uninterested in this urban struggle, returns to Lagunitas.
+His domain rewards his energy.
+
+All is peace by the diamond lake. Senora Dolores, her tutor, Padre
+Francisco, and the placid Duenna Juanita make up a pleasant home
+circle. It is brightened by luxuries provided by the new lord.
+Maxime Valois' voice is heard through the valleys. He travels in
+support of James Buchanan, the ante-bellum President. For is not John
+C. Breckinridge, the darling son of the South, as vice-president
+also a promise of Southern success?
+
+San Francisco throws off its criminals by a spasmodic effort.
+The gallows tree has borne its ghastly fruit. Fleeing "Roughs" are
+self-expatriated. Others are unceremoniously shipped abroad. The
+Vigilance Committee rules. This threshing out of the chaff gives
+the State a certain dignity. At least, an effort has been made
+to purge the community. All in all, good results--though a Judge
+of the Supreme Court sleeps in a guarded cell as a prisoner of
+self-elected vindicators of the law.
+
+When the excitement of the presidential election subsides, Maxime
+Valois joins the banquets of the Democratic victors. The social
+atmosphere is purer. Progress marks the passing months. The State
+springs forward toward the second decade of its existence. There
+is local calm, while the national councils potter over the Pacific
+railways. Valois knows that the great day of Secession approaches.
+The Sons of the South will soon raise the banner of the Southern
+Cross. He knows the purposes of the cabinet, selected by the
+conspirators who surround Buchanan. Spring sees the great departments
+of the government given over to those who work for the South. They
+will arrange government offices, divide the army, scatter the navy,
+juggle the treasury and prepare for the coming storm. The local
+bitterness heightens into quarrels over spoils. Judge Philip
+Hardin, well-versed in the Secession plots, feeds the ever-burning
+pride of Valois. From Kansas, from court and Congress, from the
+far East, the murmur of the "irrepressible conflict" grows nearer.
+Maxime Valois is in correspondence with the head of his family.
+While at Lagunitas, the Creole pushes on his works of improvement.
+He dreams at night strange dreams of more brilliant successes. Of
+a new flag and the triumph of the beloved cause. He will be called
+as a trusted Southron into the councils of the coast. Will they
+cut it off under the Lone Star flag? This appeals to his ambition.
+
+There are omens everywhere. The Free-State Democrats must be
+suppressed. The South must and shall rule.
+
+He often dreams if war and tumult will ever roll, in flame and fire,
+over the West. The mists of the future veil his eyes. He waits the
+signal from the South. All over California, the wealth of the land
+peeps through its surface gilding. There are no clouds yet upon
+the local future. No burning local questions at issue here, save
+the aversion of the two sections, distrustful of each other.
+
+It needs only the mad attack of John Brown upon Virginia's
+slave-keepers to loose the passions of the dwellers by the Pacific.
+Martyr or murderer, sage or fanatic, Brown struck the blows which
+broke the bonds of the brotherhood of the Revolution. From the year
+1858, the breach becomes too great to bridge. Secretly, Southern
+plans are perfected to control the West. While the conspiracy
+slowly moves on, the haughtiness of private intercourse admits of
+no peaceable reunion. Active correspondence between officials, cool
+calculations of future resources, and the elevation to prominent
+places of men pledged to the South, are the rapid steps of the
+maturing plans. On the threshold of war.
+
+For the senators, representatives, and agents in Washington
+confidentially report that the code of honor is needed to restrain
+the Northerners under personal dragooning. Yankee self-assertion
+comes at last.
+
+Around the real leaders of thought their vassals are ranged. Davis,
+Toombs, Breckinridge, Yancey, Pryor, Wigfall, Wise, and others
+direct. Herbert, Keith, Lamar, Brooks, and a host of cavaliers are
+ready with trigger and cartel. The tone at Washington gives the
+keynote to the Californian agents of the Southern Rights movement.
+There are not enough Potters, Wades, and Landers, as yet. The
+Northern mind needs time to realize the deliberation of Secession.
+
+The great leaders of the free States are dead or in the gloomy
+retirement of age. Webster and Clay are no more. There are yet men
+of might to fight under the banners streaming with the northern
+lights of freedom. Douglas, Bell, Sumner, Seward, and Wade are drawing
+together. Grave-faced Abraham Lincoln moves out of the background
+of Western woods into the sunrise glow of Liberty's brightest day.
+
+On the Pacific coast, restraint has never availed. Here, ancestry
+and rank go for naught. Here, men meet without class pride. The
+struggle is more equal.
+
+California's Senator, David C. Broderick, was the son of an humble
+New York stone-cutter. He grapples with his wily colleague, Senator
+Gwin.
+
+It is hammer against rapier. Richard and Saladin. Beneath the
+banners of the chieftains the free lances of the Pacific range
+themselves. Neither doubts the courage of the opposing forces. The
+blood of the South has already followed William Walker, the gray-eyed
+man of destiny, to Sonora and Nicaragua. They were a splendid
+band of modern buccaneers. Henry A. Crabbe found that the Mexican
+escopetas are deadly in the hands of the maddened inhabitants of
+Arispe. Raousset de Boulbon sees his Southern followers fall under
+machete and revolver in northern Mexico. The Southern filibusters
+are superbly reckless. All are eager to repeat the glories of Texas
+and Mexico. They find that the Spanish races of Central America
+have learned bitter lessons from the loss of Texas. They know of the
+brutal conquest of California. The cry of "Muerte los Americanos!"
+rings from Tucson to Darien. The labors of conquest are harder now
+for the self-elected generalissimos of these robber bands. "Extension
+of territory" is a diplomatic euphemism for organized descents of
+desperate murderers. The wholesome lessons of the slaughter in Sonora,
+the piles of heads at Arispe, and the crowded graves of Rivas and
+Castillo, with the executions in Cuba, prove to the ambitious
+Southrons that they will receive from the Latins a "bloody welcome
+to hospitable graves."
+
+As the days glide into weeks and months, the thirst for blood of
+the martial generation overcrowding the South is manifest. On the
+threshold of grave events the leaders of Southern Rights restrain
+further foreign attempts. The chivalry is now needed at home. Foiled
+in Cuba and Central America, restrained by the general government
+from a new aggressive movement on Mexico, they decide to turn
+their faces to the North. They will carve out a new boundary line
+for slavery.
+
+The natural treasury of the country is an object of especial
+interest. To break away peaceably is hardly possible. But slavery
+needs more ground for the increasing blacks. It must be toward
+the Pacific that the new Confederacy will gain ground. Gold, sea
+frontage, Asiatic trade, forests and fisheries,--all these must
+come to the South. It is the final acquisition of California. It
+was APPARENTLY for the Union, but REALLY for the South, that the
+complacent Polk pounced upon California. He waged a slyly prepared
+war on Mexico for slavery.
+
+As the restraints of courtesy and fairness are thrown off at
+Washington, sectional hostilities sweep over to the Western coast.
+The bitterness becomes intense. Pressing to the front, champions
+of both North and South meet in private encounters. They admit of
+neither evasion nor retreat.
+
+Maxime Valois is ready to shed his blood for the land of the palmetto.
+But he will not degrade himself by low intrigue or vulgar encounter.
+
+He learns without regret of the extinction of the filibusters in
+Sonora, on the Mexican coast, Cuba, and Central America. He knows
+it is mad piracy.
+
+Valois sorrows not when William Walker's blood slakes the stones
+of the plaza at Truxillo. A consummation devoutly to be wished.
+
+It is for the whole South he would battle. It is the glorious half
+of the greatest land on the globe. For HER great rights, under HER
+banner, for State sovereignty he would die. On some worthy field,
+he would lead the dauntless riflemen of Louisiana into the crater
+of death.
+
+THERE, would be the patriot's pride and the soldier's guerdon of
+valor. He would be in the van of such an uprising. He scorns to be
+a petty buccaneer, a butcher of half-armed natives, a rover and
+a robber. In every scene, through the days of 1859, Valois bears
+himself as a cavalier. Personal feud was not his object.
+
+In the prominence of his high position, Valois travels the State.
+He confers with the secret councils at San Francisco. He is ready
+to lead in his regions when needed. The dark cabal of Secession
+sends out trusty secret agents, even as Gillespie and Larkin called
+forth the puppets of Polk, Buchanan and Marcy to action. Valois
+hopes his friends can seize California for the South. Fenced off
+from Oregon and the East by the Sierras, there is the open connection
+with the South by Arizona.
+
+A few regiments of Texan horse can hold this great gold-field for
+the South. Valois deems it impossible for California to be recaptured
+if once won. He knows that Southern agents are ready to stir up
+the great tribes of the plains against the Yankees. The last great
+force, the United States Navy, is to be removed. Philip Hardin
+tells him how the best ships of the navy are being dismantled, or
+ordered away to foreign stations. Great frigates are laid up in
+Southern navy-yards. Ordnance supplies and material are pushed
+toward the Gulf. Appropriations are expended to aid these plans.
+The leaders of the army, now scattered under Southern commanders,
+are ready to turn over to the South the whole available national
+material of war. Never dreaming of aught but success, Valois fears
+only that he may be assigned to Western duties. This will keep him
+from the triumphal marches over the North. He may miss the glories
+of that day when Robert Toombs calls the roll of his blacks at Bunker
+Hill Monument. In the prime of life and vigor of mind, he is rich.
+He has now a tiny girl child, gladdening sweet Senora Dolores. His
+domain blossoms like the rose. Valois has many things to tie him
+to San Joaquin. His princely possessions alone would satisfy any
+man. But he would leave all this to ride with the Southern hosts
+in their great northward march. Dolores sits often lonely now, on
+the porch of the baronial residence which has grown up around the
+Don's old adobe mansion. Her patient mother lies under the roses,
+by the side of Don Miguel.
+
+Padre Francisco, wearied of the mental death in life of these
+lonely hills, has delayed his return to France only by the appeals
+of Maxime Valois. He wants a friend at Lagunitas if he takes the
+field. If he should be called East, who would watch over his wife
+and child? Francois Ribaut, a true Frenchan at heart, looks forward
+to some quiet cloister, where he can see once more the twin towers
+of Notre Dame. The golden dome of the Invalides calls him back. He
+sadly realizes that his life has been uselessly wasted. The Indians
+are either cut off, chased away, or victims of fatal diseases. The
+Mexicans have fallen to low estate. Their numbers are trifling.
+He has no flock. He is only a lonely shepherd. With the Americans
+his gentle words avail nothing. The Catholics of the cities have
+brought a newer Church hierarchy with them. "Home to France," is
+his longing now.
+
+In the interior, quarrels bring about frequent personal encounters
+between political disputants. The Northern sympathizers, stung
+by jeer, and pushed to the wall, take up their weapons and stand
+firm--a new fire in their eyes. The bravos of slavery meet fearless
+adversaries. In the cities, the wave of political bitterness
+drowns all friendly impulses. Every public man takes his life in
+his hand. The wars of Broderick and Gwin, Field and Terry, convulse
+the State. Lashed into imprudence by each other's attacks, David
+C. Broderick and David S. Terry look into each other's pistols.
+They stand face to face in the little valley by Merced Lake.
+Sturdy Colton, and warm-hearted Joe McKibbin, second the fearless
+Broderick. Hayes and the chivalric Calhoun Benham are the aids
+of the lion-hearted Terry. It is a meeting of giants. Resolution
+against deadly nerve. Brave even to rashness, both of them know
+it is the first blood of the fight between South and North. Benham
+does well as, with theatrical flourish, he casts Terry's money on
+the sod. The grass is soon to be stained with the blood of a leader.
+This is no mere money quarrel. It is a duel to the death; a calm
+assertion of the fact that neither in fray, in the forum, nor on
+the battle-field, will the North go back one inch. It is high time.
+
+Broderick, the peer of his superb antagonist, knows that the
+pretext of Terry's challenge is a mere excuse. It is first blood in
+the inevitable struggle for the western coast. With no delay, the
+stout-hearted champions, friends once, stand as foes in conflict.
+David Terry's ball cuts the heart-strings of a man who had been his
+loving political brother. His personal friend once and a gallant
+comrade. Broderick's blood marks the fatal turning-off of the
+Northern Democrats from their Southern brothers. As Terry lowers
+his pistol, looking unpityingly at the fallen giant, he does not
+realize he has cut the cords tying the West to the South. It was
+a fatal deed, this brother's murder. It was the mistake of a life,
+hitherto high in purpose. The implacable Terry would have shuddered
+could he have looked over the veiled mysteries of thirty years
+to come. It was beyond human ken. Even he might have blenched at
+the strange life-path fate would lead him over. Over battle-fields
+where the Southern Cross rises and falls like Mokanna's banner, back
+across deserts, to die under the deadly aim of an obscure minion
+of the government he sought to pull down. After thirty years, David
+S. Terry, judge, general, and champion of the South, was destined
+to die at the feet of his brother-judge, whose pathway inclined
+Northwardly from that ill-starred moment.
+
+Maxime Valois saw in the monster memorial meeting on the plaza,
+that the cause of the South was doomed in the West. While Baker's
+silver voice rises in eulogy over Broderick, the Louisianian sees
+a menace in the stern faces of twenty thousand listeners. The shade
+of the murdered mechanic-senator hovers at their local feast, a
+royal Banquo, shadowy father of political kings yet to be.
+
+The clarion press assail the awful deed. Boldly, the opponents of
+slavery draw out in the community. There is henceforth no room for
+treason on the Western coast. Only covert conspiracy can neutralize
+the popular wave following Broderick's death. Dissension rages until
+the fever of the Lincoln campaign excites the entire community. The
+pony express flying eastward, the rapidly approaching telegraph,
+the southern overland mail with the other line across the plains,
+bring the news of Eastern excitement. Election battles, Southern
+menace, and the tidings of the triumph of Republican principles,
+reach the Pacific. Abraham Lincoln is the elected President.
+
+Valois is heavy-hearted when he learns of the victory of freedom
+at the polls. He would be glad of some broad question on which to
+base the coming war. His brow is grave, as he realizes the South
+must now bring on at moral disadvantage the conflict. The war
+will decide the fate of slavery. Broderick's untimely death and
+the crushing defeat of the elections are bad omens. It is with shame
+he learns of the carefully laid plots to seduce leading officers
+of the army and navy. The South must bribe over officials, and
+locate government property for the use of the conspirators. It
+labors with intrigue and darkness, to prepare for what he feels
+should be a gallant defiance. It should be only a solemn appeal to
+the god of battles.
+
+He sadly arranges his personal affairs, to meet the separations
+of the future. He sits with his lovely, graceful consort, on the
+banks of Lagunitas. He is only waiting the throwing-off of the
+disguise which hides the pirate gun-ports of the cruiser, Southern
+Rights. The hour comes before the roses bloom twice over dead
+Broderick, on the stately slopes of Lone Mountain.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK III
+
+GOING HOME TO DIXIE: STARS AND STRIPES, OR STARS AND BARS?
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+A LITTLE DINNER AT JUDGE HARDIN'S.--THE KNIGHTS OF THE GOLDEN
+CIRCLE.
+
+
+
+
+
+The rain drips drearily around Judge Hardin's spacious residence
+in San Francisco. January, 1861, finds the sheltering trees higher.
+The embowered shade hides to-night an unusual illumination. Winter
+breezes sigh through the trees. Showers of spray fall from acacia
+and vine. As the wet fog drives past, the ship-lights on the bay
+are almost hidden. When darkness brings out sweeping lines of the
+street-lamps, many carriages roll up to the open doors.
+
+A circle of twenty or thirty intimates gathers in the great
+dining-room. At the head of the table, Hardin welcomes the chosen
+representatives of the great Southern conspiracy in the West. His
+residence, rarely thrown open to the public, has grown with the
+rise of his fortunes. Philip Hardin must be first in every attribute
+of a leading judge and publicist. Lights burn late here since the
+great election of 1860. Men who are at the helm of finance, politics,
+and Federal power are visitors. Editors and trusted Southrons drop
+in, by twos and threes, secretly. There is unwonted social activity.
+
+The idle gossips are silent. These visitors are all men, unaccompanied by
+their families. Woman's foot never crosses this threshold. In the
+wings of the mansion, a lovely face is sometimes seen at a window.
+It is a reminder of the stories of that concealed beauty who has
+reigned years in the mansion on the hill.
+
+Is it a marriage impending? Is it some great scheme? Some new
+monetary institution to be launched?
+
+These vain queries remain unanswered. There is a mystic password
+given before joining the feast. Southerners, tried and true, are
+the diners. Maxime Valois sits opposite his associate. It is not
+only a hospitable welcome the Judge extends, but the mystic embrace
+of the Knights of the Golden Circle. In feast and personal enjoyment
+the moments fly by. The table glitters with superb plate. It is
+loaded with richest wines and the dainties of the fruitful West. The
+board rings under emphatic blows of men who toast, with emphasis,
+the "Sunny South." In their flowing cups, old and new friends are
+remembered. There is not one glass raised to the honor of the starry
+flag which yet streams out boldly at the Golden Gate.
+
+The feast is of conspirators who are sworn to drag that flag at
+their horses' heels in triumph. Men nurtured under it.
+
+Judge Hardin gives the signal of departure for the main hall. In
+an hour or so they are joined by others who could not attend the
+feast.
+
+The meeting of the Knights of the Golden Circle proceeds with
+mystic ceremony. The windows, doors, and avenues are guarded. In
+the grounds faithful brothers watch for any sneaking spy. Every man
+is heavily armed. It would be short shrift to the foe who stumbles
+on this meeting of deadly import.
+
+It is the supreme moment to impart the last orders of the Southern
+leaders. The Washington chiefs assign the duties of each, in view
+of the violent rupture which will follow Lincoln's inauguration.
+
+Fifty or sixty in number, these brave and desperate souls are ready
+to cast all in jeopardy. Life, fortune, and fame. They represent
+every city and county of California.
+
+Hardin, high priest of this awful propaganda, opens the business
+of the session with a cool statement of facts. Every man is now
+sworn and under obligation to the work. Hardin's eye kindles as
+he sees these brothers of the Southern Cross. Each of them has a
+dozen friends or subordinates under him. To them these tidings will
+be only divulged under the awful seal of the death penalty. There
+are scores of army and navy officers with high civil officials on
+the coast whose finely drawn scruples will keep them out until the
+first gun is fired, Then these powerful allies, freed by resignation,
+can come in. They are holding places of power and immense importance
+to the last. The Knights are wealthy, powerful, and desperate.
+
+As Valois hears Hardin's address, he appreciates the labor of years,
+in weaving the network which is to hold California, Arizona, and
+New Mexico for the South. Utah and Nevada are untenanted deserts.
+The Mormon regions are neutral and only useful as a geographical
+barrier to Eastern forces. Oregon and Washington are to be ignored.
+There the hardy woodsmen and rugged settlers represent the ingrained
+"freedom worship" of the Northwest. They are farmers and lumbermen.
+All acknowledge it useless to tempt them out of the fold. Oregon's
+star gleams now firmly fixed in the banner of Columbia. And the
+great Sierras fence them off.
+
+The speaker announces that each member of the present circle will
+be authorized, on returning, to organize and extend the circles
+of the Order. Notification of matters of moment will be made by
+qualified members, from circle to circle. Thus, orders will pass
+quickly over the State. The momentous secrets cannot be trusted
+to mail, express, or the local telegraphs.
+
+Hardin calls up member after member, to give their views. The
+general plan is discussed by the circle. Keen-eyed secretaries note
+and arrange opinions and remarks.
+
+Hardin announces that all arrangements are made to use all initiated
+members going East as bearers of despatches. They are available
+for special interviews, with the brothers who are in every large
+Northern city and even in the principal centres of Europe.
+
+Ample funds have been forthcoming from the liberal leaders of the
+local movement. Millions are already promised by the branches at
+the East.
+
+Wild cheers hail Judge Hardin's address. He outlines the policy, so
+artfully laid out, for the cut-off Western contingent. In foaming
+wine, the fearless coterie pledges the South till the rafters
+ring again. The "Bonnie Blue Flag" rings out, as it does in many
+Western households, with "Dixie's" thrilling strains.
+
+The summing up of Hardin is concise: "We are to hold this State
+until we have orders to open hostilities. Our numbers must not
+be reduced by volunteers going East. Our presence will keep the
+Yankee troops from going East. We want the gold of the mines here,
+to sustain our finances. We have as commanding General, Albert
+Sidney Johnston, the ideal soldier of America, who will command
+the Mississippi. Lee, Beauregard, and Joe Johnston will operate in
+the East. The fight will be along the border lines. We will capture
+Washington, and seize New York and Philadelphia. A grand Southern
+army will march from Richmond to Boston. Another from Nashville to
+Cincinnati and Chicago. Johnston will hold on here, until forced to
+resign. Many officers go with him. We shall know of this, and throw
+ourselves on the arsenals and forts here, capturing the stores and
+batteries. The militia and independent companies will come over
+to us at once. With Judge Downey, a Democratic governor, no levies
+will be called out against us. The navy is all away, or in our
+secret control. Once in possession of this State, we will fortify
+the Sierra Nevada passes. We are prepared. Congress has given us
+$600,000 a year to keep up the Southern overland mail route. It
+runs through slave-holding territory to Arizona. Every station and
+relay has been laid out to suit us. We will have trusty friends
+and supplies, clear through Arizona and over the Colorado. At the
+outbreak, we will seize the whole system. It is the shortest and
+safest line."
+
+Hardin, lauding the skilful plans of a complacent Cabinet officer,
+did not know that the Southern idea was to connect Memphis direct
+with Los Angeles.
+
+It was loyal John Butterfield of New York, who artfully bid for a
+DOUBLE service from Memphis and St. Louis, uniting at Fort Smith,
+Arkansas, and virtually defeated this sly move of slavery.
+
+Judge Hardin, pausing in pride, could not foresee that Daniel
+Butterfield, the gallant son of a loyal sire, would meet the
+chivalry of the South as the Marshal of the greatest field of modern
+times--awful Gettysburg!
+
+While Hardin plotted in the West, Daniel Butterfield in the East
+personally laid out every detail of this great service, so as to
+checkmate the Southern design, were the Mississippi given over to
+loyal control.
+
+The afterwork of Farragut and Porter paralyzed the Southern line
+of advance; and on the Peninsula, at Fredericksburg, at Resaca
+and Chancellorsville, Major-General Daniel Butterfield met in arms
+many of the men who listened to Hardin's gibes as to the outwitted
+Yankee mail contractors.
+
+Hardin, complacent, and with no vision of the awful fields to come,
+secure in his well-laid plans, resumes:
+
+"Thus aided through Arizona we will admit a strong column of Texan
+dragoons. We shall take Fort Yuma, Fort Mojave, and the forts in
+Arizona, as well as Forts Union and Craig in New Mexico. We will
+then be able to control the northern overland road. We will hold
+the southern line, and our forces will patrol Arizona. Mexico will
+furnish us ports and supplies.
+
+"Should the Northerners attempt to push troops over the plains,
+we will attack them, in flank, from New Mexico. We can hold, thus,
+New Mexico, Arizona, southern Utah, and all of California, by our
+short line from El Paso to San Diego. We are covered on one flank
+by Mexico."
+
+The able brethren are ready with many suggestions. Friendly spies
+in the Department at Washington have announced the intended drawing
+East of the regular garrisons. It is suggested that the forts, and
+in fact the whole State, be seized while the troops are in transit.
+
+Another proposes the fitting out of several swift armed steam
+letters-of-marque from San Francisco, to capture the enormous Yankee
+tonnage now between China, Cape Horn, Australia, and California.
+The whaling fleet is the object of another. He advises sending a
+heavily armed revenue cutter, when seized, to the Behring Sea to
+destroy the spring whalers arriving from Honolulu too late for
+any warning, from home, of the hostilities.
+
+A number of active committees are appointed. One, of veteran
+rangers, to select frontiersmen to stir up the Indians to attack
+the northern overland mail stations. Another, to secretly confer
+with the officers of the United States Mint, Custom-House, and
+Sub-Treasury. Another, to socially engage the leading officers of
+the army and navy, and win them over, or develop their real feelings.
+Every man of mark in the State is listed and canvassed.
+
+The "high priest" announces that the families of those detailed
+for distant duty will be cared for by the general committee. Each
+member receives the mystic tokens. Orders are issued to trace up
+all stocks of arms and ammunition on the coast.
+
+The seizure of the Panama Railroad, thus cutting off quick movement
+of national troops, is discussed. Every man is ordered to send
+in lists of trusty men as soon as mustered into the new mystery.
+Convenient movements of brothers from town to town are planned
+out. Only true sons of the sunny South are to be trusted.
+
+In free converse, the duty of watching well-known Unionists is
+enjoined upon all. Name by name, dangerous men of the North are
+marked down for proscription or special action. "Removal," perhaps.
+
+With wild cheers, the Knights of the Golden Circle receive the
+news that the South is surely going out. The dream long dear to the
+Southern heart! Any attempt of the senile Buchanan to reinforce
+the garrisons of the national forts will be the signal for the
+opening roar of the stolen guns. They know that the inauguration
+of Lincoln on March 4, 1861, means war without debate. He dare not
+abandon his trust. He will be welcomed with a shotted salute across
+the Potomac.
+
+When the move "en masse" is made, the guests, warmed with wine and
+full of enthusiasm, file away. Hardin and Valois sit late. The
+splashing rain drenches the swaying trees of the Judge's hillside
+retreat.
+
+Lists and papers of the principal men on both sides, data and
+statistics of stock and military supplies, maps, and papers, are
+looked at. The deep boom of the Cathedral bell, far below them,
+beats midnight as the two friends sit plotting treason.
+
+There is something mystical in the exact hour of midnight. The rich
+note startles Hardin. Cold, haughty, crafty, and able, his devotion
+to the South is that of the highest moral courage. It is not the
+exultation which culminates rashly on the battle-field. These lurid
+scenes are for younger heroes.
+
+His necessary presence in the West, his age and rank, make him
+invaluable, out of harness. His scheming brain is needed, not his
+ready sword.
+
+He pours out a glass of brandy, saying, "Valois, tell me of our
+prospects here. You know the interior as well as any man in the
+State."
+
+Maxime unburdens his mind. "Judge, I fear we are in danger of losing
+this coast. I have looked over the social forces of the State. The
+miners represent no principle. They will cut no figure on either
+side. They would not be amenable to discipline. The Mexicans
+certainly will not sympathize with us. We are regarded as the old
+government party. The Black Republicans are the 'liberals.' The
+natives have lost all, under us. We will find them fierce enemies.
+We cannot undo the treatment of the Dons." Hardin gravely assents.
+
+"Now, as to the struggle. Our people are enthusiastic and better
+prepared. The nerve of the South will carry us to early victory.
+The North thinks we do not mean fight. Our people may neglect to
+rush troops from Texas over through Arizona. We should hold California
+from the very first. I know the large cities are against us. The
+Yankees control the shipping and have more money than we. We
+should seize this coast, prey on the Pacific fleets, strike a telling
+blow, and with Texan troops (who will be useless there) make sure
+of the only gold-yielding regions of America. Texas is safe. We hold
+the Gulf at New Orleans. Yankee gunboats cannot reach the shallow
+Texas harbors. Unless we strike boldly now, the coast is lost forever.
+If our people hold the Potomac, the Ohio, and the Missouri (after
+a season's victories), without taking Cincinnati and Washington,
+and securing this coast, we will go down, finally, when the North
+wakes up. Its power is immense. If Europe recognizes us we are
+safe. I fear this may not be."
+
+"And you think the Northerners will fight," says Hardin.
+
+"Judge," replies Valois, "you and I are alone. I tell you frankly
+we underestimate the Yankees. From the first, on this coast we
+have lost sympathy. They come back at us always. Broderick's death
+shows us these men have nerve. "Valois continues: "That man is
+greater dead than alive. I often think of his last words, 'They
+have killed me because I was opposed to a corrupt administration
+and the extension of slavery.'"
+
+Hardin finishes his glass. "It seems strange that men like Broderick
+and Terry, who sat on the bench of the Supreme Court (a senator and
+a great jurist), should open the game. It was unlucky. It lost us
+the Northern Democrats. We would have been better off if Dave Terry
+had been killed. He would have been a dead hero. It would have
+helped us."
+
+Valois shows that, in all the sectional duels and killings on the
+coast, the South has steadily lost prestige. The victims were more
+dangerous dead than alive. Gilbert, Ferguson, Broderick, and others
+were costly sacrifices.
+
+Hardin muses: "I think you are right, Maxime, in the main. Our
+people are in the awkward position of fighting the Constitution,
+and the old flag is a dead weight against us. We must take the
+initiative in an unnecessary war. This Abe Lincoln is no mere
+mad fool. I will send a messenger East, and urge that ten thousand
+Texan cavalry be pushed right over to Arizona. We must seize the
+coast. You are right! There is one obstacle, Valois, I cannot
+conquer."
+
+"What is that?" says Maxime.
+
+"It is Sidney Johnston's military honor," thoughtfully says
+Hardin. "He is no man to be played with. He will not act till he
+has left the old army regularly. He will wait his commission from
+our confederacy. He will then resign and go East."
+
+"It will be too late," cries Valois. "We will be forgotten, and so
+lose California."
+
+"The worst is that the coast will stand neutral," says Hardin.
+
+"Now, Judge," Valois firmly answers, "I have heard to-night talk of
+running up the 'bear flag,' 'the lone star,' 'the palmetto banner,'
+or 'the flag of the California Republic,' on the news of war. I
+hope they will not do so rashly."
+
+"Why?" says Hardin.
+
+"I think they will swing under the new flags on the same pole,"
+cries Valois, pacing the room. "If there is failure here, I shall
+go East. Judge Valois offers me a Louisiana regiment. If this war
+is fought out, I do not propose to live to see the Southern Cross
+come down."
+
+The Creole pauses before the Judge, who replies, "You must stay
+here; we must get California out of the Union."
+
+"If we do not, then the cause lies on Lone Mountain," says Valois,
+pointing westward toward the spot where a tall shaft already bears
+Broderick's name.
+
+Hardin nods assent. "It was terrific, that appeal of Baker's," he
+murmurs.
+
+Both felt that Baker (now Senator from Oregon) would call up the mighty
+shade of the New York leader. Neither could foresee the career of
+the eulogist of Broderick, after his last matchless appeals to an
+awakening North. That denunciation in the Senate sent the departing
+Southern senators away, smarting under the scorpion whip of his
+peerless invective. Baker was doomed to come home cold in death
+from the red field of Ball's Bluff, and lie on the historic hill,
+beside his murdered friend.
+
+The plotters in the cold midnight hours then, the glow of feeling
+fading away, say "Good-night." They part, looking out over twinkling
+lights like the great camps soon to rise on Eastern plain and
+river-bank. Will the flag of the South wave in TRIUMPH HERE? Ah!
+Who can read the future?
+
+Cut off from the East, the excited Californians burn in high fever.
+The grim dice of fate are being cast. Slowly, the Northern pine and
+Southern palm sway toward the crash of war. As yet only journals
+hurl defiance at each other. Every day has its duties for Hardin
+and Valois; they know that every regimental mess-room is canvassed;
+each ship's ward-room is sounded; officers are flattered and won
+over; woman lends her persuasive charms; high promised rank follows
+the men who yield.
+
+In these negotiations, no one dares to breed discontent among the
+common soldiers and sailors. It is madness to hope to turn the steady
+loyalty of the enlisted men. They are as true in both services as
+the blue they wear. Nice distinctions begin at the epaulet. Hardin
+and Valois are worn and thoughtful. The popular tide of feelings
+is not for the South. Separation must be effective, to rouse
+enthusiasm. The organization of the Knights of the Golden Circle
+proceeds quickly, but events are quicker.
+
+The seven States partly out of the Union; the yet unfinished ranks
+of the Southern Confederacy; the baffling questions of compromise
+with the claims and rights of the South to national property are
+agitated. The incredulous folly of the North and the newspaper
+sympathy of the great Northern cities drag the whole question of
+war slowly along. In the West (a month later in news), the people
+fondly believe the bonds of the Union will not be broken.
+
+Many think the South will drop out quietly. Lincoln's policy is
+utterly unknown. Distance has dulled the echo of the hostile guns
+fired at the STAR OF THE WEST by armed traitors, on January 9, at
+Charleston.
+
+Jefferson Davis's shadowy Confederacy of the same fatal date is
+regarded as only a temporary menace to the Union. The great border
+States are not yet in line.
+
+Paltering old President Buchanan has found no warrant to draw the
+nation's sword in defence of the outraged flag.
+
+Congress is a camp of warring enemies. Even the conspirators cling
+to their comfortable chairs.
+
+It is hard to realize, by the blue Pacific, that the flag is already
+down. No one knows the fatal dead line between "State" and "Union."
+
+So recruits come in slowly to the Knights of the Golden Circle,
+in California. Secession is only a dark thunder-cloud, hanging
+ominously in the sky. The red lightning of war lingers in its
+sulphury bosom.
+
+Hardin, Valois, and the Knights toil to secure their ends. They
+know not that their vigorous foes have sent trusted messengers
+speeding eastward to secure the removal of General Albert Sidney
+Johnston. There is a Union League digging under their works!
+
+The four electoral votes of California cast for Lincoln tell him
+the State is loyal. An accidental promotion of Governor Latham to
+the Senate, places John G. Downey in the chair of California. If
+not a "coercionist," he is certainly no "rebel." The leaders of
+the Golden Circle feel that chivalry in the West is crushed, unless
+saved by a "coup de main." McDougall is a war senator. Latham,
+ruined by his prediction that California would go South or secede
+alone, sinks into political obscurity. The revolution, due to David
+Terry's bullet, brought men like Phelps, Sargent, T. W. Park, and
+John Conness to the front. Other Free-State men see the victory
+of their principles with joy. Sidney Johnston is the last hope of
+the Southern leaders. The old soldier's resignation speeds eastward
+on the pony express. Day by day, exciting news tells of the snapping
+of cord after cord. Olden amity disappears in the East. The public
+voice is heard.
+
+The mantle of heroic Baker as a political leader falls upon the boy
+preacher, Thomas Starr King. He boldly raises the song of freedom.
+It is now no time to lurk in the rear. Men, hitherto silent; rally
+around the flag.
+
+The "Union League" grows fast, as the "Golden Circle" extends. All
+over California, resolute men swear to stand by the flag. Stanford
+and Low are earning their governorships. From pulpit and rostrum
+the cry of secession is raised by Dr. Scott and the legal meteor
+Edmund Randolph, now sickening to his death. Randolph, though
+a son of Virginia, with, first, loyal impulses, sent despatches
+to President Lincoln that California was to be turned over to the
+South. He disclosed that Jefferson Davis had already sent Sidney
+Johnston a Major-General's commission. Though he finally follows
+the course of his native State, Randolph rendered priceless service
+to the Union cause in the West. General Edward V. Sumner is already
+secretly hurrying westward. He is met at Panama by the Unionist
+messengers. They turn back with him. In every city and county
+the Unionists and Southerners watch each other. While Johnston's
+resignation flies eastward, Sumner is steaming up the Mexican coast,
+unknown to the conspirators.
+
+In the days of March and April, 1861, one excited man could have
+plunged the Pacific Coast into civil warfare. All unconscious of
+the deadly gun bellowing treason on April 12th at Charleston, as
+the first shell burst over Sumter, the situation remained one of
+anxious tension in California. The telegraph is not yet finished.
+On April 19th, General Sumner arrived unexpectedly. He was informed of
+local matters by the loyalists. General Sidney Johnston, astonished
+and surprised, turned over his command at once. Without treasonable
+attempt, he left the Golden Gate. When relieved, he was no longer
+in the service. Speeding over the Colorado deserts to Texas, the
+high-minded veteran rode out to don the new gray uniform, and to
+die in the arms of an almost decisive victory at Shiloh.
+
+Well might the South call that royal old soldier to lead its
+hosts. Another half hour of Albert Sidney Johnston at Shiloh, and
+the history of the United States might have been changed by his
+unconquered sword. Lofty in his aims, adored by his subordinates,
+he was a modern Marshal Ney. The Southern cypress took its darkest
+tinge around his untimely grave. Sidney Johnston had all the sterling
+qualities of Lee, and even a rarer magnetism of character.
+
+Honor placed one fadeless wreath upon his tomb. He would not play
+the ignoble part of a Twiggs or a Lynde. He offered a stainless
+sword to the Bonnie Blue Flag.
+
+The gravity of his farewell, the purity of his private character,
+the affection of his personal friends, are tributes to the great
+soldier. He nearly crushed the Union army in his tiger-like assault
+at Shiloh. By universal consent, the ablest soldier of the "old
+army," he was sacrificed to the waywardness of fate. Turns of
+Fortune's wheel.
+
+California was stunned by the rapidity of Sumner's grasp of the
+reins of command. Before the Knights of the Golden Circle could move,
+the control of the State and the coast was lost to them forever.
+Forts and arsenals, towns and government depositories, navy-yards
+and vessels, were guarded.
+
+Following this action of Sumner, on May 10th the news of Sumter, and
+the uprising of the North, burst upon friend and foe in California.
+The loyal men rallied in indignation, overawing the Southern
+element. The oath of fealty was renewed by thousands. California's
+star was that day riveted in the flag. An outraged people deposed
+Judge Hardy, who so feebly prosecuted the slayer of Broderick.
+Every avenue was guarded. Conspiracy fled to back rooms and side
+streets. Here were no Federal wrongs to redress. On the spot where
+Broderick's body lay, under Baker's oratory, the multitude listened
+to the awakened patriots of the West. The Pacific Coast was saved.
+
+The madness of fools who fluttered a straggling "bear flag,"
+"palmetto ensign," or "lone star," caused them to flee in terror.
+
+Stanley, Lake, Crockett, Starr King, General Shields, and others,
+echoed the pledges of their absent comrades in New York. Organization,
+for the Union, followed. Even the maddest Confederate saw the only
+way to serve the South was to sneak through the lines to Texas. The
+telegraph was completed in October, 1861. The government had then
+daily tidings from the loyal sentinels calling "All's well," on
+fort and rampart, from San Juan Island to Fort Yuma.
+
+Troops were offered everywhere. The only region in California
+where secessionists were united was in San Joaquin.
+
+While public discussion availed, Hardin and Valois listened
+to Thornton, Crittenden, Morrison, Randolph, Dr. Scott, Weller,
+Whitesides, Hoge, and Nugent. But the time for hope was past.
+The golden sun had set for ever. Fifteen regiments of Californian
+troops, in formation, were destined to hold the State. They guarded
+the roads to Salt Lake and Arizona. The arsenals and strongholds
+were secured. The chance of successful invasion from Texas vanished.
+It was the crowning mistake of the first year of secession, not
+to see the value of the Pacific Coast. From the first shot, the
+Pacific Railroad became a war measure. The iron bands tied East
+and West in a firm union.
+
+Gwin's departure and Randolph's death added to the Southern
+discomfiture. No course remained for rebels but to furtively join
+the hosts of treason. Flight to the East.
+
+In the wake of Sidney Johnston went many men of note. Garnett,
+Cheatham, Brooks, Calhoun, Benham, Magruder, Phil Herbert, and
+others, with Dan Showalter and David Terry, each fresh from the
+deadly field of honor. Kewen, Weller, and others remained to be
+silenced by arrest. All over the State a hegira commenced which ended
+in final defeat. Many graves on the shallow-trenched battle-fields
+were filled by the Californian exiles. Not in honor did these
+devoted men and hundreds of their friends leave the golden hills.
+Secretly they fled, lest their romantic quest might land them in
+a military prison. Those unable to leave gave aid to the absent.
+Sulking at home, they deserted court and mart to avoid personal
+penalties.
+
+It was different with many of the warm-hearted Californian sons
+of the South who were attached to the Union. Cut off in a distant
+land, they held aloof from approving secession. Grateful for the
+shelter of the peaceful land in which their hard-won homes were
+made, it was only after actual war that the ties of blood carried
+them away and ranged them under the Stars and Bars. When the
+Southern ranks fell, in windrows, on the Peninsula, hundreds of
+these manly Californians left to join their brethren. They had
+clung to the Union till their States went out one by one. They sadly
+sought the distant fields of action, and laid down their lives for
+the now holy cause.
+
+The attitude of these gallant men was noble. They scorned the
+burrowing conspirators who dug below the foundations of the national
+constitution. These schemers led the eager South into a needless
+civil war.
+
+The holiest feelings of heredity dragged the Southerners who lingered
+into war. It was a sacrifice of half of the splendid generation
+which fought under the Southern Cross.
+
+When broken ranks appealed for the absent, when invaded States and
+drooping hopes aroused desperation, the last California contingents
+braved the desert dangers. Indian attack and Federal capture were
+defied, only to die for the South on its sacred soil. "Salut aux
+braves!" The loyalists of California were restrained from disturbing
+the safe tenure of the West by depleting the local Union forces.
+Abraham Lincoln saw that the Pacific columns should do no more
+than guard the territories adjacent. To hold the West and secure
+the overland roads was their duty. To be ready to march to meet
+an invasion or quell an uprising. This was wisdom.
+
+But the country called for skilled soldiers and representative
+men to join the great work of upholding the Union. A matchless
+contingent of Union officers went East.
+
+California had few arms-bearing young Americans to represent its
+first ten years of State existence. But it returned to the national
+government men identified with the Pacific Coast, who were destined
+to be leaders of the Union hosts.
+
+Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Thomas, Halleck, Hancock, Hooker, Keyes,
+Naglee, Baker, Ord, Farragut (the blameless Nelson of America),
+Canby, Fremont, Shields, McPherson, Stoneman, Stone, Porter, Boggs,
+Sumner, Heintzelman, Lander, Buell, with other old residents of the
+coast, drew the sword. Wool, Denver, Geary, and many more, whose
+abilities had been perfected in the struggles of the West, took
+high rank.
+
+Where the young were absent (by reason of the infancy of the
+State), these men were returned to the government. They went with
+a loyalty undimmed, in the prime of their powers. Even the graceful
+McClellan was identified with the Pacific Railway survey. Around
+the scenes of their early manhood, the halo of these loyal men
+will ever linger, and gild the name of "Pioneer." It can never be
+forgotten that without the stormy scenes of Western life, without
+the knowledge of the great golden empire and the expansion of powers
+due to their lessons on plain and prairie, many of these men would
+have relapsed into easy mediocrity.
+
+The completed telegraph, military extension of lines, and the active
+Union League, secured California to the Union.
+
+The gigantic game of war rolled its red pageantry over Eastern
+fields. Bull Run fired the Southern heart. Hardin and Valois learned
+the Southern Government would send a strong expedition to hold New
+Mexico and Arizona. Local aid was arranged by the Knights of the
+Golden Circle to, at last, seize California. It was so easy to whip
+Yankees. The Knights were smiling.
+
+At the risk of their lives, two Southern messengers reached San
+Francisco. One by Panama. The other crossed Arizona and examined
+the line of march. He rode, warning sympathizers to await the
+Confederate flag, which now waved in triumph at Munson's Hill, in
+plain sight of the guarded capitol.
+
+Valois fears this Western raid may be too late. For the Navy
+Department reinforces the Pacific fleet. Valois explains to Hardin
+that his prophecy is being realized. The Confederates, with more
+men than are needed, hold their lines of natural defence. The
+fruits of Bull Run are lost. While letters by every steamer come
+from Northern spies, Washington friends, and Southern associates,
+the journals tell them of the deliberate preparation of the North
+for a struggle to the death. The giant is waking up.
+
+Valois mourns the madness of keeping the flower of the South inactive.
+A rapid Northern invasion should humble the administration. The
+ardent Texans should be thrown at once into California, leaving
+New Mexico and Arizona for later occupation.
+
+There is no reason why the attack should not be immediate. Under the
+stimulus of Bull Run the entire Southern population of California
+would flock to the new standard. Three months should see the Confederate
+cavalry pasturing their steeds in the prairies of California.
+
+The friends sicken at the delay, as weary months drag on. Sibley's
+Texans should be now on the Gila. They have guides, leaders, scouts,
+and spies from the Southern refugees pouring over the Gila. Every
+golden day has its gloomy sunset. Hardin's brow furrows with deep
+lines. His sagacity tells him that the time has passed for the
+movement to succeed.
+
+And he is right. Sibley wearies out the winter in Texas. The
+magnet of Eastern fields of glory draws the fiery Texans across the
+Mississippi. The Californian volunteers are arming and drilling.
+They stream out to Salt Lake. They send the heavy column of General
+Carleton toward El Paso.
+
+The two chiefs of the Golden Circle are unaware of the destination
+of Carleton. Loyalty has learned silence. There are no traitor
+department clerks here, to furnish maps, plans, and duplicate
+orders.
+
+Canby in New Mexico, unknown to the secessionists of California,
+aided by Kit Carson, gathers a force to strike Sibley in flank.
+It is fatal to Californian conquest. Hardin and Valois learn of
+the lethargy of the great Confederate army, flushed with success.
+Sibley's dalliance at Fort Bliss continues.
+
+The "army of New Mexico," on September 19, 1861, is only a few
+hundreds of mounted rangers and Texan youth under feeble Sibley.
+
+From the first, Jefferson Davis's old army jealousies and hatred
+of able men of individuality, hamstring the Southern cause.
+A narrow-minded man is Davis, the slave of inveterate prejudice.
+With dashing Earl Van Dorn, sturdy Ben Ewell, and dozens of veteran
+cavalry leaders at his service, knowing every foot of the road,
+he could have thrown his Confederate column into California. Three
+months after Sumter's fall, California should have been captured.
+Davis allows an old martinet to ruin the Confederate cause in the
+Pacific.
+
+The operation is so easy, so natural, and so necessary, that
+it looks like fatuity to neglect the golden months of the fall of
+1861.
+
+Especially fitted for bold dashes with a daring leader, the Texans
+throw themselves, later, uselessly against the flaming redoubts
+of Corinth. They are thrown into mangled heaps before Battery
+Robinett, dying for the South. Their military recklessness has
+never been surpassed in the red record of war.
+
+Though gallant in the field, President Jefferson Davis, seated
+on a throne of cotton, gazes across the seas for England's help.
+He craves the aid of France. He allows narrow prejudice to blind
+him to any part of the great issue, save the military pageantry of
+his unequalled Virginian army. It is the flower of the South, and
+moves only on the sacred soil of Virginia. Davis, restrained by
+antipathies, haughty, and distant, is deaf to the thrilling calls
+of the West for that dashing column. It would have gained him
+California. Weakness of mind kept him from hurling his victorious
+troops on Washington, or crossing the Ohio to divide the North while
+yet unprepared. Active help could then be looked for from Northern
+Democrats. But he masses the South in Virginia.
+
+As winter wears on the movement of Carleton's and Canby's preparations
+are disclosed by Southern friends, who run the gauntlet with these
+discouraging news.
+
+Sibley lingered with leaden heels at Fort Bliss. The Confederate
+riders are not across the Rio Grande. Valois grows heartsick.
+
+Broken in hopes, wearied with plotting, mistrusted by the community,
+Hardin knows the truth at last. The words, "Too late!" ring in his
+ears.
+
+It will be only some secret plot which can now hope to succeed in
+the West.
+
+Davis and Lee are wedded to Virginia. The haughty selfishness
+of the "mother of presidents" demands that every interest of the
+Confederacy shall give way to morbid State vanity. Virginia is to
+be the graveyard of the gallant Southern generation in arms.
+
+Every other pass may be left unguarded. The chivalry of the Stars
+and Bars must crowd Virginia till their graves fill the land.
+Unnecessarily strong, with a frontier defended by rivers, forests,
+and chosen positions, it becomes Fortune's sport to huddle the
+bulk of the Confederate forces into Lee's army.
+
+It allows the Border, Gulf, and Western States to fall a prey to
+the North. The story of Lee's ability has been told by an adoring
+generation. The record of his cold military selfishness is shown
+in the easy conquests of the heart of the South. Their natural
+defenders were drafted to fill those superb legions, operating
+under the eyes of Davis and controlled by the slightest wish of
+imperious Lee.
+
+Albert Sidney Johnston, Beauregard, and the fighting tactician,
+Joe Johnston, were destined to feel how fatal was the military
+favoritism of Jefferson Davis. Davis threw away Vicksburg, and
+the Mississippi later, to please Lee. All for Virginia.
+
+Stung with letters from Louisiana, reproaching him for inaction
+while his brethren were meeting the Northern invaders, Valois
+decides to go East. He will join the Southern defence. For it is
+defence--not invasion--now.
+
+Directing Hardin to select a subordinate in his place, Valois returns
+to Lagunitas. He must say farewell to loving wife and prattling
+child. Too well known to be allowed to follow Showalter, Terry,
+and their fellows over the Colorado desert, he must go to Guaymas
+in Mexico. He can thus reach the Confederates at El Paso. From
+thence it is easy to reach New Orleans. Then to the front. To the
+field.
+
+Valois feels it would be useless for him to go via Panama. The
+provost-marshal would hold him as a "known enemy."
+
+With rage, Valois realizes a new commander makes latent treason
+uncomfortable in California. He determines to reach El Paso, and
+hurl the Texans on California. Should he fail, he heads a Louisiana
+regiment. His heart tells him the war will be long and bloody.
+Edmund Randolph's loyalty, at the outbreak, prevented the seizure
+of California. Sibley's folly and Davis's indifference complete
+the ruin of the Western plan of action.
+
+"Hardin, hold the Knights together. I will see if I can stop a
+Yankee bullet!" says Valois. He notifies Hardin that he intends to
+make him sole trustee of his property in his absence.
+
+Hardin's term on the bench has expired. Like other Southerners
+debarred from taking the field, he gives aid to those who go. The
+men who go leave hostages behind them. The friendship of years causes
+Yalois to make him the adviser of his wife in property matters.
+He makes him his own representative. "Thank Heaven!" cries Valois,
+"my wife's property is safe. No taint from me can attach to her
+birthright. It is her own by law."
+
+Valois, at Lagunitas, unfolds to the sorrowing padre his departure
+for the war. Safe in the bosom of the priest, this secret is a heavy
+load. Valois gains his consent to remain in charge of Lagunitas. The
+little girl begins to feebly walk. Her infant gaze cannot measure
+her possessions.
+
+Lovely Dolores Valois listens meekly to her husband's plans. Devoted
+to Maxime, his will is her only law. The beautiful dark eyes are
+tinged with a deeper lustre.
+
+Busied with his affairs, Maxime thinks of the future as he handles
+his papers. Francois Ribaut is the depositary of his wishes. Dolores
+is as incapable as her child in business. Will God protect these
+two innocents?
+
+Valois wonders if he will return in defeat like Don Miguel. Poor
+old Don! around his tomb the roses creep,--his gentle Juanita by
+his side.
+
+He hopes the armies of the West will carry the banner, now flying
+from Gulf to border, into the North. There the legendary friends
+of the South will hail it.
+
+Alas! pent up in California, Maxime hears not the murmurs of the
+Northern pines, breathing notes of war and defiance. The predictions
+of the leaders of the conspiracy are fallacious. Aid and comfort
+fail them abroad. North of Mason and Dixon's line the sympathizers
+are frightened.
+
+In his heart he only feels the tumult of the call to the field. It
+is his pride of race. Tired, weary of the crosses of fortune, he
+waits only to see the enemy's fires glittering from hill and cliff.
+
+With all his successes, the West has never been his home. Looking
+out on his far-sweeping alamedas, his thoughts turn fondly back
+to his native land. He is "going home to Dixie."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+"I'SE GWINE BACK TO DIXIE."--THE FORTUNES OF WAR.--VAL VERDE.
+
+
+
+
+
+The last weeks of Maxime Valois' stay at Lagunitas drift away.
+Old "Kaintuck" has plead in vain to go. He yields to Valois' orders
+not to dream of going with him. His martial heart is fired, but
+some one must watch the home. Padre Francois Ribaut has all the
+documents of the family, the marriage, and birth of the infant heir.
+He is custodian also of the will of Donna Dolores. She leaves her
+family inheritance to her child, and failing her, to her husband.
+The two representatives of the departing master know that Philip
+Hardin will safely guide the legal management of the estate while
+its chieftain is at the wars.
+
+Donna Dolores and the priest accompany Valois to San Francisco. He
+must leave quietly. He is liable to arrest. He takes the Mexican
+steamer, as if for a temporary absence.
+
+It costs Maxime Valois a keen pang of regret, as he rides the last
+time over his superb domain. He looks around the plaza, and walks
+alone through the well-remembered rooms. He takes his seat, with
+a sigh, by his wife's side, as the carriage whirls him down the
+avenues. The orange-trees are in bloom. The gardens show the rare
+beauties of midland California. As far as the eye can reach, the
+sparkle of lovely Lagunitas mirrors the clouds flaking the sapphire
+sky. Valois fixes his eyes once more upon his happy home. Peace,
+prosperity, progress, mining exploration, social development, all
+smile through this great interior valley of the Golden State. No war
+cloud has yet rolled past the "Rockies." It is the golden youth of
+the commonwealth. The throbbing engine, clattering stamp, whirling
+saw, and busy factory, show that the homemakers are moving on
+apace, with giant strides. No fairer land to leave could tempt a
+departing warrior. But even with a loved wife and his only child
+beside him, the Southerner's heart "turns back to Dixie."
+
+Passing rapidly through Stockton, where his old friends vainly
+tempt him to say, publicly, good-by, he refrains. No one must know
+his destination. No parting cup is drained.
+
+In San Francisco, Philip Hardin, in presence of Valois' wife and
+the padre, receives his powers of attorney and final directions.
+Letters, remittances, and all communications are to be sent through
+a house in Havana. The old New Orleans family of Valois is well
+known there. Maxime will be able, by blockade-runners and travelling
+messengers, to obtain his communications.
+
+The only stranger in San Francisco who knows of Maxime's departure
+is the old mining partner, Joe Woods. He is now a middle-aged man
+of property and vigor. He comes from the interior to say adieu to
+his friend. "Old times" cloud their eyes. But the parting is secret.
+Federal spies throng the streets.
+
+At the mail wharf the Mexican steamer, steam up, is ready for
+departure. The last private news from the Texan border tells of
+General Sibley's gathering forces. Provided with private despatches,
+and bundles of contraband letters for the cut-off friends in the
+South, Maxime Valois repairs to the steamer. Several returning
+Texans and recruits for the Confederacy have arrived singly. They
+will make an overland party from Guaymas, headed by Valois. Valois,
+under the orders of the Golden Circle, has been charged with
+important communications. Unknown to him, secret agents of the
+government watch his departure. He has committed no overt act. He
+goes to a neutral land.
+
+The calm, passionless face of Padre Francois Ribaut shows a tear
+trembling in his eye. He leads the weeping wife ashore from the
+cabin. The last good-by was sacred by its silent sorrow. Valois'
+father's heart was strangely thrilled when he kissed his baby
+girl farewell, on leaving the little party. Even rebels have warm
+hearts.
+
+Philip Hardin's stern features relax into some show of feeling as
+Valois places his wife's hands in his. That mute adieu to lovely
+Dolores moves him. "May God deal with you, Hardin, as you deal with
+my wife and child," solemnly says Valois. The lips of Francois
+Ribaut piously add "Amen. Amen."
+
+Padre Francisco comes back to the boat. With French impulsiveness,
+he throws himself in Valois' arms. He whispers a friend's blessing,
+a priest's benediction.
+
+The ORIZABA glides out past two or three watchful cruisers flying
+the Stars and Stripes. The self-devoted Louisianian loses from sight
+the little knot of dear ones on the wharf. He sees the flutter of
+Dolores' handkerchief for the last time. On to Dixie! Going home!
+
+Out on the bay, thronged with the ships of all nations, the steamer
+glides. Its shores are covered with smiling villages. Happy homes
+and growing cities crown the heights. Past grim Alcatraz, where
+the star flag proudly floats on the Sumter-like citadel, the boat
+slowly moves. It leaves the great metropolis of the West, spreading
+over its sandy hills and creeping up now the far green valleys. It
+slips safely through the sea-gates of the West, and past the grim
+fort at the South Heads. There, casemate and barbette shelter the
+shotted guns which speak only for the Union.
+
+Valois' heart rises in his throat as the sentinel's bayonet glitters
+in the sunlight. Loyal men are on the walls of the fort. Far away
+on the Presidio grounds, he can see the blue regiments of Carleton's
+troops, at exercise, wheel at drill. The sweeping line of a cavalry
+battalion moves, their sabres flash as the lines dash on. These
+men are now his foes. The tossing breakers of the bar throw their
+spray high over bulwarks and guard. In grim determination he
+watches the last American flag he ever will see in friendship, till
+it fades away from sight. He has now taken the irrevocable step.
+When he steps on Mexican soil, he will be "a man without a country."
+Prudential reasons keep him aloof from his companions until Guaymas
+is reached. Once ashore, the comrades openly unite. Without delay
+the party plunges into the interior. Well armed, splendidly mounted,
+they assume a semi-military discipline. The Mexicans are none too
+friendly. Valois has abundant gold, as well as forty thousand
+dollars in drafts on Havana, the proceeds of Lagunitas' future
+returns advanced by Hardin.
+
+Twenty days' march up the Yaqui Valley, through Arispe, where the
+filibusters died with Spartan bravery, is a weary jaunt. But high
+hopes buoy them up. Over mesa and gorge, past hacienda and Indian
+settlement, they climb passes until the great mountains break away.
+Crossing the muddy Rio Grande, Valois is greeted by old friends.
+He sees the Confederate flag for the first time, floating over the
+turbulent levies of Sibley, still at Fort Bliss.
+
+Long and weary marches; dangers from bandit, Indian, and lurking
+Mexican; regrets for the home circle at Lagunitas, make Maxime Valois
+very grave. Individual sacrifices are not appreciated in war-time.
+As he rides through the Confederate camp, his heart sinks. The
+uncouth straggling plainsmen, without order or regular equipment,
+recall to him his old enemies, the nomadic Mexican vaqueros.
+
+There seems to be no supply train, artillery, or regular stores. These
+are not the men who can overawe the compact California community.
+Far gray rocky sandhills stretch along the Texan border. Over the
+Rio Grande, rich mountain scenery delights the eye. It instantly
+recalls to Valois the old Southern dream of taking the "Zona Libre."
+Tamaulipas, Coahuila, and Nueva Leon were coveted as a crowning
+trophy of the Mexican war. Dreams of olden days.
+
+Received kindly by General Sibley, the Louisianian delivers his
+letters, despatches, and messages. After rest and refreshment, he
+is asked to join a council of war. There are fleet couriers, lately
+arrived, who speak of Carleton's column being nearly ready to cross
+the Colorado. When the General explains his plan of attacking the
+Federal forces in New Mexico, and occupying Arizona, Valois hastens
+to urge a forced march down to the fertile Gila. He trusts to Canby
+timidly holding on to Fort Union and Fort Craig. Alas, Sibley's
+place of recruiting and assembly has been ill chosen! The animals,
+crowded on the bare plains, suffer for lack of forage. Recruits
+are discouraged by the dreary surroundings. The effective strength
+has not visibly increased in three months. The Texans are wayward.
+A strong column, well organized, in the rich interior of Texas, full
+of the early ardor of secession might have pushed on and reached
+the Gila. But here is only a chafing body of undisciplined men.
+They are united merely by political sentiment.
+
+General Sibley urges Valois to accompany him in his forward march.
+He offers him a staff position, promising to release him, then
+to move to the eastward. Valois' knowledge of the frontier is
+invaluable, and he cannot pass an enemy in arms. Maxime Valois,
+with fiery energy, aids in urging the motley command forward. On
+February 7, 1862, the wild brigade of invasion reaches the mesa near
+Fort Craig. The "gray" and "blue" meet here in conflict, to decide
+the fate of New Mexico and Arizona. Feeble skirmishing begins. On
+the 2lst of February, the bitter conflict of Val Verde shows Valois
+for the first time--alas, not the last!--the blood of brothers
+mingled on a doubtful field. It is a horrid fight. A drawn battle.
+
+Instead of pushing on to Arizona, deluded by reports of local aid,
+Sibley straggles off to Santa Fe and Albuquerque. Canby refits his
+broken forces under the walls of strong Fort Union. Long before the
+trifling affairs of Glorietta and Peralta, Valois, disgusted with
+Sibley, is on his way east. He will join the Army of the West. His
+heart sickens at the foolish incapacity of the border commander.
+The Texan column melts away under Canby's resolute advance. The
+few raiders, who have ridden down into Arizona and hoisted the
+westernmost Confederate flag at Antelope Peak, are chased back
+by Carleton's strong column. The boasted "military advance on
+California" is at an end. Carleton's California column is well over
+the Colorado. The barren fruits of Val Verde are only a few buried
+guns of McRea's hard-fought battery. The gallantry of Colonel
+Thos. P. Ochiltree, C.S.A., at Val Verde, under the modest rank of
+"Captain," is the only remembered historic incident of that now
+forgotten field. The First Regiment and one battalion of the Second
+California Volunteer Cavalry, the Fifth California Infantry, and
+a good battery hold Arizona firmly. The Second Battalion, Second
+California Cavalry, the Fifth California Cavalry, and Third California
+Infantry, under gallant General Pat Connor, keep Utah protected.
+They lash the wild Indians into submission, and prevent any rising.
+
+General Canby and Kit Carson's victorious troops keep New Mexico.
+They cut the line of any possible Confederate advance. Only Sibley's
+pompous report remains now to tell of the fate of his troops, who
+literally disbanded or deserted. An inglorious failure attends the
+dreaded Texan attack.
+
+The news, travelling east and west, by fugitives, soon announce
+the failure of this abortive attempt. The golden opportunity of
+the fall of 1861 never returns.
+
+The Confederate operations west of the Rio Grande were only
+a miserable and ridiculous farce. Valois, leaving failure behind
+him, learns on nearing the Louisiana line, that the proud Pelican
+flag floats no longer over the Crescent City. It lies now helpless
+under the guns of fearless Farragut's fleet. So he cannot even
+revisit the home of his youth. Maxime Valois smuggles himself
+across the Mississippi. He joins the Confederates under Van Dorn.
+He is a soldier at last.
+
+Here in the circling camps of the great Army of the West, Maxime
+Valois joins the first Louisiana regiment he meets. He realizes
+that the beloved Southern Confederacy has yet an unbeaten army. A
+grand array. The tramp of solid legions makes him feel a soldier,
+not a sneaking conspirator. He is no more a guerilla of the plains,
+or a fugitive deserter of his adopted State.
+
+The capture of New Orleans seals the Mississippi. The Confederacy
+is cut in twain. It is positive now, the only help from the golden
+West will be the arrival of parties of self-devoted men like
+himself. They come in squads, bolting through Mexico or slipping
+through Arizona. Some reach Panama and Havana, gaining the South by
+blockade runners. He opens mail communication with Judge Hardin,
+via Havana. He succeeds in exchanging views with the venerable
+head of his house at New Orleans. It is all gloomy now. Old and
+despondent, the New Orleans patriarch has sent his youthful son
+away to Paris. Armand is too young to bear arms. He can only come
+home and do a soldier's duty later. By family influence, Maxime
+Valois finds himself soon a major in a Louisiana regiment. He wears
+his gray uniform at the head of men already veterans. Shiloh's
+disputed laurels are theirs. They are tigers who have tasted blood.
+In the rapidly changing scenes of service, trusting to chance for
+news of his family, Maxime Valois' whole nature is centred upon
+the grave duties of his station. Southern victories are hailed
+from the East. The victorious arms of the Confederacy roll back
+McClellan's great force. Bruised, bleeding, and shattered from the
+hard-fought fields of the Peninsula, the Unionists recoil. The
+stars of the Southern Cross are high in hope's bright field. Though
+Richmond is saved for the time, it is at a fearful cost. Malvern
+Hill shakes to its base under the flaming cannon, ploughing the
+ranks of the dauntless Confederates, as the Army of the Potomac
+hurls back the confident legions of Lee, Johnston, and Jackson.
+The Army of the Potomac is decimated. The bloody attrition of the
+field begins to wear off these splendid lines which the South can
+never replace. Losses like those of Pryor's Brigade, nine hundred
+out of fifteen hundred in a single campaign, would appall any but
+the grim Virginian soldiers. They are veterans now. They learn the
+art of war in fields like Seven Pines and Fair Oaks. Even Pryor,
+as chivalric in action as truculent in debate, now admits that the
+Yankees will fight. Fredericksburg's butchery is a victory of note.
+All the year the noise of battle rolls, while the Eastern war is
+undecided, for the second Manassas and awful Antietam balance each
+other. Maxime Valois feels the issue is lost. When the shock of
+battle has been tried at Corinth, where lion-like Rosecrans conquers,
+when the glow of the onset fades away, his heart sinks. He knows
+that the iron-jointed men of the West are the peers of any race in
+the field.
+
+Ay! In the West it is fighting from the first. Donelson, Shiloh,
+and Corinth lead up to the awful death shambles of Stone River,
+Vicksburg, and Chickamauga. These are scenes to shake the nerve of
+the very bravest.
+
+Heading his troops on the march, watching the thousand baleful
+fires of the enemy at night, when friend and foe go down in the
+thundering crash of battle, Valois, amazed, asks himself, "Are
+these sturdy foes the Northern mudsills?"
+
+For, proud and dashing as the Louisiana Tigers and Texan Rangers
+prove, steady and vindictive the rugged Mississippians, dogged and
+undaunted the Georgians, fierce the Alabamans--the honest candor
+of Valois tells him no human valor can excel the never-yielding
+Western troops. Their iron courage honors the blue-clad men of Iowa,
+Michigan, and the Lake States. No hired foreigners there; no helot
+immigrants these men, whose glittering bayonets shine in the
+lines of Corinth, as steadily as the spears of the old Tenth Roman
+Legion--Caesar's pets.
+
+With unproclaimed chivalry and a readiness to meet the foe
+which tells its own story, the Western men come on. Led by Grant,
+Sherman, Rosecrans, Sheridan, Thomas, McPherson, and Logan, they
+press steadily toward the heart of the Confederacy. The rosy dreams
+of empire in the great West fade away. Farragut, Porter, and the
+giant captain, Grant, cut off the Trans-Mississippi from active
+military concert with the rest of the severed Confederacy.
+
+To and fro rolls the red tide of war. Valois' soldierly face,
+bronzed with service, shows only the steady devotion of the soldier.
+He loves the cause--once dear in its promise--now sacred in its
+hours of gloomy peril and incipient decadence. Gettysburg, Vicksburg,
+and Port Hudson are terrible omens of a final day of gloom. Letters
+from his wife, reports from Judge Hardin, and news from the Western
+shores give him only vague hints of the future straggling efforts
+on the Pacific. The only comforting tidings are that his wife and
+child are well, by the peaceful shores of Lagunitas. The absence
+of foreign aid, the lack of substantial support from the Northern
+sympathizers, and the slight hold on the ocean of the new government,
+dishearten him. The grim pressure everywhere of the Northern lines
+tells Valois that the splendid chivalry of the Southern arms is
+being forced surely backward. Sword in hand, his resolute mind
+unshaken, the Louisianian follows the Stars and Bars, devoted and
+never despairing. "Quand meme."
+
+In the long silent days at Lagunitas, the patient wife learns
+much from the cautious disclosures of Padre Francisco. Her soldier
+husband's letters tell her the absent master of Lagunitas is
+winning fame and honor in a dreadful conflict. It is only vaguely
+understood by the simple Californian lady.
+
+Her merry child is rapidly forgetting the self-exiled father. Under
+the bowers of Lagunitas she romps in leafy alley and shady bower.
+
+Judge Hardin, grave-faced, cautious, frugal of speech, visits the
+domain several times. In conference with Padre Francisco and the
+vigilant "Kaintuck," he adjusts the accumulating business affairs.
+
+Riding over the billowing fields, mounting the grassy hills,
+threading the matchless forests of uncut timber, he sees all. He
+sits plotting and dreaming on the porch by the lake side. Thousands
+of horses and cattle, now crossed and improved, are wealth wandering
+at will on every side. Hardin's dark eyes grow eager and envious.
+He gazes excitedly on this lordly domain. Suppose Valois should never
+come back. This would be a royal heritage. He puts the maddening
+thought away. Within a few miles, mill and flume tell of the tracing
+down of golden quartz lodes. The pick breaks into the hitherto
+undisturbed quartz ledges of Mariposa gold. Is there gold to be
+found here, too? Perhaps.
+
+Only an old prating priest, a simple woman, and an infant, between
+him and these thousands of rich acres, should Valois be killed.
+
+Philip Hardin becomes convinced of final defeat, as 1863 draws to
+a close. The days of Gettysburg and Vicksburg ring the knell of
+the Confederacy. Even the prestige of Chancellorsville, with its
+sacred victory sealed with Stonewall Jackson's precious blood,
+was lost in the vital blow delivered when the columns of Longstreet
+and Pickett failed to carry the heights of Gettysburg.
+
+The troops slain on that field could never be replaced. Boyhood
+and old age, alone, were left to fill the vacant ranks. Settling
+slowly down, the gloomy days of collapse approach.
+
+While Lee skilfully faced the Army of the Potomac, and the Confederacy
+was drained of men to hold the "sacred soil," the Western fields
+were lit up by the fierce light of Grant and Sherman's genius. Like
+destroying angels, seconded by Rosecrans, Thomas, and McPherson,
+these great captains drew out of the smoke of battle, gigantic
+figures towering above all their rivals.
+
+Maxime Valois bitterly deplored the uselessness of the war in the
+trans-Mississippi section of the Confederacy. It is too late for
+any Western divisions to affect the downward course of the sacred
+cause for which countless thousands have already died.
+
+The Potomac armies of the Union, torn with the dissensions of
+warring generals, wait for the days of the inscrutable Grant and
+fiery Philip Sheridan. In the West, the eagle eye of Rosecrans
+has caught the weakness of the unguarded roads to the heart of the
+Confederacy.
+
+Stone River and Murfreesboro' tell of the wintry struggle to the
+death for the open doors of Chattanooga. Though another shall wear
+the laurels of victory, it is the proud boast of Rosecrans alone
+to have divined the open joint in the enemy's harness. He points
+the way to the sea for the irresistible Sherman. While the fearless
+gray ranks thin day by day, in march and camp, Valois thinks often
+of his distant home. Straggling letters from Philip Hardin tell
+him of the vain efforts of the cowed secessionists of the Pacific
+Coast. Loyal General George Wright holds the golden coast. Governor
+and Legislature, Senators and Congressmen, are united. The press
+and public sentiment are now a unit against disunion or separation.
+
+Colonel Valois looked for some effective action of the Knights of
+the Golden Circle on the Pacific. Alas, for the gallant exile!
+Impending defeat renders the secret conspirators cautious. In the
+cheering news that wife and child are well, still guarded by the
+sagacious Padre Francois, Valois frets only over the consecutive
+failures of Western conspiracy. Folly and fear make the Knights of
+the Golden Circle a timid band. The "Stars and Stripes" wave now,
+unchallenged, over Arizona and New Mexico. The Texans at Antelope
+Peak never returned to carry the "Stars and Bars" across the
+Colorado. Vain boasters!
+
+While Bragg toils and plots to hurl himself on Rosecrans in the
+awful day of Chickamauga, where thirty-five thousand dying and
+wounded are offered up to the Moloch of Disunion, Valois bitterly
+reads Hardin's account of the puerile efforts on the Pacific. It
+is only boys' play.
+
+All energy, every spark of daring seems to have left the men who,
+secure in ease and fortune, live rich and unharassed in California.
+Their Southern brethren in the ranks reel blindly in the bloody
+mazes of battle, fighting in the field. A poor Confederate lieutenant
+attempts a partisan expedition in the mountains of California. He
+is promptly captured. The boyish plan is easily frustrated. Bands
+of resolute marauders gather at Panama to attack the Californian
+steamers, gold-laden. The vigilance of government agents baffles
+them. The mail steamers are protected by rifle guns and bodies
+of soldiers. Loyal officers protect passengers from any dash of
+desperate men smuggled on board. Secret-service spies are scattered
+over all the Western shores. Mails, telegraphs, express, and the
+growing railway facilities, are in the hands of the government. It
+is Southern defeat everywhere.
+
+Valois sadly realizes the only help from the once enthusiastic
+West is a few smuggled remittances. Here and there, some quixotic
+volunteer makes his way in. An inspiring yell for Jeff Davis, from
+a tipsy ranchero, or incautious pothouse orator, is all that the
+Pacific Coast can offer.
+
+The Confederate flag never sweeps westward to the blue Pacific,
+and the stars and bars sink lower day by day. As the weakness of
+American commerce is manifest on the sea, Colonel Valois forwards
+despairing letters to California. He urges attacks from Mexico,
+Japan, Panama, or the Sandwich Islands, on the defenceless ships
+loaded with American gold and goods. Unheeded, alas! these last
+appeals. Unfortunately, munitions of war are not to be obtained in
+the Pacific. The American fleets, though poor and scattered, are
+skilfully handled. Consuls and diplomats everywhere aid in detecting
+the weakly laid plans of the would-be pirates.
+
+Still Valois fumes, sword in hand, at the pusillanimity of the
+Western sympathizers. They are rich and should be arming. Why do
+they not strike one effective blow for the cause? One gun would sink
+a lightly built Pacific liner, or bring its flag down. Millions
+of gold are being exported to the East from the treasure fields
+of the West. Though proud of the dauntless, ragged gray ranks he
+loves, Valois feels that the West should organize a serious attack
+on some unprotected Federal interest, to save the issue. But the
+miserable failure of Sibley has discouraged Confederate Western
+effort. The Confederate Californian grinds his teeth to think that
+one resolute dash of the scattered tens of thousands lying in camp,
+uselessly, in Arkansas and Texas, would even now secure California.
+Even now, as the Confederate line of battle wastes away, desperate
+Southern men dream of throwing themselves into Mexico as an
+unwelcome, armed immigration. This blood is precious at home.
+
+Stung by the taunts of Eastern friends, at last Philip Hardin and
+his co-workers stir to some show of action.
+
+Peacefully loading in San Francisco harbor for Mexico, a heavy schooner
+is filled with the best attainable fittings for a piratical cruise.
+
+The J.W. Chapman rises and falls at the wharves at half gun-shot from
+the old U.S. frigate CYANE. Her battery could blow the schooner
+into splinters, with one broadside. Tackle and gear load the
+peaceful-looking cases of "alleged" heavy merchandise. Ammunition
+and store of arms are smuggled on board. Mingling unsuspectedly
+with the provost guard on the wharves, a determined crew succeed
+in fitting out the boat. Her outward "Mexican voyage" is really an
+intended descent on the treasure steamers.
+
+Disguised as "heavy machinery," the rifled cannons are loaded.
+When ready to slip out of the harbor, past the guard-boats, the
+would-be pirate is suddenly seized. The vigilant Federal officials
+have fathomed the design. Some one has babbled. Too much talk, or
+too much whiskey.
+
+Neatly conceived, well-planned, and all but executed, it was a bold
+idea. To capture a heavy Panama steamer, gold-laden; to transfer
+her passengers to the schooner, and land them in Mexico; and,
+forcing the crew to direct the vessel, to lie in wait for the
+second outgoing steamer, was a wise plan. They would then capture
+the incoming steamer from Panama, and ravage the coast of California.
+
+With several millions of treasure and three steamers, two of them
+could be kept as cruisers of the Confederacy. They could rove over
+the Pacific, unchallenged. Their speed would be their safety.
+
+Mexican and South American ports would furnish coal and supplies.
+The captured millions would make friends everywhere. The swift
+steamers could baffle the antiquated U.S. war vessels on the
+Pacific. A glorious raid over the Pacific would end in triumph in
+India or China.
+
+These were the efforts and measures urged by Valois and the anxious
+Confederates of the East.
+
+It was perfectly logical. It was absolutely easy to make an effective
+diversion by sea. But some fool's tongue or spy's keen eye ruins
+all.
+
+When, months after the seizure of the CHAPMAN, Valois learns of
+this pitiful attempt, he curses the stupid conspirators. They had
+not the brains to use a Mexican or Central American port for the
+dark purposes of the piratical expedition. Ample funds, resolute
+men, and an unprotected enemy would have been positive factors of
+success. Money, they had in abundance. Madness and folly seem to
+have ruled the half-hearted conspirators of California. An ALABAMA
+or two on the Pacific would have been most destructive scourges of
+the sea. The last days of opportunity glide by. The prosaic records
+of the Federal Court in California tell of the evanescent fame of
+Harpending, Greathouse, Rubery, Mason, Kent, and the other would-be
+buccaneers. The "Golden Circle" is badly shattered.
+
+Every inlet of the Pacific is watched, after the fiasco of the
+Chapman. She lies at anchor, an ignoble prize to the sturdy old
+Cyane. It is kismet.
+
+Maxime Valois mourns over the failure of these last plans to save
+the "cause." Heart-sick, he only wonders when a Yankee bullet will
+end the throbbings of his unconquerable heart. All is dark.
+
+He fears not for his wife and child. Their wealth is secured. He loses,
+from day to day, the feelings which tied him once to California.
+
+The infant heiress he hardly knows. His patient, soft-eyed Western
+wife is now only a placid memory. Her gentle nature never roused
+the inner fires of his passionate soul. Alien to the Pacific
+Coast, a soldier of fortune, the ties into which he drifted were
+the weavings of Fate. His warrior soul pours out its devotion in
+the military oath to guard to the last the now ragged silken folds
+of his regimental banner, the dear banner of Louisiana. The eyes
+of the graceful Creole beauties who gave it are now wet with bitter
+tears. Beloved men are dying vainly, day by day, under its sacred
+folds. Even Beauty's spell is vain.
+
+The wild oats are golden once more on the hills of Lagunitas; the
+early summer breezes waft stray leaf and blossom over the glittering
+lake in the Mariposa Mountains. Heading the tireless riflemen
+of his command, Valois throws himself in desperation on the Union
+lines at Chickamauga. Crashing volley, ringing "Napoleons," the
+wild yell of the onset, the answering cheers of defiance, sound
+faintly distant as Maxime Valois drops from his charger. He lies
+seriously wounded in the wild rush of Bragg's devoted battalions.
+He has got his "billet."
+
+For months, tossing on a bed of pain, the Louisianian is a sacred
+charge to his admiring comrades. Far in the hills of Georgia, the
+wasted soldier chafes under his absence from the field. The beloved
+silken heralds of victory are fluttering far away on the heights of
+Missionary Ridge. His faded eye brightens, his hollow cheek flushes
+when the glad tidings reach him of the environment of Rosecrans.
+His own regiment is at the front. He prays that he may lead it,
+when it heads the Confederate advance into Ohio. For now, after
+Chickamauga's terrific shock, the tide of victory bears northward
+the flag of his adoration. Months have passed since he received any
+news of his Western domain. No letters from Donna Dolores gladden
+him. Far away from the red hills of Georgia, in tenderness his
+thoughts, chastened with illness, turn to the dark-eyed woman who
+waits for him. She prays before the benignant face of the Blessed
+Virgin for her warrior husband. Alas, in vain!
+
+Silent is Hardin. No news comes from Padre Francisco. Nothing from
+his wife. Valois trusts to the future. The increasing difficulty of
+contraband mails, hunted blockade-runners, and Federal espionage,
+cut off his home tidings.
+
+His martial soul thrilled at the glories of Chickamauga, Valois
+learns that California has shown its mettle on the fiercest field
+of the West. Cheatham, Brooks, and fearless Terry have led to the
+front the wild masses of Bragg's devoted soldiery. These sons of
+California, like himself, were no mere carpet knights. On scattered
+Eastern fields, old friends of the Pacific have drawn the sword
+or gallantly died for Dixie. Garnett laid his life down at Rich
+Mountain. Calhoun Benham was a hero of Shiloh. Wild Philip Herbert
+manfully dies under the Stars and Bars on the Red River.
+
+The stain of cold indifference is lifted by these and other
+self-devoted soldiers who battle for the South.
+
+With heavy sighs, the wounded colonel still mourns for the failure
+to raise the Southern Cross in the West. Every day proves how
+useless have been all efforts on the Pacific Coast. Virginia is
+now the "man eater" of the Confederacy. Valois is haunted with the
+knowledge that some one will retrace the path of Rosecrans. Some
+genius will break through the open mountain-gates and cut the
+Confederacy in twain. It is an awful suspense.
+
+While waiting to join his command, he hungers for home news. Grant,
+the indomitable champion of the North, hurls Bragg from Missionary
+Ridge. Leaping on the trail of the great army, which for the first
+time deserts its guns and flags, the blue-clad pursuers press
+on toward Chattanooga. They grasp the iron gate of the South with
+mailed hand.
+
+The "Silent Man of Destiny" is called East to measure swords with
+stately Lee. He trains his Eastern legions for the last death-grapple.
+On the path toward the sea, swinging out like huntsmen, the columns
+of Sherman wind toward Atlanta. Bluff, impetuous, worldly wise,
+genius inspired, Sherman rears day by day the pyramid of his
+deathless fame. Confident and steady, bold and untiring, fierce
+as a Hannibal, cunning as a panther, old Tecumseh bears down upon
+the indefatigable Joe Johnston. Now comes a game worthy of the
+immortal gods. It is played on bloody fields. The crafty antagonists
+grapple in every cunning of the art of war. Rivers of human blood
+make easy the way. The serpent of the Western army writhes itself
+into the vitals of the torn and bleeding South. Everywhere the
+resounding crash of arms. Alas, steadfast as Maxime Valois' nature
+may be, tried his courage as his own battle blade, the roar of
+battle from east to west tells him of the day of wrath! The yells
+and groans of the trampled thousands of the Wilderness, are echoed
+by the despairing chorus of the dying myriads of Kenesaw and
+Dalton. A black pall hangs over a land given up to the butchery
+of brothers. Mountain chains, misted in the blue smoke of battle,
+rise unpityingly over heaps of unburied dead from the Potomac to
+the Mississippi. Maxime Valois knows at last the penalty of the
+fatal conspiracy. A sacrificed generation, ruined homes, and the
+grim ploughshare of war rives the fairest fields of the Land of
+the Cypress.
+
+Fearless and fate-defying, under ringing guns, crashing volley, and
+sweeping charge, the Southern veterans only close up the devoted
+gray ranks. They are thinning with every conflict, where Lee and
+Johnston build the slim gray wall against the resistless blue sea
+sweeping down.
+
+There is no pity in the pale moon. The cold, steady stars shine down
+on the upturned faces of the South's best and bravest. No craven
+blenching when the tattered Stars and Bars bear up in battle blast.
+And yet the starry flag crowns mountain and rock. It sweeps through
+blood-stained gorges and past battle-scarred defile. Onward,
+ever southward. The two giant swordsmen reel in this duel of
+desperation. Sherman and Johnston may not be withheld. The hour of
+fate is beginning to knell the doom of the cause. Southern mothers
+and wives have given up their unreturning brave as a costly sacrifice
+on the altar of Baal. Valois, once more in command, a colonel now,
+riding pale and desperate, before his men, sees their upturned
+glances. The dauntless ranks, filing by, touch his heroic heart.
+He fears, when Atlanta's refuge receives the beaten host, that
+the end is nigh.
+
+Bereft of news from his home, foreseeing the final collapse in
+Virginia, assured that the sea is lost to the South, the colonel's
+mood is daily sadder. His hungry eyes are wolfish in their steady
+glare. Only a soldier now. His flag is his altar of daily sacrifice.
+
+Port after port falls, foreign flatterers stand coldly aloof,
+empty magazines and idle fields are significant signs of the end.
+Useless cotton cannot be sent out or made available, priceless
+though it be. The rich western Mississippi is now closed as a
+supply line for the armies. The paper funds of the new nation are
+mere tokens of unpaid promises, never to be redeemed.
+
+Never to falter, not to shun the driving attacks of the pursuing
+horse or grappling foot, to watch his battle-flag glittering in the
+van, to lead, cheer, hope, inspire, and madly head his men, is the
+second nature of Valois. He has sworn not to see his flag dishonored.
+
+It never occurs to him to ask WHERE his creed came from. His blood
+thrills with the passionate devotion which blots out any sense of
+mere right and wrong. His motto is "For Dixie's Land to Death."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+HOOD'S DAY.--PEACHTREE CREEK.--VALOIS' LAST TRUST.--DE GRESS'
+BATTERY.--DEAD ON THE FIELD OF HONOR.
+
+
+
+
+
+A lantern burns dimly before the tent of Colonel Valois on the night
+of July 21, 1864. Within the lines of Atlanta there is commotion.
+Myriad lights flicker on the hills. A desperate army at bay is
+facing the enemy. Seven miles of armed environment mocks the caged
+tigers behind these hard-held ramparts. Facing north and east,
+the gladiators of the morrow lie on their arms, ready now for the
+summons to fall in, for a wild rush on Sherman's pressing lines.
+It is no holiday camp, with leafy bowers and lovely ladies straying
+in the moonlight. No dallying and listening to Romeos in gray and
+gold. No silver-throated bugles wake the night with "Lorena." No
+soft refrain of the "Suwanee River" melts all the hearts. It is
+not a gala evening, when "Maryland, my Maryland," rises in grand
+appeal. The now national "Dixie" tells not of fields to be won.
+It is a dark presage of the battle morrow. Behind grim redan and
+salient, the footsore troops rest from the day's indecisive righting.
+The foeman is not idle; all night long, rumbling trains and busy
+movements tell that "Uncle Billy Sherman" never sleeps. His blue
+octopus crawls and feels its way unceasingly. The ragged gray ranks,
+whose guns are their only pride, whose motto is "Move by day; fight
+always," are busy with the hum of preparation.
+
+It is a month of horror. North and South stand aghast at the
+unparalleled butchery of the Wilderness and Spottsylvania. The
+awful truth that Grant has paved his bloody way to final victory
+with one hundred thousand human bodies since he crossed the
+Rapidan, makes the marrow cold in the bones of the very bravest.
+Sixty thousand foes, forty thousand friends, are the astounding
+death figures. As if the dark angel of death was not satisfied with
+a carnage unheard of in modern times, Johnston, the old Marshal
+Ney of the Confederacy, gives way, in command of the Southern army
+covering Atlanta, to J.B. Hood. He is the Texan lion. Grizzled
+Sherman laughs on the 18th of July, when his spies tell him Johnston
+is relieved. "Replenish every caisson from the reserve parks;
+distribute campaign ammunition," he says, briefly. "Hood would
+assault me with a corporal's guard. He will fight by day or night.
+I know him," Uncle Billy says.
+
+The great Tecumseh feels a twinge as he whips out this verdict.
+Hood's tactics are fearful. There are thousands of mute witnesses of
+his own fatal rashness lying at Kenesaw, whose tongues are sealed
+in death. On that sad clay, Sherman out-Hooded Hood. But the
+blunt son of Ohio is right. He is a demi-god in intellect, and yet
+he has the intuition of femininity. He has caught Hood's fighting
+character at a glance.
+
+There's no time to chaffer over the situation. McPherson, the pride
+of the army, Thomas, the Rock of Chickamauga, and wary Schofield,
+draw in the great Union forces. Gallant Howard is in this knightly
+circle. "Black Jack" Logan, the "Harry Monmouth" of this coming
+field, connects on the 19th. There has been hot work to-day. Firing
+in Thomas's front tells the great strategist that Hood has tasted
+blood. Enough!
+
+Sherman knows how that mad Texan will throw his desperate men to
+the front, in the snapping, ringing zone of fire and flame. Hooker
+receives the shock of the onset, reinforced by heavy batteries, whose
+blazing guns tear lightning-rent lanes through the Confederates.
+Not a second to lose. The gray swarms are pouring on like mountain
+wolves.
+
+Fighting sharp and hot, the Union lines reach the strong defences
+of Peachtree Creek. Here Confederate Gilmer's engineering skill
+has prepared ditch and fraise, abattis and chevaux-de-frise, with
+yawning graves for the soon-forgotten brave.
+
+McPherson, Schofield, Howard, Hooker, and Palmer are all in line,
+deployed with strong reserves.
+
+Anxious Sherman sends clouds of orderly officers and scouts, right
+and left. Hood's defiant volleys die away. Will the rush come to-day?
+No; the hours wear away. The night brings quiet along the lines.
+Though a red harvest lies on the field, it is not the crowning
+effort of the entire enemy. It is only a rattling day of uneasy,
+hot-tempered fight.
+
+But the awful morrow is to come. Sherman soon divines the difficulty
+of fathoming the Texan's real designs. Hood is familiar with the
+ground. Drawing back to the lines of Atlanta, Hood crouches for
+a desperate spring. The ridges of the red clay hills, with little
+valleys running to the Chattahoochee in the west, and Ocmulgee
+in the east, cover his manoeuvres. Corn and cotton patches, with
+thick forests between, lie along the extended front. A tangled
+undergrowth masks the entire movements of the lurking enemy.
+
+Tireless Sherman, expectant of some demoniac rush, learns that the
+array before him is under Hood, Hardee, and the audacious cavalry
+leader, Wheeler. Stewart's and Smith's Georgian levies are also in
+line.
+
+Every disposition is made by the wary antagonists. Sherman,
+eagle-eyed and prompt to join issue, gains a brief repose before
+the gray of morning looses the fires of hell. McPherson, young and
+brilliant, whose splendid star is in its zenith, firmly holds his
+exposed lines along the railroad between two valleys. In his left
+and rear, the forest throws out dark shades to cover friend and
+foe. Between the waiting armies, petty murder stays its hands. The
+stars sweep to the west, bringing the last morning to thousands.
+They are now dreaming, perhaps, of the homes they will never see.
+A thrill of nervous tension keeps a hundred thousand men in vague,
+dumb expectancy. The coming shock will be terrible. No one can tell
+the issue.
+
+As the worn Confederate sentinel drags up and down before the tent
+of Colonel Valois, he can see the thoughtful veteran sitting, his
+tired head resting on a wasted hand.
+
+Spirit and high soul alone animate now the Louisiana colonel. Hope
+has fled. Over his devoted head the sentinel stars swing, with
+neither haste nor rest, toward the occident. They will shine on
+Lagunitas, smiling, fringed with its primeval pines.
+
+In her sleep, perhaps his little girl calls for him in vain. He is
+doomed not to hear that childish voice again.
+
+A bundle of letters, carelessly tossed down at head-quarters,
+have been carried in his bosom during the day's scattering fight.
+They are all old in their dates, and travel-worn in following the
+shifting positions of his skeleton regiment. They bring him, at
+last, nearly a year's news.
+
+Suddenly he springs to his feet, and his voice is almost a shriek.
+"Sentinel, call the corporal." In a moment, Valois, with quivering
+lip, says, "Corporal, ask Major Peyton to be kind enough to join
+me for a few moments."
+
+When his field-officer approaches, anticipating some important
+charge of duty, sword and revolver in hand, the ghastly face of
+Valois alarms him.
+
+"Colonel!" he cries. Valois motions him to be seated.
+
+"Peyton," begins Valois, brokenly, "I am struck to the heart."
+
+He is ashy pale. His head falls on his friend's bosom.
+
+"My wife!" He needs not finish. The open letters tell the story.
+It is death news.
+
+The major clasps his friend's thin hands.
+
+"Colonel, you must bear up. We are fallen on sad, sad days." His
+voice fails him. "Remember to-morrow; we must stand for the South."
+
+The chivalric Virginian's voice sounds hollow and strange. He sought
+the regiment, won over by Valois' lofty courage and stern military
+pride. To-morrow the army is to grapple and crush bold Sherman.
+It will be a death struggle.
+
+Yes, out of these walls, a thunderbolt, the heavy column, already
+warned, was to seek the Union left, and strike a Stonewall Jackson
+blow. Its march will be covered by the friendly woods. The keen-eyed
+adjutants are already warning the captains of every detail of
+the attack. Calm and unmoved, the gaunt centurions of the thinned
+host accepted the honorable charges of the forlorn hope. Valois'
+powder-seasoned fragment of the army was a "corps d'elite." Peyton
+wondered, as he watched his suffering colonel, if either would see
+another sparkling jewel-braided night.
+
+The blow of Hood must be the hammer of Thor.
+
+"To-morrow, yes, to-morrow," mechanically replied Valois. "I will
+be on duty to-morrow."
+
+"To-night, Peyton," he simply said, "I must suffer my last agony.
+My poor Dolores! Gone--my wife."
+
+The tears trickled through his fingers as he bowed his graceful
+head.
+
+"And my little Isabel," he softly said; "she will be an orphan.
+Will God protect that tender child? "Valois was talking to himself,
+with his eyes fixed on the dark night-shadows hiding the Federal
+lines. A stern, defiant gaze.
+
+Peyton shivered with a nervous chill.
+
+"Colonel, this must not be." In the silence of the brooding night,
+it seems a ghastly call from another world, this message of death.
+
+Valois proudly checks himself.
+
+"Peyton, I have few friends left in this land now. I want you to
+look these letters over." He hands him several letters from Hardin
+and from the priest. With tender delicacy, his hands close on the
+last words of affection from the gentle dark-eyed wife, who brought
+him the great dowry of Lagunitas, and gave him his little Isabel.
+
+Peyton reads the words, old in date but new in their crushing force
+of sorrow to the husband. Resting on the stacked arms in front
+of his tent, the colors of Louisiana and the silken shreds of the
+Stars and Bars wait for the bugles of reveille calling again to
+battle.
+
+Dolores dying of sudden illness, cut off in her youthful prime, was
+only able to receive the last rites of the Church, to smile fondly
+in her last moments, as she kisses the picture of the absent soldier
+of the Southern Cross. Francois Ribaut, the French gentleman, writes
+a sad letter, with no formula of the priest. He knows Maxime Valois
+is face to face with death, in these awful days of war. A costly
+sacrifice on the altar of Southern rights may be his fate at any
+moment.
+
+It is to comfort, not admonish, to pledge every friendly office,
+that the delicate-minded padre softens the blow. Later, the priest
+writes of the lonely child, whose tender youth wards off the blow
+of the rod of sorrow.
+
+Philip Hardin's letter mainly refers to the important business
+interests of the vast estate. The possibility of the orphanage of
+Isabel occurs. He suggests the propriety of Colonel Valois' making
+and forwarding a new will, and constituting a guardianship of the
+young heiress. In gravest terms of friendship, he reminds Valois
+to indicate his wishes as to the child, her nurture and education.
+The fate of a soldier may overtake her surviving parent any day.
+
+Other unimportant issues drop out of sight. Hardin has told of
+the last attempt to fit out a schooner at a secluded lumber landing
+in Santa Cruz County. They tried to smuggle on board a heavy
+gun secretly transported there. An assemblage of desperate men,
+gathering in the lonely woods, were destined to man the boat. By
+accident, the Union League discovers the affair. Flight is forced
+on the would-be pirates.
+
+Valois' lip curls as he tells Peyton of the utter prostration of
+the last Confederate hope beyond the Colorado. All vain and foolish
+schemes.
+
+"I wish your advice, Major," he resumes. In brief summing up,
+he gives Peyton the outline of his family history and his general
+wishes.
+
+A final result of the hurried conclave is the hasty drawing up
+of a will. It is made and duly witnessed. It makes Philip Hardin
+guardian of the heiress and sole executor of his testament. His
+newly descended property he leaves to the girl child, with directions
+that she shall be sent to Paris. She is to be educated to the time
+of her majority at the "Sacred Heart." There in that safe retreat,
+where the world's storms cannot reach the defenceless child, he
+feels she will be given the bearing and breeding of a Valois. She
+must be fitted for her high fortunes.
+
+He writes a fond letter to Father Francisco, to whom he leaves
+a handsome legacy, ample to make him independent of all pecuniary
+cares. He adjures that steadfast friend to shield his darling's
+childhood, to follow and train her budding mind in its development.
+He informs him of every disposition, and sends the tenderest thanks
+for a self-devotion of years.
+
+The farewell signature is affixed. Colonel Valois indites to Judge
+Philip Hardin a letter of last requests. It is full of instructions
+and earnest appeal. When all is done, he closes his letter. "I
+send you every document suggested. My heart is sore. I can no longer
+write. I will lead my regiment to-morrow in a desperate assault.
+If I give my life for my country, Hardin, let my blood seal this
+sacred bond between you and me. I leave you my motherless child.
+May God deal with you and yours as you shall deal with the beloved
+little one, whose face I shall never see.
+
+"If I had a thousand lives I would lay them down for the flag which
+may cover me to-morrow night. Old friend, remember a dying man's
+trust in you and your honor."
+
+When Peyton has finished reading these at Colonel Valois' request,
+his eyes are moist. To-night the bronzed chief is as tender as a
+woman. The dauntless soul, strong in battle scenes, is shaken with
+the memories of a motherless little one. She must face the world
+alone, God's mercy her only stay.
+
+Colonel Valois, who has explained the isolation of the child, has
+left his estate in remainder to the heirs of Judge Valois, of New
+Orleans.
+
+Old and tottering to his tomb is that veteran jurist. The
+possible heir would be Armand, the boy student, cut off in Paris.
+No home-comings now. The ports are all closed.
+
+When all is prepared, Colonel Valois says tenderly: "Peyton, I
+have some money left at Havana. I will endorse these drafts to you,
+and give you a letter to the banker there. You can keep them for
+me. I want you to ride into Atlanta and see these papers deposited.
+Let there be made a special commission for their delivery to our
+agent at Havana. Let them leave Atlanta at once. I want no failure
+if Sherman storms the city. I will not be alive to see it."
+
+Awed by the prophetic coolness of Valois' speech, Peyton sends for
+his horse. He rides down to the town, where hundreds on hundreds
+of wounded sufferers groan on every side. Thousands desperately
+wait in the agony of suspense for the morrow's awful verdict. He
+gallops past knots of reckless merry-makers who jest on the edge
+of their graves. Henry Peyton bears the precious packet and delivers
+it to an officer of the highest rank. He is on the eve of instant
+departure for the sea-board. Cars and engines are crowded with the
+frightened people, flying from the awful shock of Hood's impending
+assault.
+
+This solemn duty performed, the Major rejoins Colonel Valois at a
+gallop. Lying on his couch, Valois' face brightens as he springs
+from his rest. "It is well. I thank you," he simply says. He is
+calm, even cheerful. The bonhomie of his race is manifest. "Major
+Peyton," he says, pleasantly, "I would like you to remember the
+matters of this evening. Should you live through this war the
+South will be in wild disorder. I have referred to your kindness,
+in my letter to Hardin and in a paper I have enclosed to him. It
+is for my child. You will have a home at Lagunitas if you ever go
+to California."
+
+He discusses a few points of the movement of the morrow. There is
+no extra solemnity in going under fire. They have lived in a zone
+of fire since Sherman's pickets crossed the open, months ago. But
+this supreme effort of Hood marks a solemn epoch. The great shops
+and magazines of Atlanta, the railroad repair works, foundries and
+arsenals, the geographical importance, studied fortifications, and
+population to be protected, make the city a stronghold of ultimate
+importance to the enfeebled South.
+
+If the Northern bayonets force these last doors of Georgia, then
+indeed the cause is desperate.
+
+When midnight approached, Colonel Valois calmly bade his friend
+"Good-night." Escorting him to his tent, he whispers, "Peyton, take
+your coffee with me to-morrow. I will send for you."
+
+Slumber wraps friend and foe alike. All too soon the gray dawn
+points behind the hills. There is bustle and confusion. Shadowy
+groups cluster around the waning fires long before daybreak. The
+gladiators are falling into line. Softly, silently, day steals over
+the eastern hills. Is it the sun of Austerlitz or of Waterloo?
+
+Uneasy picket-firing ushers in the battle day. Colonel Valois and
+Major Peyton share their frugal meal. The rattle of picket shots
+grows into a steady, teasing firing. Well-instructed outpost officers
+are carrying on this noisy mockery.
+
+Massed behind the circling lines of Atlanta, within the radius of
+a mile and a half, the peerless troops who DOUBT Hood's ability,
+but who ADORE his dauntless bravery, are silently massed for the
+great attack.
+
+The officers of Valois' regiment, summoned by the adjutant, receive
+their Colonel's final instructions. His steady eye turns fondly on
+the men who have been his comrades, friends, and devoted admirers.
+"Gentlemen," he says, "we will have serious work to-day. I shall
+expect you to remember what Georgia hopes from Louisiana."
+
+Springing to his saddle, he doffs his cap as the head of the regiment
+files by, in flank movement. The lithe step, steady swing, and
+lightly poised arms proclaim matchless veterans. They know his
+every gesture in the field. He is their idol.
+
+As Peyton rides up, he whispers (for the colors have passed), "Henry,
+if you lead the regiment out of this battle, I ask you never to
+forget my last wishes." The two friends clasp hands silently. With
+a bright smile, whose light lingers as he spurs past the springy
+column, he takes the lead, falcon-eyed, riding down silently into
+the gloomy forest-shades of death.
+
+A heavy mass of troops, pushing out in swift march, works steadily
+to the Union left, and gains its ground rapidly. The Seventeenth
+Corps of Blair, struck in flank, give way. The Sixteenth Union
+Corps of Dodge are quickly rushed up. The enemy are struck hard.
+Crash and roar of battle rise now in deafening clamor. Away to
+the unprotected Union rear ride the wild troopers of Wheeler. The
+whole left of Sherman's troops are struck at disadvantage. They are
+divided, or thrown back in confusion toward Decatur. The desperate
+struggle sways to and fro till late in the day. With a rush of
+Hood's lines, Murray's battery of regular artillery is captured.
+The Stars and Bars sweep on in victory.
+
+Onward press the Confederate masses in all the pride of early
+victory. The Fifteenth Corps, under Morgan L. Smith, make a desperate
+attempt to hold on at a strong line of rifle pits. The seething
+gray flood rolls upon them and sends them staggering back four
+hundred yards. Over two cut-off batteries, the deadly carnage smites
+blue and gray alike. Charge and countercharge succeed in the mad
+struggle for these guns. Neither side can use them until a final
+wave shall sweep one set of madmen far away.
+
+With desperate valor, Morgan L. Smith at last claims the prize. His
+cheering troops send double canister from the regained batteries
+into the gray columns of attack. General Sherman, at a deserted
+house, where he has made his bivouac, paces the porch like a restless
+tiger. The increasing firing on the left, tells him of this heavy
+morning attack. A map spread on a table catches his eye from time
+to time. The waiting crowd of orderlies and staff officers have,
+one by one, dashed off to reform the lines or strengthen the left.
+While the firing all along the line is everywhere ominous, the
+roar on the left grows higher and higher. Out from the fatal woods
+begin to stream weary squads of the wounded and stragglers. The
+floating skulkers hover at the edge of the red tide of conflict.
+
+Ha! A wounded aide dashes up with tidings of the ominous gap on the
+left. That fearful sweep of Wheeler's cavalry to the rear is known
+at last by the fires of burning trains. With a few brief words of
+counsel, and a nod of his stately head, McPherson, the splendid
+light of battle on his brow, gallops away to reform these broken
+lines. The eye of the chief must animate his corps.
+
+Hawk-eyed Sherman watches the glorious young general as he turns
+into the forest. A grim look settles on the general's face. He runs
+his eye over the map. As the tiger's approach is heralded by the
+clatter of the meaner animals, so from out that forest the human
+debris tell of Hood's battle hammer crashing down on that left "in
+air." Is there yet time to reform a battle, now fighting itself in
+sudden bloody encounters? All is at haphazard. A sigh of relief.
+McPherson is there. His ready wit, splendid energy, and inspiring
+presence are worth a thousand meaner souls, in the wild maelstrom
+of that terrible July day.
+
+Old Marshal Tecumseh, with unerring intuition, knows that the
+creeping skirmishers have felt the whole left of his position. With
+the interior lines and paths of the forest to aid, if anything has
+gone wrong, if gap or lap has occurred, then on those unguarded
+key-points and accidental openings, the desperate fighters of the
+great Texan will throw their characteristic fierceness. Atlanta's
+tall chimneys rise on the hills to the west. There, thousands, with
+all at stake, listen to the rolling notes of this bloody battle.
+High in the air, bursting shells with white puffs light up the
+clouds of musketry smoke. Charging yells are borne down the wind,
+with ringing answering cheers. The staccato notes of the snapping
+Parrotts accentuate the battle's din.
+
+Sherman, with cloudy brow, listens for some news of the imperilled
+left wing. Is the iron army of the Tennessee to fail him now? Seven
+miles of bayonets are in that great line, from left to right, headed
+by McPherson, Schofield, and Thomas, the flower of the Union Army.
+
+Looking forward to a battle outside Atlanta, a siege, or a flanking
+bit of military chesswork, the great Union commander is dragged
+now into a purely defensive battle. Where is McPherson?
+
+Sherman has a quarter of an hour of horrible misgiving. He saw the
+mad panic of the first Bull Run. He led the only compact body of
+troops off that fatal field himself. It was his own brigade. In
+his first-fought field, he showed the unshakable nerve of Macdonald
+at Wagram. But he has also seen the fruits of the wild stampede
+of McCook and Crittenden's divisions since at Chickamauga. It tore
+the laurels from Rosecrans' brow. Is this to be a panic? Rosecrans'
+defeat made Sherman the field-marshal of the West.
+
+At Missionary Ridge, even the invincibles of the South fled their
+lines in sudden impulse, giving up an almost impregnable position.
+The haughty old artillerist, Braxton Bragg, was forced to officially
+admit that stampede. He added a few dozen corpses to his disciplinary
+"graveyards," "pour encourager les autres." Panic may attack even
+the best army.
+
+Is it panic now swelling on the breeze of this roaring fight? Fast
+and far his hastily summoned messengers ride. To add a crowning
+disaster to the confusion of the early morning death grapple, the
+sun does not touch the meridian before a bleeding aide brings back
+McPherson's riderless horse. Where is the general? Alas, where?
+
+Dashing far ahead of his staff and orderlies, tearing from wood
+to wood, to close in the fatal gap and reface his lines--a volley
+from a squad of Hood's pickets drops the great corps commander,
+McPherson, a mangled corpse, in the forest. No such individual loss
+to either army has happened since Stonewall Jackson's untimely end
+at Chancellorsville.
+
+His rifled body is soon recovered. With super-human efforts it is
+borne to the house in the clearing and laid at General Sherman's
+feet.
+
+Lightning flashes of wit traverse Sherman's brain. Every rebel
+straggler is instantly searched as he is swept in. The invaluable
+private papers of General McPherson, the secret orders, and campaign
+plans are found in the haversack of one of the captured skirmishers.
+These, at least, are safe.
+
+With this blow, comes the news of the Seventeenth Corps being thrown
+back, far out of its place, by the wild rush of Hood's braves. All
+goes wrong. The day is lost.
+
+Will it be a Bull Run?
+
+No! The impetuous Logan tears along his lines. "Black Jack's"
+swarthy face brings wild cheers from the men, who throw themselves
+madly on the attacking lines, seeking vengeance. The Fifteenth
+Corps' rifles are sounding shotted requiem salvos for their lost
+leader. The Seventeenth holds on and connects. The Sixteenth Corps,
+struck heavily in flank by the victorious Confederates, faces into
+line of battle to the left. It grimly holds on, and pours in its
+leaden hail. Smith's left flank doubled back, joining Leggett,
+completes the reformed line. From high noon till the darkness of
+the awful night, a general conflict rages along the whole front.
+War in its grim horror.
+
+Sherman, casting a wistful glance on the body of McPherson, stands
+alert. He is as bristling as a wild boar at bay. Sherman at his
+best.
+
+Is this their worst? No, for at four in the afternoon, a terrific
+sally from Atlanta throws the very flower of the assailants on the
+bloody knoll, evermore to be known as "Leggett's Hill." There is
+madness and demoniac fury in the way those gray columns struggle
+for that ridge.
+
+In vain does Hood send out his bravest stormers to crown the
+wished-for position of Leggett.
+
+Sherman is as sure of Atlanta now, as if his eagles towered over
+its domes. Drawing to the left the corps of Wood, massing Schofield
+with twenty heavy guns playing on Hood's charging columns, Sherman
+throws Wood, backed by John A. Logan's victorious veterans, on the
+great body of the reeling assailants. The final blow has met its
+stone wall, in the lines of Leggett. The blue takes up the offensive,
+with wild cheers of triumph. They reach "Uncle Billy's" ears.
+
+Some decisive stroke must cut the tangle of the involved forces.
+When Hood sees that his devoted troops have not totally crushed the
+Union left, when his columns reel back from Leggett's Hill, mere
+fragments, he knows that even his dauntless men cannot be asked to
+try again that fearful quest. It is checkmate!
+
+But Wheeler is still careering in destruction around Sherman's rear
+parks, and ravaging his supplies. Hood persists in his desperate
+design to pierce the Union lines somewhere. He throws away his
+last chance of keeping an army together. His fiery valor bade him
+defend Atlanta from the OUTSIDE. He now sends a last thunderbolt
+crashing on the Decatur road.
+
+During the day Valois' regiment has been thrown in here and there.
+The stern colonel gazes with pride on the seasoned fighters at
+their grim work.
+
+But it is after four when Colonel Valois is ordered to mass his
+regiment, followed by the last reserve, and lead it to the front
+in the supreme effort of this awful day. His enemy in front is a
+Union battery, which has been a flail to the Southern army.
+
+In dozens of encounters the four heavy twenty-pound Parrotts of De
+Gress have been an object of the maddest attack. Superbly handled,
+in the best equipment, its high power, long range, and dashing
+energy have given to this battery the rank in the West, which John
+Pelham's light artillery gained under Lee's eyes in Virginia. The
+pride of Sherman's artillery is the famous battery of De Gress.
+To-day it has been dealing out death incessantly, at half musket-range.
+It has swept rank on rank of the foes away. Now, with the frenzy of
+despair, General Hood sends a forlorn column to pierce the Union
+lines, carry the road, and take those renowned guns. A lull betokens
+the last rush.
+
+Riding to the front, Colonel Valois reins up beside Major Peyton.
+There is only time for a few last directions. A smile which haunts
+Peyton for many a long day, flashes on Maxime Valois' stern lips.
+He dashes on, waving his sword, and cries in his ringing voice,
+
+"Come on, boys, for Louisiana!"
+
+Springing like panthers into the open, the closed ranks bound toward
+the fated guns at a dead run. Ha! There was a crashing salvo. Now,
+it is load and fire at will. Right and left, fire pours in on the
+guns, whose red flashes singe the very faces of the assailants.
+Peyton's quick eye sees victory wavering. Dashing towards the
+guns he cheers his men. As he nears the battery the Louisiana
+color-bearer falls dead. Henry Peyton seizes the Pelican flag, and
+dashes on over friends, dead and dying, as his frightened steed
+races into the battery.
+
+There, every horse is down. The guns are now silent. A knot of men,
+with clubbed rammers, bayonet thrusts, and quick revolver shots,
+fight for the smoking cannon. A cheer goes up. De Gress's guns are
+taken. Peyton turns his head to catch a glimpse of Colonel Valois.
+Grasping the star-spangled guidon of the battery with his bridle
+hand, Valois cuts down its bearer.
+
+A wild yell rises as a dozen rebel bayonets are plunged into a
+defiant fugitive, for he has levelled his musket point-blank and
+shot Valois through the heart.
+
+The leader's frightened charger bounds madly to the front, and the
+Louisiana colonel falls heavily to the ground.
+
+Clasped in his clenched hands, the silken folds of the captured
+battery flag are dyed with his blood. A dozen willing arms raise
+the body, bearing it to one side, for the major, mindful of the
+precious moments, yells to "swing the guns and pass the caissons."
+In a minute, the heavy Parrotts of De Gress are pouring their
+shrapnel into the faces of the Union troops, who are, three hundred
+yards away, forming for a rush to recapture them.
+
+As the cannon roar their defiance to the men who hold them dear,
+Peyton bends over Maxime Valois. The heart is stilled forever.
+With his stiffening fingers clutching his last trophy, the "Stars
+and Stripes," there is the light of another world shining on the
+face of the dead soldier of the Southern Cross. Before sending his
+body to the rear, Henry Peyton draws from Valois' breast a packet
+of letters. It is the last news from the loved wife he has rejoined
+across the shadowy river. United in death. Childish Isabel is indeed
+alone in the world. A rain of shrieking projectiles and bursting
+shells tells of the coming counter-charge.
+
+Drawing back the guns by hand to a cover for the infantry, and
+rattling the caissons over a ridge to screen the ammunition boxes,
+the shattered rebel ranks send volleys into the faces of the lines
+of Schofield, now coming on at a run.
+
+The captured Parrotts ring and scream. One over-heated gun of the
+battery bursts, adding its horrors to the struggle. Logan's men are
+leaping over the lines to right and left, bayoneting the gunners.
+The Louisianians give way and drift to the rear. The evening shadows
+drop over crest, wood, and vale. When the first stars are in the
+skies Hood's shattered columns stream back into Atlanta. The three
+guns of De Gress have changed hands again. Even the bursted piece
+falls once more under the control of the despairing Union artillery
+captain. He has left him neither men, horses, fittings, nor harness
+available--only three dismantled guns and the wreck of his fourth
+piece. But they are back again! Sherman's men with wildest shouts
+crowd the field. They drive the broken remnants of the proud
+morning array under the guns of the last lines of the doomed city.
+Dare-devil Hood has failed. The desperate dash has cost ten thousand
+priceless men. The brief command of the Texan fighter has wrecked
+the invaluable army of which Joe Johnston was so mindful.
+
+McPherson, who joined the subtlety of Stonewall to the superb bearing
+of Sidney Johnston, a hero born, a warrior, and great captain to
+be, lies under the stars in the silent chambers of the Howard House.
+
+General Sherman, gazing on his noble features, calm in death,
+silently mourns the man who was his right hand. Thomas, Schofield,
+Howard, Logan, and Slocum stand beside the dead general. They bewail
+the priceless sacrifice of Peachtree Creek.
+
+In the doomed city of Atlanta, there is gloom and sadness. With
+the fragments of the regiment which adored him, a shattered guard
+of honor, watching over him with yet loaded guns, in charge of the
+officers headed by Major Peyton, the body of Maxime Valois rests
+within the Southern lines.
+
+For the dear land of his birth he had abandoned the fair land of
+his choice. With the captured banner of his country in his hand,
+he died in the hour of a great personal triumph, "under the Stars
+and Bars." Game to the last.
+
+High-souled and devoted, the son of Louisiana never failed the call
+of his kinsmen. He carried the purest principles to the altar of
+Secession.
+
+Watching by the shell from which the dauntless spirit had fled in
+battle and in storm, Henry Peyton feels bitterly that the fate of
+Atlanta is sealed. He knows the crushing of their weak lines will
+follow. He can picture Sherman's heavy columns taking city after
+city, and marching toward the blue sea.
+
+The end is approaching. A gloomier darkness than the night of the
+last battle broods over the Virginian. With pious reverence, he
+hastens to arrange the few personal matters of his chief. He knows
+not the morrow. The active duties of command will soon take up
+all his time. He must keep the beloved regiment together.
+
+For, of the two or three companies left of a regiment "whose
+bayonets were once a thousand," Henry Peyton is the colonel now.
+A "barren honor," yet inexpressibly dear to him.
+
+In the face of the enemy, within the lines held hard by the reorganizing
+fragments of yesterday's host, the survivors bury the brave leader
+who rode so long at their head. Clad in his faded gray, the colonel
+lies peacefully awaiting the great Reveille.
+
+When the sloping bayonets of the regiment glitter, for the last
+time, over the ramparts their generous blood has stained in fight,
+as the defeated troops move away, many a stout heart softens as
+they feel they are leaving alone and to the foe the lost idol of
+their rough worship.
+
+Major Peyton preserves for the fatherless child the personal relics
+of his departed friend. Before it is too late, he despatches them
+to the coast, to be sent to Havana, to await Judge Hardin's orders
+at the bankers'. The news of the fate of Colonel Valois, and the
+last wishes of the dead Confederate, are imparted in a letter to
+Judge Hardin by Peyton.
+
+In the stern realities of the last retreat, fighting and marching,
+after the winter snows have whitened the shot-torn fields around
+Atlanta; sick of carnage and the now useless bloodshed, Colonel
+Peyton leads his mere detachment to the final scene of the North
+Carolina surrender. Grant's iron hand has closed upon Petersburg's
+weakened lines. Sheridan's invincible riders, fresh from the
+Shenandoah, have shattered the steadfast at Five Forks.
+
+Gloomy days have fallen, also, on the cause in the West. The
+despairing valor of the day at Franklin and the assault on Nashville
+only needlessly add to. the reputation for frantic bravery
+of the last of the magnificent Western armies of the Confederacy.
+Everywhere there are signs of the inevitable end. With even the sad
+news of Appomattox to show him that the great cause is irretrievably
+lost, there are bitter tears in Henry Peyton's eyes when he sees
+the flags of the army he has served with, lowered to great Sherman
+in the last surrender.
+
+The last order he will ever give to them turns out for surrender
+the men whose reckless bravery has gilded a "Lost Cause" with a
+romantic halo of fadeless glory. Peyton sadly sheathes the sword he
+took from Maxime Valois' dead hands. Southward, he takes his way.
+Virginia is now only a graveyard and one vast deserted battle-field.
+The strangers' bayonets are shining at Richmond. He cannot revisit
+the scenes of his boyhood. A craving seizes him for new scenes
+and strange faces. He yearns to blot out the war from his memory.
+He dreams of Mexico, Cuba, or the towering Andes of South America.
+His heart is too full to linger near the scenes where the red
+earth lies heaped over his brethren of the sword. Back to Atlanta
+he travels, with the returning fragments of the men who are now
+homeward bound. All is silent now. From wood and hill no rattling
+fire wakes the stillness of these days. The blackened ruins and
+the wide swath cut by Sherman tell him how true was the prediction
+that the men of the Northwest would "hew their way to the Gulf
+with their swords." He finds the grave of Valois, when dismantled
+and crippled Atlanta receives him again. Standing there, alone, the
+pageantry of war has rolled away. The battle-fields are covered
+with wild roses. The birds nest in the woods where Death once reigned
+supreme. High in the air over Atlanta the flag of the country waves,
+on the garrison parade, with not a single star erased.
+
+On his way to a self-appointed exile, the Virginian has seen the
+wasted fields, blackened ruins, and idle disheartened communities
+of the conquered, families brought to misery, and the young
+arms-bearing generation blotted out. Hut and manor-house have been
+licked up by the red torch of war. The hollow-eyed women, suffering
+children, and dazed, improvident negroes, wander around aimlessly.
+Bridges, mills and factories in ruins tell of the stranger's torch,
+and the crashing work of the artillery. Tall, smokeless chimneys
+point skywards as monuments of desolation.
+
+Bowed in defeat, their strongholds are yet occupied by the
+blue-coated victors. All that is left of the Southern communities
+lingers in ruined homes and idle marts. They now are counting the
+cost of attempted secession, in the gloom of despair.
+
+The land is one vast graveyard. The women who mourn husbands and
+lovers stray over fields of strife, and wonder where the loved one
+sleeps. Friend and foe, "in one red burial blent," are lying down
+in the unbroken truce of death.
+
+Atlanta's struggle against the restless Sherman has been only
+wasted valor, a bootless sacrifice. Her terrific sallies, lightning
+counter-thrusts, and final struggles with the after-occupation, can
+be traced in the general desolation, by every step of the horrible
+art of war.
+
+Here, by the grave of his intrepid comrade, Henry Peyton reviews
+the past four years. His scars and wasted frame tell him of many
+a deadly fray, and the dangers of the insane fight for State rights.
+
+The first proud days of the war return. Hopes that have failed
+long since are remembered. The levy and march to the front, the
+thousand watch-fires glittering around the unbroken hosts, whose
+silken-bordered banners tell of the matchless devotion of the
+women clinging blindly to the cause.
+
+Peyton thinks now of the loved and lost who bore those flags,
+to-day furled forever, to the front, at Bull Run, Shiloh, the Seven
+Days, Groveton, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Chickamauga, and
+Spottsylvania.
+
+The foreign friends in Europe, the daring rovers of the sea
+who carried the Stars and Bars from off New York to Singapore and
+far Behring Straits. What peerless leaders. Such deep, sagacious
+statesmen. The treasures of the rich South, the wealth of King
+Cotton, all wasted uselessly. A popular devotion, which deeply
+touched the magnanimous Grant in the supreme hour of victory, has
+been lavished on the altar of the Confederacy where Davis, Lee,
+and Jackson were enthroned. Fallen gods now, but still majestic
+and yet revered.
+
+Peyton thinks with an almost breaking heart of all these sacrifices
+for the Lost Cause. By his friend's grave he feels that an awful
+price has been paid for the glories of the short-lived Confederacy.
+
+The noble-hearted Virginian dares not hope that there may yet be
+found golden bands of brotherhood to knit together the children of
+the men who fought under gray and blue. Frankly acknowledging the
+injustice of the early scorn of the Northern foe, he knows, from
+glances cast backward over the storied fields, the vigor of the
+North was under-estimated. The men of Donelson, Antietam, Stone
+River, Vicksburg, awful Gettysburg, of Winchester, and Five Forks,
+are as true and tried as ever swung a soldier's blade.
+
+He has seen the country's flag of stars stream out bravely against
+the tide of defeat. If American valor needs a champion the men
+who saw the "Yankees" at Seven Pines, Gaines Mill, Marye's Heights,
+and holding in fire and flame the batteries of Corinth and Knoxville,
+will swear the embittered foes were worthy of each other.
+
+The defeated Confederate veteran, as he plucks a rose from the grass
+growing over the gallant Valois, bitterly remembers the useless
+sacrifices of the whole Southern army to the "Virginia policy." A
+son of the "old State" himself, he can feel now, in the sorrow and
+silence of defeat, that the early triumphs of the war were wasted.
+The great warlike generation was frittered away on the Potomac.
+
+Devoted to Lee, he still mourns the lost months of the fall of '61,
+when, flushed with triumph, the Confederates could have entered
+Washington. Then Maryland would have risen "en masse." Foreign
+lands would have been won over. An aggressive policy even in 1862,
+after the Peninsula, might have changed the final result. The dead
+Californian's regrets for the abandonment of all effort in the
+Pacific, the cutting-off and uselessness of the great trans-Mississippi
+region, all return to him in vain sorrow.
+
+By Maxime Valois' grave, Peyton wonders if the battle-consecrated
+blood of the sons has washed away the sins of the fathers. He
+knows not of the brighter days, when the past shall seem a vision
+of romance. When our country will smile in peace and brotherhood,
+from ocean to ocean. Sadly he uncovers his head. He leaves Maxime
+Valois lying in the proud silence of the soldier's grave--"dead on
+the field of honor."
+
+To New Orleans Colonel Peyton repairs. On making search, he finds
+that Judge Valois has not survived the collapse of the Confederacy.
+His only son is abroad, in Paris. The abandoned plantations and
+family property are under the usual load of debt, taxes, and all
+the legal confusion of a change of rulers.
+
+Peyton thanks the dead soldier in his heart for the considerable
+legacy of his unused balances. He is placed beyond immediate
+necessity. He leaves the land where the Southern Cross met defeat.
+He wishes to wander over Cuba, Mexico, and toward the West. At
+Havana, he finds that the documents and articles forwarded by the
+agents to Judge Hardin have been duly sent though never acknowledged.
+
+The letters taken from Colonel Valois' body he seals in a packet.
+He trusts that fate may lead him some day westward. They are too
+precious to risk. He may some day tell the little lady of Lagunitas,
+of the gallant father whose thoughts, before his last battle, were
+only for the beloved "little one." She is confided, as a trust,
+from the dying to Judge Hardin. She is surely safe in the sheltering
+care of Valois' oldest friend. A "Southern gentleman."
+
+Peyton for years can bring back the tender solemnity of Maxime
+Valois' face, as he reads his charge to Hardin.
+
+"And may God deal with you and yours, as you deal with me and mine."
+
+The devoted father's appeal would touch a heart of stone.
+
+The folly of not beginning active war in the West; the madness of
+not seizing California at the outset; the rich prizes of the Pacific
+left ungathered, for has not Semmes almost driven Yankee ships from
+the sea with the Alabama, and does not Waddell, with the cockle-shell
+Shenandoah, burn and destroy the entire Pacific whaling fleet?
+The free-booter sails half around the world, unchallenged, after
+the war. Oh, coward Knights of the Golden Circle! Fools, and blind,
+to let California slip from your grasp!
+
+Maxime Valois was right. Virginian rule ruined the Confederacy.
+Too late, too late!
+
+Had Sidney Johnston lived; had Robert E. Lee been willing to
+leave sacred Virginia uncovered for a fortnight in the days before
+he marshalled the greatest army the Southerners ever paraded, and
+invaded the North boldly, a peace would have resulted.
+
+Peyton thinks bitterly of the irreparable loss of Sidney Johnston.
+He recalls the death of peerless Jackson. Jackson, always aggressive,
+active, eager to reach for the enemy, and ever successful.
+
+Wasted months when the prestige was with the South, the fixed
+determination of Lee to keep the war in Virginia, and Davis's deadly
+jealousy of any leading minds, seem to have lost the brightest
+chances of a glorious success.
+
+Peyton condemns the military court of Davis and the intrenched
+pageantry of Lee's idle forces. The other armies of the Confederacy
+fought, half supplied, giving up all to hold the Virginia lines.
+He cannot yet realize that either Sherman or Grant might have
+baffled Sidney Johnston had he lived. Lee was self-conscious of
+his weakness in invasion. He will not own that Philip Sheridan's
+knightly sword might have reached the crest of the unconquered
+Stonewall Jackson.
+
+Vain regret, shadowy dreams, and sad imaginings fill Colonel
+Peyton's mind. The thrilling struggles of the Army of the West, its
+fruitless victories, and unrewarded heroism make him proud of its
+heroes. Had another policy ruled the Confederate military cabinet,
+success was certain. But he is now leaving his friend's grave.
+
+The birds are singing in the forest. As the sun lights up the dark
+woods where McPherson died, into Henry Peyton's war-tried soul
+enters the peace which broods over field and incense-breathing trees.
+Far in the East, the suns of future years may bring happier days,
+when the war wounds are healed. The brothers of the Union may find
+a nobler way to reach each other's hearts than ball or bayonet.
+But he cannot see these gleams of hope.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK IV.
+
+A LOST HEIRESS.--MILLIONS AT STAKE.
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+MOUNT DAVIDSON'S MAGIC MILLIONS.--A CALIFORNIA PLUTOCRACY.--THE
+PRICE OF A CRIME.
+
+
+
+
+
+Philip Hardin's library in San Francisco is a place for quiet labors.
+A spider's parlor. September, 1864, hides the enchanted interior
+with deeper shades from the idle sight-seer.
+
+Since the stirring days of 1861, after the consecutive failures of
+plot, political scheme, and plan of attack, the mysterious "chief
+of the Golden Circle" has withdrawn from public practice. A marked
+and dangerous man.
+
+It would be an insult to the gallant dead whose blood watered the
+fields of the South, for Philip Hardin to take the "iron-clad oath"
+required now of practitioners.
+
+Respected for his abilities, feared by his adversaries, shunned
+for his pro-secession views, Philip Hardin walks alone. No overt
+act can be fastened on him, Otherwise, instead of gazing on Alcatraz
+Island from his mansion windows, he might be behind those frowning
+walls, where the l5-inch Columbiads spread their radial lines of
+fire, to cross those of the works of Black Point, Fort Point, and
+Point Blunt. Many more innocent prisoners toil there. He does not
+wish to swell their number. Philip Hardin dares not take that oath
+in open court. His pride prevents, but, even were he to offer it,
+the mockery would be too patent.
+
+A happy excuse prevents his humiliation. Trustee of the vast
+estate of Lagunitas, he has also his own affairs to direct. It is
+a dignified retirement.
+
+Another great passion fills his later days. Since the wandering
+Comstock and Curry, proverbially unfortunate discoverers, like
+Marshall, pointed to hundreds of millions for the "silver kings,"
+along Mount Davidson's stony, breast, he gambles daily. The stock
+board is his play-room.
+
+The mining stock exchange gives his maturer years the wilder
+excitements of the old El Dorado.
+
+Washoe, Nevada Territory, or the State of Nevada, the new "Silverado"
+drives all men crazy. A city shines now along the breast of the
+Storey County peaks, nine thousand feet above the sea. The dulness
+of California's evolution is broken by the rush to Washoe. Already
+the hardy prospectors spread out in that great hunt for treasure
+which will bring Colorado, Idaho, and Montana, crowned aspirants,
+bearing gifts of gold and silver, to the gates of the Union. The
+whole West is a land of hidden treasures.
+
+Speculation's mad fever seized on Hardin from the days of 1860.
+Shares, stocks, operations, schemes, all the wild devices of hazard,
+fill up his days with exciting successes and damning failures.
+
+His name, prestige, and credit, carry him to the front. As in
+the early days, his cool brain and nerve mark him as a desperate
+gamester. But his stakes are now gigantic.
+
+Secure in his mansion house, with private wires in his study,
+he operates through many brokers and agents. His interrupted law
+business is transferred to less prominent Southern advocates.
+
+Philip Hardin's fine hand is everywhere. Reliable dependants,
+old prospecting friends and clients, keep him informed by private
+cipher of every changing turn of the brilliant Virginia City
+kaleidoscope.
+
+Hardin gambles for pleasure, for vanity, and for excitement. Led
+on by his desire to stand out from the mass of men, he throws his
+fortune, mixed with the funds of Lagunitas, into the maelstrom of
+California Street. Success and defeat alternate.
+
+It is a transition time. While war rages in the East, the California
+merchant kings are doubling fortunes in the cowardly money piracy
+known as California's secession. The "specific contract act" is
+the real repudiation of the government's lawful money. This stab in
+the back is given to the struggling Union by the well-fed freedom
+shriekers of the Union League. They howl, in public, over their
+devotion to the interests of the land.
+
+The future railroad kings of the Pacific, Stanford, Hopkins, Crocker,
+Huntington, Colton, and their allies, are grasping the gigantic
+benefits flowing from the Pacific Railroad, recommended by themselves
+as a war measure. Heroes.
+
+The yet uncrowned bonanza kings are men of obscure employment, or
+salaried miners working for wages which would not in a month pay
+their petty cash of a day in a few years.
+
+Quiet Jim Flood, easy O'Brien, sly Jones, sturdy Mackay, and that
+guileless innocent, "Jim Fair," are toiling miners or "business
+men." Their peculiar talents are hidden by the obscurity of humdrum,
+honest labor.
+
+Hands soon to sway the financial sceptre, either mix the dulcet
+cocktail, swing the pick, or else light with the miner's candle
+the Aladdin caves to which they grope and burrow in daily danger,
+deep hidden from public view. These "silver kings" are only in
+embryo.
+
+These two groups of remarkable men, the future railroad princes,
+and the budding bonanza kings, represent cunning, daring, energy,
+fortitude, and the remarkable powers of transition of the Western
+resident.
+
+The future land barons are as yet merely sly, waiting schemers. They
+are trusting to compound interest, rotten officials, and neglected
+laws to get possession of ducal domains. The bankers, merchant princes,
+and stock operators are writing their names fast in California's
+strange "Libro d'oro." All is restlessness. All is a mere waiting
+for the turbid floods of seething human life to settle down. In
+the newer discoveries of Nevada, in the suspense of the war, the
+railroads are yet only half finished, croaked at mournfully by the
+befogged Solons of the press. All is transition.
+
+It is only when the first generation of children born in California
+will reach maturity in the 'eighties; only when the tide of carefully
+planned migration from North and South, after the war, reaches the
+West, that life becomes regular. Only when the railways make the
+new State a world's thoroughfare, and the slavery stain is washed
+from our flag, that civilization plants the foundations of her
+solid temples along the Pacific.
+
+There is no crystallization until the generation of mere adventurers
+begin to drop into graves on hillside and by the sea. The first
+gold-seekers must pass out from active affairs before the real
+State is honestly builded up.
+
+No man, not even Philip Hardin, could foresee, with the undecided
+problems of 1860, what would be the status of California in ten
+years, as to law, finance, commerce, or morals.
+
+A sudden start might take the mass of the people to a new Frazer
+River or another Australia. They might rush to the wilds of some
+frontier treasury of nature, now unknown.
+
+Even Philip Hardin dared not dream that humble bar-keepers would
+blossom out into great bank presidents, that signatures, once
+potent only on the saloon "slate," would be smiled on by "friend
+Rothschild" and "brother Baring." The "lightning changes" of the
+burlesque social life of Western America begin to appear. It is
+a wild dream that the hands now toiling with the pick or carrying
+the miner's tin dinner-pail, would close in friendship on the
+aristocratic palm of H.R.H. Albert Edward, the Prince of Wales.
+The "chambermaid's own" romances would not dare to predict that
+ladies bred to the broom and tub or the useful omnipotent "fry
+pan," would smile on duchesses, crony with princesses, or regulate
+their visiting lists by the "Almanach de Gotha."
+
+Their great magician is Gold. In power, in pleasing witchery of
+potent influence; insidious flattery of pleasure; in remorseless
+persecution of the penniless, all wonders are its work. Ariel,
+Mephisto, Moloch, thou, Gold! King Gold! and thy brother, Silver!
+
+While Philip Hardin speculated from his lofty eyrie, the San
+Francisco hills are now covered with the unsubstantial palaces of
+the first successful residents. He dared not dream that the redwood
+boxes called mansions, in which the wealthy lived in the days of
+'60, would give way to the lordly castles of "Nob Hill."
+
+These castles, whether of railroad tyrant, bonanza baron, or banking
+conspirator, were yet castles in the air.
+
+Perched in lofty isolation now, they architecturally dominate
+the meaner huts below. Vulgar monuments of a social upheaval which
+beggars the old stories of fairy changelings, of Sancho Panza, of
+"Barney the Baron," or "Monte Cristo."
+
+In the days of '60, Philip Hardin is too busy with plot and scheme,
+with daily plunging, and dreaming over the fate of Lagunitas, to
+notice the social elevation of the more aspiring male and female
+adventurers. The rising tide of wealth grows. Judicious use of early
+gained riches, trips to Europe, furtive lessons, the necessities
+of the changed station, and an unlimited cheek and astounding
+adaptability change the lucky men and women whom fortune's dower
+has ennobled. They are all now "howling swells."
+
+Some never reach as high as the "Monarchs of Mount Davidson," who
+were pretty high up at the start, nearly a mile and a half. In many
+cases, King Midas's Court shows very fairly scattered promotions.
+
+Society's shoddy geometry gives a short-cut for "my lady's maid"
+to become "my lady." She surely knows "how to dress." The lady who
+entertains well, in some cases does so with long experience as
+a successful professional cook.
+
+Some who dropped into California with another woman's husband,
+forget, while rolling in their carriages, that they ever had one
+of their own. Children with no legal parents have not learned the
+meaning of "filius nullius." From the bejewelled mass of vigorous,
+keen upstarts, now enriched by stocks, the hardy children of the
+great bonanzas, rises the chorus, "Let the past rest. We have passed
+the gates of Gold."
+
+To the "newer nobility of California," is given local golden patents.
+They cover modest paternal names and many shady personal antecedents.
+
+In a land without a past, the suddenly enriched speculators reign
+in mart and parlor. They rule society and the Exchange. In a great
+many cases, a judicious rearrangement of marriage proves that the
+new-made millionnaires value their recently acquired "old wines"
+and "ancient pictures," more than their aging wives. They bring
+much warmth of social color into the local breezy atmosphere of
+this animated Western picture, these new arrangements of Hymen.
+
+Hardin, plunging into the general madness of stock speculation,
+destined to reign for twenty years, keeps his own counsel. He sneers
+not at the households queened over by the "Doubtful Loveliness"
+of the "Rearranged Aristocracy of the Pacific." He has certain
+twinges when he hears the laughing girl child at play in the bowers
+of his park. While the ex-queen of the El Dorado, now a marvel of
+womanly beauty, gazes on that dancing child, she cannot yet see,
+among the many flashing gems loading her hands, the plain circlet
+of a wedding ring.
+
+No deeper consecration than the red blood of the murdered gambler
+ever sealed the lawless union of the "Chief of the Golden Circle"
+with the peerless "Empress of Rouge et Noir."
+
+Her facile moods, restrained passions, blind devotion, and
+self-acquired charms of education, keep Philip Hardin strangely
+faithful to a dark bond.
+
+Luxury, in its most insidious forms, woos to dreamy enjoyment the
+not guileless Adam and Eve of this hidden western Paradise.
+
+There is neither shame nor the canker of regret brooding over these
+"children of knowledge," who have tasted the clusters of the "Tree
+of Life."
+
+Within and without, it is the same. Philip Hardin is not the only
+knave and unpunished murderer in high place. His "Gulnare" is not
+the only lovely woman here, who bears unabashed the burden of
+a hideous past. A merit is peculiar to this guilty, world-defying
+pair. They seek no friends, obtrude on no external circles, and
+parade no lying sham before local respectability.
+
+It is not so with others. The bench, the forum, the highest
+places, the dazzling daily displays of rough luxury, are thronged
+by transformed "Nanas" and resolute climbers of the social trapeze. The
+shameless motto flaunts on their free-lance banners, golden-bordered:
+
+"Pour y parvenir."
+
+Philip Hardin smiles, on the rare occasions when he enters the
+higher circles of "society," to see how many fair faces light up,
+in strange places, with a smile of recognition. How many rosy lips
+are closed with taper fingers, hinting, "Don't ask me how I got
+here; I AM! here!"
+
+In his heartless indifference to the general good, he greets the
+promoted "ladies" with grave courtesy. It is otherwise with the
+upstart men. His pride of brain and life-long station makes him
+haughtily indifferent to them. He will not grovel with these meaner
+human clods.
+
+A sardonic grin relaxes his dark visage as he sees them go forth
+to "shine" in the East and "abroad."
+
+Why should not the men of many aliases, the heroes of brawl and
+murder, of theft and speculation, freely mix with the more polished
+money sharks swarming in the Eastern seas of financial piracy?
+
+"Arcades ambo!" Bonanza bullion rings truer than the paper millions
+of shoddy and petroleum. The alert, bright free-lances of the
+West are generally more interesting than the "shoddy" magnates or
+"contract" princes of the war. They are, at least, robust adventurers;
+the others are only money-ennobled Eastern mushrooms.
+
+The Western parvenu is the more picturesque. The cunning railroad
+princes have, at least, built SOMETHING. It is a nobler work than
+the paper constructions of Wall Street operators. It may be jeered,
+that these men "builded better than they knew." Hardin feels that
+on one point they never can be ridiculed, even by Eastern magnate,
+English promoter, or French financier. They can safely affirm they
+grasped all they could. They left no humble sheaf unreaped in the
+clean-cut fields of their work. They took all in sight.
+
+Hardin recognizes the clean work of the Western money grabbers,
+as well and truly done. The railroad gang, bonanza barons, and
+banking clique, sweep the threshing floor. Nothing escapes them.
+
+He begins to feel, in the giant speculations of 1862 and 1863, that
+luck can desert even an old gamester, at life's exciting table. He
+suffers enormously, yet Lagunitas's resources are behind him.
+
+In the long fight of the street, victory perches with the strongest
+battalions. Philip Hardin cannot know that men toiling by the day
+in obscure places now, will yet exchange cigars with royal princes.
+They will hobnob with the Hapsburgs. They will enter racing bets
+in the jewelled notebooks of grand dukes. They copy the luxuries,
+the inborn vices of the blue blood of Europe's crowned Sardanapalian
+autocrats.
+
+From saloon to salon, from kitchen to kirmess, from the faro table
+to the Queen's drawing-room, from the canvas trousers of the miner
+to Poole's creations, from the calico frock of the housemaid to
+Worth's dazzling masterpieces, from making omelets to sneering at
+operas, the great social lightning-change act goes on.
+
+Philip Hardin loves his splendid home, where the foot of Hortense
+Duval sinks in the tufted glories of Persia and the Wilton looms.
+He does not marvel to see ex-cattle-drovers, promoted waiters,
+lucky lemonade-sellers, and Pike County discoverers, buying gold
+watch-chains by the pound. They boast huge golden time-pieces,
+like young melons. Their diamond cluster pins are as resplendent
+as crystal door-knobs.
+
+Fair hands, fresh from the healthful contact of washing-soda, wave
+recognition to him from coupe or victoria. In some cases these are
+driven by the millionnaire himself, who insists on "holding the
+ribbons."
+
+The newspapers, in the recherche society columns, refer to the
+grandeur of the "Gold Hill" outfit, the Virginia City "gang," the
+Reese River "hummers," or the Eberhardt "crowd." These are the
+Golden Horde.
+
+These lucky children of fortune mingle with the stock-brokers, who,
+resplendent in attire, and haughty of demeanor, fill the thousand
+offices of speculation. They disdain the meaner element, as they
+tool their drags over the Cliff Road to bathe in champagne, and
+listen to the tawdry Phrynes and bedraggled Aspasias who share
+their vulture feast of the moment.
+
+It is a second descent of male and female harpies. Human nature,
+loosened from long restraint by the war, has flooded the coast with
+the moral debris of the conflict. It is a reign of the Bacchanals.
+
+"After all," thinks Philip Hardin, as he sees these dazzling rockets
+rise, with golden trails, into the social darkness of the Western
+skies, "they are really the upper classes here. Their power of
+propulsion to the zenith is inherent in themselves. If they mingle,
+in time, with the aristocratic noblesse of Europe, they may infuse
+a certain picturesque element." Hardin realizes that some of the
+children of these millionnaires of a day will play at school with
+young princes, their girls will marry titles, and adorn their smallest
+belongings with excrescent coronets and coats of arms, won in the
+queer lottery of marriage.
+
+"It is well," the cold lawyer muses. "After all, many of the
+aristocracy of Europe are the descendants of expert horse-thieves,
+hired bravos, knights who delighted to roast the merchant for his
+fat money-bags, or spit the howling peasant on their spears. Many
+soft-handed European dames feel the fiery blood burning in their
+ardent bosoms. In some cases, a reminder of the beauty whose easy
+complaisance caught a monarch's smile and earned an infamous title.
+Rapine, murder, lust, oppression, high-handed bullying, servile
+slavishness in every vile abandonment, have bred up delicate,
+dreamy aristocrats. Their ancestors, by the two strains, were either
+red-handed marauders, or easy Delilahs."
+
+The God-given title to batten in luxury, is one which depends now
+on the possession of golden wealth. It finally burns its gleaming
+pathway through every barrier.
+
+With direct Western frankness, the Pacific "jeunesse doree" will
+date from bonanza or railroad deal. Spoliated don, stolen franchise,
+giant stock-job, easy political "coup de main," government lands
+scooped in, or vast tracts of timber stolen under the law's easy
+formalities, are their quarterings. Whiskey sellers, adventuresses,
+and the minor fry of fighting henchmen, make up the glittering
+train of these knights. The diamond-decked dames of this "Golden
+Circle" exclaim in happy chorus, as they sit in the easy-chairs of
+wealth's thronging courts:
+
+"This is the way we long have sought, And mourned because we found
+it not."
+
+But riding behind Philip Hardin is the grim horseman, Care. He mourns
+his interrupted political career. The end of the war approaches.
+His spirited sultana now points to the lovely child. Her resolute
+lips speak boldly of marriage.
+
+Hardin wonders if any refluent political wave may throw him up to
+the senate or the governor's chair. His powers rust in retirement.
+He fears the day when his stewardship of Lagunitas may be at an
+end.
+
+He warily determines to get rid of Padre Francisco as soon as
+possible. The death of Donna Dolores places all in his hands. As he
+confers with the quick-witted ex-queen of the El Dorado, he decides
+that he must remove the young Mariposa heiress to San Francisco.
+It is done. Philip Hardin cannot travel continually to watch over
+a child.
+
+"Kaintuck" and the sorrowing padre alone are left at Lagunitas. The
+roses fall unheeded in the dead lady's bower. On this visit, when
+Hardin takes the child to the mansion on the hill, he learns the
+padre only awaits the return of Maxime Valois, to retire to France.
+Unaware of the great strength of the North and East, the padre
+feels the land may be held in the clutches of war a long period. He
+would fain end his days among the friends of his youth. As he draws
+toward old age, he yearns for France. Hardin promises to assist
+the wishes of the old priest.
+
+After Padre Francisco retires to the silent cottage by the chapel,
+Hardin learns from "Kaintuck" a most momentous secret. There are
+gold quartz mines of fabulous richness on the Lagunitas grant.
+Slyly extracting a few tons of rock, "Kaintuck" has had these ores
+worked, and gives Philip Hardin the marvellous results.
+
+Hardin's dark face lights up: "Have you written Colonel Valois of
+this?" "Not a word," frankly says "Kaintuck."
+
+"Judge, I did not want to bring a swarm of squatters over our lines.
+I thought to tell you alone, and you could act with secrecy. If
+they stake off claims, we will have a rush on our hands."
+
+Hardin orders the strictest silence. As he lies in the guest chamber
+of Lagunitas, Philip Hardin is haunted all night by a wild unrest.
+If Lagunitas were only his. There is only Valois between him and
+the hidden millions in these quartz veins. Will no Yankee bullet
+do its work?
+
+The tireless brain works on, as crafty Philip Hardin slumbers
+that night. Visions of violence, of hidden traps, of well-planned
+crime, haunt his dreams. Only "Kaintuck" knows. Secretly, bit by
+bit, he has brought in these ores. They have been smuggled out and
+worked, with no trace of their real origin. No one knows but one.
+Though old "Kaintuck" feels no shadow over his safety, the sweep
+of the dark angel's wing is chilling his brow. He knows too much.
+
+When Hardin returns to San Francisco he busies himself with
+Lagunitas. His brow is dark as he paces the deck of the Stockton
+steamer. Hortense Duval has provided him with a servant of great
+discretion to care for the child. Marie Berard is the typical
+French maid. Deft, neat-handed, she has an eye like a hawk. Her
+little pet weaknesses and her vices give spice to an otherwise
+colorless character.
+
+The boat steams down past the tule sloughs. Hardin's cigar burns
+late on the deck as he plots alone.
+
+When he looks over his accumulated letters, he seizes eagerly a
+packet of papers marked "Havana." Great God!
+
+He has read of Sherman's occupation of Atlanta. The struggle of
+Peachtree Creek brought curses on Tecumseh's grizzled head. Now,
+with a wildly beating heart, he learns of the death of Colonel
+Valois among the captured guns of De Gress. As the last pages are
+scanned, he tears open the legal documents. The cold beads stand
+out on his brow. He is master now. The king is dead!
+
+He rings for Madame Duval. With shaking hand, he pours a draught
+from the nearest decanter. He is utterly unnerved. The prize is at
+last within his grasp. It shall be his alone!
+
+Lighting a fresh cigar he paces the room, a human tiger. There is
+but one frail girl child between him and Lagunitas, with its uncoined
+millions. He must act. To be deep and subtle as a thieving Greek,
+to be cold and sneaking as an Apache, to be as murderous as a Malay
+creeping, creese in hand, over the bulwarks of a merchantman,--all
+that is to be only himself. Power is his for aye.
+
+But to be logically correct, to be wise and safe in secret moves.
+Time to think? Yes. Can he trust Hortense Duval? Partly. He needs
+that devilish woman's wit of hers. Will he tell her all? No.
+Professional prudence rules. A dark scheme has formulated itself
+in his brain, bounding under the blow of the brandy.
+
+He will get Hortense out of the State, under the pretext of
+sending the colonel's child to Paris. The orphan's education must
+be brilliant.
+
+He will have no one know of the existence of Valois' mine. If
+"Kaintuck" were only gone. Yes! Yes! the secret of the mines. If
+the priest were only in France and locked up in his cloister. The
+long minority of the child gives time to reap the golden harvest.
+
+A sudden thought: the child may not live! His teeth chatter. As he
+paces the room, Hortense enters. She sees on his face the shadow
+of important things.
+
+"What has happened, Philip?" she eagerly asks.
+
+"Sit down, Hortense. Listen to me," says Hardin, as he sees the
+doors all secure.
+
+Her heart beats fast. Is this the end of all? She has feared it
+daily.
+
+"How would you like to live in Paris?" he ejaculates.
+
+He watches her keenly, pacing to and fro. A wild hope leaps up.
+Will he retire, and live his days out abroad? Is the marriage to
+come at last?
+
+"Philip, I don't understand you," she murmurs. Her bosom heaves
+within its rich silks, under its priceless laces. The sparkling
+diamonds in her hair glisten, as she gazes on his inscrutable face.
+Is this heaven or hell? Paradise or a lonely exile? To have a name
+at last for her child?
+
+"Colonel Valois was killed at the battles near Atlanta. I have
+just received from the Havana bankers the final letters of Major
+Peyton, his friend." Hardin speaks firmly.
+
+"Under the will, that child Isabel inherits the vast property. She
+must be educated in France. Some one must take care of her."
+
+Hortense leans over, eagerly. What does he mean? "There is no one but
+me to look after her. The cursed Yankees will probably devastate
+the South. I dare not probate his will just now. There is confiscation
+and all such folly."
+
+Philip Hardin resumes his walk. "I do not wish to pay heavy war
+taxes and succession tax on all this great estate. I must remain
+here and watch it. I must keep the child's existence and where-abouts
+quiet. The courts could worry me about her removal. Can I trust
+you, Hortense?" His eyes are wolfish. He stops and fixes a burning
+glance on her. She returns it steadily.
+
+"What do you wish me to do?" she says, warily.
+
+It will be years and years she must remain abroad.
+
+"Can I trust you to go over with that child, and watch her while
+I guard this great estate? You shall have all that money and my
+influence can do for you. You can live as an independent lady and
+see the great world."
+
+She rises and faces him, a beautiful, expectant goddess. "Philip,
+have I been true to you these years?"
+
+He bows his head. It is so! She has kept the bond.
+
+"Do I go as your wife?" Her voice trembles with eagerness.
+
+"No. But you may earn that place by strictly following my wishes."
+He speaks kindly. She is a grand woman after all. Bright tears
+trickle through her jewelled fingers. She has thrown herself on
+the fauteuil. The woman of thirty is a royal beauty, her youthful
+promise being more than verified. She is a queen of luxury.
+
+"Listen to me, Hortense," says Hardin, softly. He seats himself
+by her side and takes the lovely hands in his. His persuasive voice
+flows like honey. "I am now surrounded by enemies. I am badly
+compromised. I am all tied up. I fear the Union League, the government
+spies, and the damned Yankee officers here. One foolish move would
+utterly ruin me. If you will take this child you can take any
+name you wish. No one knows you in Paris. I will have the bankers
+and our Southern friends vouch for you in society. I will support
+you, so you can move even in the Imperial circles. If you are
+true to me, in time I will do as you wish. I dare not now." He is
+plausible, and knows how to plead. This woman, loving and beloved,
+cannot hold out.
+
+"Think of our child, Philip," cries Hortense, as she throws herself
+on his breast. He is moved and yet he lies.
+
+"I do at this very moment, Hortense. I am not a rich man, for I have
+lost much for the South. These Yankee laws keep me out of court.
+I dare not get in their power. If I hold this estate, I will soon
+be able to settle a good fortune on Irene. I swear to you, she
+shall be my only heiress except yourself. You can take Irene with
+you and give her a superb education. You will be doing a true
+mother's duty. I will place such a credit and funds for you that
+the future has no fears. When I am free to act, 'when this foolish
+war is over,' I can come to you. Will you do as I wish?"
+
+"Philip, give me till to-morrow to think. I have only you in the
+world." The beautiful woman clings to him. He feels she will yield.
+He is content to wait.
+
+While they talk, the two children chatter under the window in
+childish glee.
+
+"Hortense, you must act at once! to-morrow! The steamer leaves in
+three days. I wish you to go by Panama direct to France. New York
+is no place for you. I will have much to arrange. I will give you
+to-night. Now leave me, for I have many papers to draw up."
+
+In her boudoir, Hortense Duval sits hours dreaming, her eyes fixed
+on vacancy. All the hold she has on Hardin is her daily influence,
+and HIS child. To go among strangers. To be alone in the world.
+And yet, her child's future interests. While Hardin paces the floor
+below, or toils at his cunningly worded papers, she feels she is
+in the hands of a master.
+
+Philip Hardin's late work is done. By the table he dreams over the
+future. Hortense will surely work his will. He will divest himself
+of the priest. He must open these mines. He will get rid of
+"Kaintuck;" but how?
+
+Dark thoughts come to him. He springs up aghast at the clatter when
+his careless arm brushes off some costly trifles. With the priest
+gone forever and the child in Paris, he has no stumbling block in
+his way but "Kaintuck." There are ways; yes, ways.----!----!----!----!
+
+"He must go on a journey; yes, a long, long journey." Hardin stops
+here, and throwing himself on his couch, drifts out on the sea of
+his uneasy dreams.
+
+Morning proves to him Hortense is resigned; an hour's conclave
+enlightens her as to the new life. Every contingency will be met.
+Hortense, living in wealth's luxurious retirement, will be welcomed
+as Madame Natalie de Santos, everywhere. A wealthy young widow,
+speaking French and Spanish, with the best references. She will
+wear a discreet mask of Southern mystery, and an acknowledged
+relationship to families of Mexico and California. Her personal
+appearance, tact, and wealth will be an appropriate dower to the
+new acquisition of the glittering Capital of Pleasure. She is GOOD
+ENOUGH for Paris.
+
+Rapidly, every preparation moves on. The luggage of Madame de
+Santos is filled with the varied possessions indicating years of
+elegance. Letters to members of the Confederate court circle at
+Paris are social endorsements. Wealth will do the rest.
+
+Hardin's anxiety is to see the heiress lodged at the "Sacred Heart"
+at Paris. In his capacity as guardian, he delegates sole power to
+Madame Natalie de Santos. She alone can control the little lady of
+Lagunitas. With every resource, special attentions will be paid to
+the party, from Panama, on the French line. The hegira consists of
+the two children, Marie Berard, and the nameless lady, soon to be
+rebaptized "Natalie de Santos." Not unusual in California,--!--a
+golden butterfly.
+
+Vague sadness fills Hortense Duval's heart as she wanders through
+her silent mansion, choosing these little belongings which are dear
+to her shadowed heart. They will rob a Parisian home of suspicious
+newness. The control of the heiress as well as their own child,
+the ample monetary provision, and the social platform arranged for
+her, prove Hardin's devotion. It is the best she can do.
+
+True, he cannot now marry with safety. He has promised to right
+that wrong in time.
+
+There has been no want of tenderness in his years of devotion.
+Hortense Duval acknowledges to herself that he dares not own her
+openly, as his wife, even here. But in Paris, after a year or so.
+Then he could come, at least as far as New York. He could meet
+her, and by marriage, legitimize his child. Her child. The tiger's
+darling.
+
+A sudden thought strikes her. Some other woman!--Some one of REAL
+station and blood. Ah, no! She shivers slightly as she paces the
+room. No corner of the earth could hide him from her vengeance if
+he betrays her.
+
+The dinner of the last evening is a serious feast. As Hortense
+ministers to the dark master of the house, she can see he has not
+fully disclosed his ultimate plans. It is positive the child must
+be hidden away at Paris from all. Hardin enjoins silence as to
+the future prospects of the orphan. The little one has already
+forgotten her father. She is rapidly losing all memories of her
+sweet mother.
+
+In the silence of these last hours, Philip Hardin speaks to the
+woman who has been his only intimate in years.
+
+"Hortense, I may find a task for you which will prove your devotion,"
+he begins with reluctance.
+
+"What is it, Philip?" she falters.
+
+He resumes. "I do not know how far I may be pushed by trouble. I
+shall have to struggle and fight to hold my own. I am safe for a
+time, but I may be pushed to the wall. Will you, for the sake of
+our own child, do as I bid you with that Spanish brat?"
+
+At last she sees his gloomy meaning. Is it murder? An orphan child!
+
+"Philip," she sobs, "be careful! For MY SAKE, for YOUR OWN." She
+is chilled by his cold designs.
+
+"Only at the last. Just as I direct, I may wish you to control
+the disappearance of that young one, who stands between me and our
+marriage."
+
+She seizes his hands: "Swear to me that you will never deceive me."
+
+"I do," he answers huskily.
+
+"On the cross," she sternly says, flashing before his startled eyes
+a jewelled crucifix. "I will obey you--I swear it on this--as long
+as you are true." She presses her ashy lips on the cross.
+
+He kisses it. The promise is sealed.
+
+In a few hours, Hortense Duval, from the deck of the swift Golden
+Gate, sees the sunlight fall for the last time, in long years, on
+San Francisco's sandy hills.
+
+With peculiar adroitness, in defence of her past, for the sake of
+her future position, she keeps her staterooms; only walking the
+decks with her maid occasionally at night. No awkward travelling
+pioneer must recognize her as the lost "Beauty of the El Dorado."
+A mere pretence of illness is enough.
+
+When safely out of the harbor of Colon, on the French steamer,
+she is perfectly free. Her passage tickets, made out as Madame de
+Santos, are her new credentials.
+
+She has left her old life behind her. Keen and self-possessed, with
+quiet dignity she queens it on the voyage. When the French coast is
+reached, her perfect mastery of herself proves she has grown into
+her new position.
+
+Philip Hardin has whispered at the last, "I want you to get rid of
+your maid in a few months. It is just as well she should be out of
+the way."
+
+When out of Hardin's influence, reviewing the whole situation,
+Hortense, in her real character, becomes a little fearful. What
+if he should drop her? Suppose he denies her identity. He can
+legally reclaim the "Heiress of Lagunitas." Hortense Duval well
+knows that Philip Hardin will stop at nothing. As the French coast
+nears, Hortense mentally resolves NOT to part with Marie Berard.
+Marie is a valuable witness of the past relations. She is the only
+safeguard she has against Hardin's manifold schemes. So far there
+is no "entente cordiale" between mistress and maid. They watch
+each other.
+
+By hazard, as the children are brought out, ready for the landing,
+Hortense notices the similarity of dress, the speaking resemblance
+of the children. Marie Berard, proud of their toilettes, remarks,
+"Madame, they are almost twins in looks."
+
+Hortense Duval's lightning mind conceives a daring plan. She broods
+in calm and quiet, as the cars bear her from Havre to Paris. She
+must act quickly. She knows Hardin may use more ways of gaining
+information than her own letters. His brain is fertile. His purse,
+powerful.
+
+Going to an obscure hotel, she procures a carriage. She drives
+alone to the Convent of the Sacre Coeur. With perfect tranquillity
+she announces her wishes. The Mother Superior, personally, is charmed
+with Madame de Santos. A mere mention of her banking references
+is sufficient. Blest power of gold!
+
+Madame Natalie de Santos is in good humor when she regains her
+apartment. On the next morning, after a brief visit to her bankers,
+who receive her "en princesse," she drives alone with her OWN
+child to the Sacred Heart. While the little one prattles with some
+engaging Sisters, Hortense calmly registers the nameless child
+of sin as ISABEL VALOIS, THE HEIRESS OF LAGUNITAS. A year's fees
+and payments are made. A handsome "outfit allowance" provides all
+present needs suited to the child's station. Arranging to send the
+belongings of the heiress to the convent, Hortense Duval buries
+her past forever in giving to her own child the name and station
+of the heiress of Lagunitas. To keep a hold on Hardin she will
+place the other child where that crafty lawyer can never find her.
+Her bosom swells with pride. Now, at last, she can control the
+deepest plans of Philip Hardin. But if he should demand their own
+child? He has no legal power over the nameless one--not even here.
+Marriage first. After that, the secret. It is a MASTER STROKE.
+
+Hortense Duval thinks only of her own child. She cares nothing
+for the dead Confederate under the Georgia pines. Gentle Dolores
+is sleeping in the chapel grounds at Lagunitas. Isabel Valois has
+not a friend in the world!
+
+But, Marie Berard must be won and controlled. Why not? It is
+fortune for her to be true to her liberal mistress. Berard knows
+Paris and has friends. She will see them. If the maid be discharged,
+Hortense loses her only witness against Hardin; her only safeguard.
+As Madame de Santos is ushered to her rooms, she decides to act
+at once, and drop forever her past. But Marie?
+
+Marie Berard wonders at the obscure hotel. Her brain finds no
+reason for this isolation. "Ah! les modes de Paris." Madame will
+soon emerge as a lovely vision.
+
+In the years of her service with Hortense Duval, Marie has quietly
+enriched herself. She knows the day of parting comes in all unlawful
+connections. Time and fading charms, coldness and the lassitude of
+habit, eat away the golden chain till it drops off. "On se range
+enfin."
+
+The "femme de chambre" knows too much to ever think of imposing
+on Judge Hardin. He is too sly. It is from Madame de Santos the
+golden stream must flow.
+
+Self-satisfied, Marie Berard smiles in her cat-like way as she thinks
+of a nice little house in Paris. Its income will support her. She
+will nurse this situation with care. It is a gold mine.
+
+There is no wonderment in her keen eyes when Madame de Santos returns
+without the child she took away. A French maid never wonders. But
+she is astonished when her mistress, calling her, calmly says,
+pointing to the lonely orphan:
+
+"Marie, I wish you to aid me to get rid of this child. Do you know
+any one in Paris whom we can trust?"
+
+"Will Madame kindly explain?" the maid gasps, her visions of that
+snug house becoming more definite.
+
+"Sit down, Marie," the newly christened Madame de Santos commands.
+"I will trust you. You shall be richly rewarded."
+
+The Frenchwoman's eyes glitter. The golden shower she has longed
+for, "Auri sacra fames."
+
+"You may trust me perfectly, Madame."
+
+"I wish you to understand me fully. We must act at once. I will see
+no friends till this girl is out of the way. Then I shall at once
+arrange my household."
+
+"Does the young lady not go to the convent?" says the astonished
+servant, a trifle maliciously.
+
+"Certainly not," coldly says Hortense. "My own child shall be the
+heiress of that fortune. She is already at the Sacred Heart."
+
+Marie Berard's keen eye sees the plot. An exchange of children.
+The nameless child shall be dowered with millions. Her own future
+is assured.
+
+"Does any one know of this plan?" the maid eagerly asks.
+
+"Only you and I," is the response.
+
+Ah! Revenge on her stately tyrant lover. The maid dreams of a golden
+shower. That snug hotel. It is a delicious moment. "What do you
+wish me to do, Madame?" Marie is now cool.
+
+"Find a place, at once, where the child can be well treated in
+a 'bourgeois' family. I want you to place her as if she were your
+own. I wish no one to ever see me or know of me in this matter."
+
+The maid's eyes sparkle. Fortune's wheel turns. "And I shall be--"
+she pauses.
+
+"You may be suspected to be the mother. No one can learn anything
+from the child. I wish her to be raised in ignorance."
+
+Madame de Santos is a genius in a quiet way. It is true, the
+prattling heiress, on the threshold of a new life, speaks only
+Spanish and a little English. She has forgotten her father. Even
+now her mother fades from her mind. A few passing months will sweep
+away all memories of Lagunitas. The children are nearly the same
+age, and not dissimilar.
+
+"And the Judge?" murmurs the servant.
+
+"I will take care of that," sharply says Hortense.
+
+"Madame, it is a very great responsibility," begins the sly maid,
+now confidante. There is a strong sharp accent on the "very."
+
+"I will pay you as you never dreamed of being paid." Madame Natalie
+is cool and quiet. Gold, blessed gold!
+
+"It is well. I am yours for life," says Marie Berard. The two women's
+eyes meet. They understand one another. Feline, prehensile nerves.
+
+Then, action at once. Hortense hands the woman a package of
+bank-notes. "Leave here as if for a walk. Take a 'fiacre' on the
+street, and go to your friends. You tell me you have some discreet
+ones. Tell them you have a child to take care of. Say no more.
+They will guess the rest. I want the child to be left to-morrow
+morning. After your return we can arrange her present needs. The
+rest you can provide through your friends. I want you to see the
+child once a week, not oftener. Go."
+
+In ten minutes Marie Berard is rolling away to her advisers. Her
+letter has already announced her arrival. She knows her Paris. If
+a French maid has a heart history, hers is a succession of former
+Parisian scenes.
+
+Madame Natalie de Santos closes the doors. While her emissary is
+gone she examines the child thoroughly. Not a single blemish or
+peculiar mark on the girl, save a crossed scar on her left arm,
+between the wrist and elbow. Some surgical operation of trifling
+nature has left a mark in its healing, which will be visible for
+many years.
+
+Making careful mental note, the impatient woman awaits her servant's
+return.
+
+Seated, she watches the orphan child trifling with her playthings.
+Hortense Duval feels no twinge of conscience. Her own child shall
+be lifted far beyond the storms of fate. If Hardin acts rightly,
+all is well. If he attempts to betray her, all the better. She
+will guard the heiress of Mariposa with her life. She shall become
+a "bourgeoise."
+
+Should Hardin die before he marries her, the base-born child is
+then sure of the millions. She will make her a woman of the world.
+When the great property is safely hers, then she can trust HER OWN
+daughter.
+
+As to the poor orphan, buried in Paris, educated as a "bourgeoise,"
+she will never see her face, save perhaps, as a passing stranger.
+The child can be happy in the solid comforts of a middle-class
+family. It is good enough for her.
+
+And Marie Berard. She needs her, at all cost, as a protection, the
+only bulwark against any dark scheme of Hardin's. Her tool, and
+her one witness.
+
+Ten years in the mansion on the hills of San Francisco have
+given her an insight into Philip Hardin's desperate moves on the
+chessboard of life. Love, faith, truth, she dares not expect. A
+lack of fatherly tenderness to the child he has wronged; his refusal
+to put a wedding ring on her own finger, tell her the truth. She
+knows her hold is slight. But NOW the very millions of Lagunitas
+shall fight against him. Move for move in the play. Blow for blow,
+if it comes to a violent rupture.
+
+Hortensc Duval might lose her hold on cold Philip Hardin. The
+scheming beauty smiles when she thinks how true Marie Berard will
+be to the new Madame de Santos. A thorough adventuress, she can
+count on her fellow-conspirator. Two smart women, with a solid
+golden bond, united against a distant, aging man.
+
+Marie returns, her business-like manner showing no change. "I have
+found the family," she says. "They will take the child at once."
+
+In the evening every arrangement is made for an early departure.
+It is a rare day's work.
+
+Marie Berard conducts the friendless child to its new home, in the
+morning hours. The luggage and belongings are despatched. All is
+over. Safe at last.
+
+Free to move, as soon as the maid returns, Hortense at once leaves
+her modest quarters. The bills are all paid. Their belongings are
+packed as for departure. To the Hotel Meurice, by a roundabout
+route, mistress and maid repair. Hortense Duval is no more. A new
+social birth.
+
+Madame de Santos, in superb apartments, proceeds to arrange her
+entree into future social greatness. A modern miracle.
+
+No one has seen the children together in Paris. On the steamer not
+a suspicion was raised. Natalie de Santos breathes freely. A few
+days of preparation makes Madame "au fait" in the newest fashions.
+Her notes, cartes de visite, dazzling "batterie de toilette," and
+every belonging bear crest, monogram, and initial of the new-born
+Senora Natalie.
+
+Securely lodged in an aristocratic apartment, Madame de Santos
+receives her bankers, and the members of the Southern circle,
+to whom the Judge has given her the freemasonry of his influence.
+Madame de Santos is now a social fact, soon to find her old life a
+waning memory. The glittering splendors of the court gaieties are
+her everyday enjoyments.
+
+Keenly watching all Californians, protected by her former retirement,
+her foreign appearance and glamour of wealth impose on all. She
+soon almost forgets herself and that dark past before the days of
+the El Dorado. She is at last secure within wealth's impregnable
+ramparts, and defies adverse fate.
+
+An apartment on the Champs Elysees is judiciously chosen by her
+bankers. Marie Berard, with her useful allies, aids in the selection
+of the exquisite adornment. Her own treasures aid in the "ensemble."
+
+The servants, the equipage of perfect appointment, all her
+surroundings bespeak the innate refinement of the woman who has
+for long years pleased even the exacting Hardin.
+
+Natalie de Santos has not neglected to properly report by telegraph
+and mail to the guardian of the person and future millions of Col.
+Valois' only child.
+
+Her attitude toward society is quiet, dignified, without haste or
+ostentation. A beautiful woman, talented, free, rich, and "a la
+mode," can easily reach the social pleasures of that gaudy set who
+now throng the Tuileries.
+
+There is not a care on Natalie de Santos' mind. Her own child is
+visited, with a growing secret pleasure. She thrives in the hands
+of the gentle ladies of the Sacred Heart.
+
+Regularly, Marie Berard brings reports of the other child, whose
+existence is important for the present.
+
+Madame de Santos, discreetly veiled, finds time to observe the
+location and movements of the orphan. Marie Berard's selection
+has been excellent.
+
+"Louise Moreau" is the new name of the changeling heiress, now
+daily becoming more contented in her new home.
+
+Aristide Dauvray has a happy household. A master decorative workman,
+only lacking a touch of genius to be a sculptor, his pride is in
+his artistic handiwork. His happiness in his good wife Josephine.
+His heart centres in his talented boy.
+
+To educate his only son Raoul, to be able to develop his marked
+talent as an artist, has been Aristide's one ambition. The
+proposition to take the girl, and the liberal payments promised,
+assure the artistic future of Raoul. Marie Berard has appreciated
+that the life of this orphan child is the measure of her own golden
+fortunes. Good Josephine becomes attached to the shy, sweet little
+wanderer, who forgets, day by day, in the new life of Cinderella,
+her babyish glimpses of any other land.
+
+Natalie de Santos is safe. Pressing her silken couch, she rests
+in splendor. Her letters from Hardin are clear, yet not always
+satisfactory. Years of daily observance have taught her to read
+his character. As letter after letter arrives she cons them all
+together. Not a word of personal tenderness. Not an expression which
+would betray any of their secrets. With no address or signature,
+they are full only in directions. He is called for a length of time
+to Lagunitas, to put the estate in "general order."
+
+Removed from the sway of Hardin, Natalie relies upon herself. Her
+buoyant wings bear her on in society. Recognized as an opponent
+of the North, she meets those lingering Southern sympathizers who
+have little side coteries yet in glittering Paris.
+
+Adulation of her beauty and sparkling wit fires her genius. Her
+French is classic. The sealed book of her youth gives no hint of
+where her fine idiom came from. Merrily Marie Berard recounts to
+the luxurious social star the efforts of sly dames and soft-voiced
+messieurs to fathom the "De Santos'" past.
+
+Marie Berard is irreproachable; never presuming. She can wait.
+
+Madame Natalie's stormy past has taught her to trust no one. It
+is her rule from the first that no one shall see Isabel Valois,
+the pet of the Sacred Heart Convent, but herself. Little remains
+in a month or two, with either child, of its cradle memories. The
+months spent by the two girls in mastering a new language are final
+extinguishers of the past.
+
+Without undue affectation of piety, Madame de Santos gives liberally.
+The good nuns strive to fit the young heiress for her dazzling
+future.
+
+Keenly curious of the dangers of the situation, Natalie writes Hardin
+that she has sent her own child away to a country institution, to
+prevent awkward inquiry. As months roll on, drawn in by the whirlpool
+of pleasure, Natalie de Santos' letters become brief. They are only
+statements of affairs to her absent "financial agent."
+
+Hardin's letters are acknowledgments of satisfactory news, and
+directions regarding the education of the child. He does not refer
+to the future of the woman who ruled his home so long. No tenderness
+for his own child appears. He is engrossed in BUSINESS, and she in
+PLEASURE. Avarice is the gentlemanly passion of his later years.
+"Royal days of every pleasure" for the brilliant woman; she,
+ambitious and self-reliant, lives only for the happy moments.
+
+And yet, as Natalie de Santos sweeps from palace ball or the opera,
+she frames plans as to the future control of Hardin. To keep the
+child he fears, where his agency can reach her, is her aim. To
+place the child he would ignore, where millions will surround her,
+is her ambition. With Marie Berard as friend, confidante, agent,
+and spy, she can keep these two children apart. Hortense Duval and
+Natalie Santos can defy the world.
+
+Distrust of Hardin always burns in her breast. Will he dare to
+attempt her life; to cut off her income; to betray her? When the
+work of years is reflected in her own child's graces and charms,
+will the man now aging ever give its mother the name of wife? Her
+fears belie her hopes.
+
+She must guard her own child, and conceal the other. He may live
+and work out his schemes. If he acts well, she will be ready to
+meet him. If not, the same.
+
+But she has sworn in her heart of hearts, the orphan shall live.
+If necessary to produce her, she alone knows her hiding place. If
+fortune favors, the properties shall descend to her own child.
+
+The year 1865 opens with the maddest gaieties. Though France is
+drained of men and treasure for a foolish war in Mexico, glittering
+streets, rich salons, mad merry-makings and imperial splendor do
+not warn gay Lutetia she is tottering toward the dawning war-days
+of gloom. The French are drunk with pleasure.
+
+Marie Berard has now a nice little fund of ringing napoleons
+securely invested, and that hoard is growing monthly. Natalie de
+Santos gives freely, amply. The maid bides her time for a great
+demand. She can wait.
+
+A rare feminine genius is Natalie de Santos. The steady self-poise
+of her nature prevents even a breath of scandal. Frank, daring, and
+open in her pleasures, she individualizes no swain, she encourages
+no one sighing lover. Her name needs no defence save the open record
+of her social life. A solid, undisturbed position grows around
+her. The dear-bought knowledge of her youth enables her to read
+the vapid men and women around her.
+
+As keen-eyed as a hawk, Madame Natalie watches the scholar of the
+Sacred Heart. She takes good care, also, to verify the substantial
+comfort and fair education of little Louise Moreau.
+
+With silent lips she moves among the new associates of her later
+days. Madame de Santos' position moves toward impregnability, as
+the months roll on. A "lionne" at last.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+A MARIPOSA BONANZA.--NATALIE DE SANTOS BORN IN PARIS.--THE QUEEN
+OF THE EL DORADO JOINS THE GALLIC "FOUR HUNDRED."
+
+
+
+
+
+Philip Hardin's days are busy after the steamer bears away his
+"Ex-Queen of the El Dorado." There are his tangled finances to
+arrange; giant speculations to follow up. The Lagunitas affairs
+are pressing. That hidden mine!
+
+Hardin sets his house in order. The establishment is reduced. He
+has, now, peace for his schemes. No petticoat rule now. No prying
+eyes. As the winter rain howls among his trees, he realizes that
+the crash of the Confederacy will bring back clouds of stragglers
+from the ruin yet to come. He must take legal possession of Lagunitas.
+He has a good reason. Its hidden gold will give him power.
+
+His public life is only cut off for a time. Gold is potent; yes,
+omnipotent! He can bide his time. He must find that mine. He has
+now two points to carry in his game. To rid himself of the padre
+is easy, in time. To disembarrass himself of old "Kaintuck" is
+another thing.
+
+His face grows bitter as he thinks of the boundless wealth to be
+reached in Lagunitas's glittering quartz beds. The property must
+remain in his care.
+
+If the heiress were to die, the public administrator might take
+it. He knows he is not popular. His disloyalty is too well known.
+Besides, Valois' death is not yet officially proven. He has kept
+his counsel. No one has seen the will. But the returning wave
+of Confederates may bring news. The dead colonel was of too great
+local fame to drop unheeded into his grave.
+
+His carefully prepared papers make him the representative of Colonel
+Valois. He is legal guardian of the child. He will try and induce
+"Kaintuck" to quit the rancho. Then he will be able to open the
+mines. If the Confederacy totters to its fall, with the control of
+that wealth he may yet hold the highest place on the coast.
+
+Dreaming over his cigar, he knows that legislatures can be bought,
+governors approached, and high positions gained, by the adroit use
+of gold. Bribery is of all times and places.
+
+Telegraphing to "Kaintuck" to meet him near Stockton, at the
+station, with a travelling carriage, the Judge revolves plans to
+rid himself of this relic of the Valois regime.
+
+His stay at Lagunitas will be for some weeks. He has now several
+agents ready to open up the mines.
+
+A liberal use of the income of Lagunitas has buoyed up his sinking
+credit. But his stock-gambling has been desperately unlucky.
+Hardin revolves in his mind the displacement of old "Kaintuck."
+The stage sweeps down the San Joaquin to the station, where his team
+awaits him. An unwonted commotion greets him there. His arrival is
+opportune. In the room which is the office, bar, and billiard-room
+of the little hostelry, poor old "Kaintuck" lies dying, when the
+Judge dismounts. It is the hand of fate.
+
+During the hours of waiting, a certain freedom, induced by copious
+draughts of fiery Bourbon, caused the old foreman to injudiciously
+"Hurrah for Jeff Davis." He gave free vent to his peculiar Southern
+opinions.
+
+A sudden quarrel with a stranger results in a quick resort to
+weapons. Benumbed with age and whiskey, the old trapper is shot
+while tugging at his heavy "Colt."
+
+Before the smoke cleared away the stranger was far away. Dashing
+off, he spurred his horse at full speed into the chaparral. No one
+dared, no one cared, to follow a desperate man riding for his life.
+
+Hardin orders every attention to the sufferer. Old "Kaintuck" is
+going out alone on the dark river.
+
+Hardin, steeled to scenes like this, by an exciting life, blesses
+this opportune relief. "Kaintuck" is off his hands forever. Before
+the Judge leaves, a rude examination by a justice precedes the
+simple obsequies of the dead ranger.
+
+One more red mound by the wayside. A few pencilled words on a shingle
+mark the grave, soon to be trampled down by the feet of cattle and
+horses. So, one by one, many of the old pioneers leave the theatre
+of their aimless lives.
+
+The Judge, happy at heart, bears a grave face. He drives into
+Lagunitas. Its fields looked never so fair. Seated in the mansion
+house, with every luxury spread out before him, his delighted eye
+rests on the diamond lake gleaming in the bosom of the fair landscape.
+It already seems his own.
+
+He settles in his easy-chair with an air of conscious lordship.
+Padre Francisco, studiously polite, answers every deft question.
+He bears himself with the self-possession of a man merely doing
+his duty.
+
+Does the priest know of the hidden gold mines? No. A few desultory
+questions prove this. "Kaintuck's" lips are sealed forever in
+death. The secret is safe.
+
+Padre Francisco does not delay his request to be allowed to depart.
+As he sips his ripe Mission claret, he tells Judge Hardin of the
+desire of years to return to France. There are now no duties here
+to hold him longer. He desires to give the Judge such family papers
+as are yet in his charge. He would like practical advice as to his
+departure. For he has grown into his quiet retreat and fears the
+outer world.
+
+With due gravity the lawyer agrees in the change. He requests the
+padre to permit him to write his San Francisco agent of the arrival
+of the retiring missionary.
+
+"If you will allow me," he says, "my agent shall furnish your
+passage to Paris and arrange for all your wants."
+
+Padre Francisco bows. It is, after all, only his due.
+
+"When will you wish to leave?" queries Hardin.
+
+"To-morrow, Judge. My little affairs are in readiness."
+
+During the evening the light of the good priest glimmers late in
+the lonely little sacristy. The chapel bell tolls the last vespers,
+for long years, at Lagunitas.
+
+All the precious family papers are accepted by the Judge when the
+padre makes ready for his departure. The priest, with faltering
+voice, says early mass, with a few attendants. Delivering up the
+keys of the sacristy, chapel, and his home to the Judge, he quietly
+shares the noonday meal.
+
+If there is sadness in his heart his placid face shows it not. He
+sits in the lonely room replete with memories of the past.
+
+He is gone for a half hour, after the wily Judge lights his cigar,
+to contemplate the rich domain which shall be his, from the porch
+of the old home. When the priest returns, it is from the graves
+of the loved dead. He has plucked the few flowers blooming there.
+They are in his hand.
+
+His eyes are moist with the silent tears of one who mourns the useless
+work of long years. They have been full of sadness, separation,
+spiritual defeat, and untimely death. Even Judge Hardin, merciless
+as he is, feels compassion for this lonely man. He has asked nothing
+of him. The situation is delicate.
+
+"Can I do anything for you, Father Francisco?" says Hardin, with
+some real feeling. He is a gentleman "in modo." The priest may be
+penniless. He must not go empty-handed.
+
+"Nothing, thank you, save to accept my adieux and my fondest blessing
+for the little Isabel."
+
+He hands Judge Hardin the address of the religious house to which
+he will retire in Paris.
+
+"I will deliver to your agent the other papers and certificates
+of the family. They are stored for safety at the Mission Dolores
+church."
+
+"My agent will have orders to do everything you wish," remarks the
+Judge, as the carriage drives up for the priest.
+
+Hardin arises, with a sudden impulse. The modest pride of this grave
+old French gentleman will not be rudely intruded on. He must not,
+he shall not, go away entirely empty-handed. The lawyer returns
+with an envelope, and hands it to the padre.
+
+"From the colonel," he says. "It is an order for ten thousand
+dollars upon his San Francisco bankers."
+
+"I will be taken care of by those who sent me here," simply remarks
+the padre.
+
+Hardin flushes.
+
+"You can use it, father, in France, for the poor, for the friendless;
+you will find some worthy objects."
+
+The priest bows gravely, and presses the hand of the lawyer. With
+one loving look around the old plaza, the sweeping forest arches,
+and the rolling billows of green, he leaves the lonely lake gleaming
+amid its wooded shores. Its beauty is untouched by the twenty
+long years since first he wandered by its shores. A Paradise in a
+forest. His few communicants have said adieu. There is nothing to
+follow him but the incense-breathing murmurs of the forest branches,
+from fragrant pine and stately redwood, sighing, "Go, in God's
+name."
+
+Their wind-wafted voices speak to him of the happy past. The quiet,
+saddened, patient padre trusts himself as freely to his unknown
+future, as a child in its mother's cradling arms. In his simple
+creed, "God is everywhere."
+
+So Francois Ribaut goes in peace to spend a few quiet days at the
+Mission Dolores church. He will then follow the wild ocean waves
+back to his beloved France. "Apres vingt ans." A month sees him
+nearing the beloved shores.
+
+Walking the deck, he thinks often of that orphan child in Europe.
+He remembers, strangely, that the Judge had neglected to give him
+any clew to her present dwelling. Ah! he can write. Yes, but will
+he be answered? Perhaps. But Judge Hardin is a cunning old lawyer.
+
+Disembarrassed of the grave priest, Hardin at once sends orders
+for his prospectors. A new man appears to superintend the grant.
+
+It is with grim satisfaction he reflects that the hand of fate has
+removed every obstacle to his control. His fiery energy is shown by
+the rapidity with which hundreds of men swarm on ditch and flume.
+They are working at mill and giant water-wheels. They are delving
+and tracing the fat brown quartz, gold laden, from between the
+streaks of rifted basalt and porphyry.
+
+There is no one to spy, none to hinder now. Before the straggling
+veterans of Lee and Johnston wander back to the golden West, the
+quartz mine of Lagunitas yields fabulous returns.
+
+The legacy of "Kaintuck" was wonderful. The golden bars, run
+out roughly at the mine, represented to Hardin the anchor of his
+tottering credit. They are the basis of a great fortune, and the
+means of political prestige.
+
+When the crash came, when the Southern flags were furled in the
+awful silence of defeat and despair, the wily lawyer, safe in
+Lagunitas, was crowning his golden fortunes.
+
+Penniless, broken in pride and war-worn, the survivors of the men
+whom he urged into the toils of secession, returned sadly home,
+scattering aimlessly over the West. Fools of fortune.
+
+Philip Hardin, satisfied with the absence of the infant heiress,
+coldly stood aloof from the ruin of his friends.
+
+As the months ran on, accumulating his private deposits, Judge
+Hardin, engrossed in his affairs, grew indifferent even to the fate
+of the woman he had so long cherished. His unacknowledged child is
+naught to him.
+
+It was easy to keep the general income and expenses of the ranch
+nearly even in amount.
+
+But the MINE was a daily temptation to the only man who knew its
+real ownership. It must be his at any cost. Time must show the way.
+He must have a title.
+
+Hardin looked far into the future. His very isolation and inaction
+was a proof of no overt treason. With the power of this wealth
+he might, when a few years rolled away, reach lofty civic honors.
+Young at sixty, as public men are considered, he wonders, looking
+over the superb estate, if a high political marriage would not
+reopen his career. In entertaining royally at San Francisco and
+Sacramento, with solid and substantial claims in society, he may
+yet be able to place his name first in the annals of the coast. A
+senator. Why not? Ambition and avarice.
+
+With prophetic insight, he knows that sectional rancor will not long
+exist in California. Not really, in the war, a divided community,
+a debatable land, there will be thousands of able, hardy men,
+used to excitement, spreading over the West. It is a land of easy
+and liberal opinion. Business and the mine's affairs cause him to
+visit San Francisco frequently. He reaches out for all men as his
+friends. Seated in his silent parlors, walking moodily through the
+beautiful rooms, haunted with memories of the splendid "anonyma"
+whose reign is yet visible, he dreams of his wasted past, his
+lonely future. Can he repair it? Enveloped in smoke wreaths, from
+his portico he surveys the thousand twinkling city lights below.
+He is careless of the future movements of his Parisian goddess.
+
+It cost Philip Hardin no heart-wrench to part with voluptuous Hortense
+Duval. Partners in a crime, the stain of "French Charlie's" blood
+crimsoned their guilty past. An analytical, cold, all-mastering
+mind, he had never listened to the heart. He supposed Hortense
+to be as chilly in nature as himself. Yet she writes but seldom.
+Taught by his profession to dread silence from a woman, he casually
+corresponds with several trusted friends of the Confederate
+colony in France. What is her mystery? Madame Natalie de Santos is
+now a personage. The replies tell him of her real progress in the
+glittering ranks of the capital, and her singularly steady life.
+As the months roll on, he becomes a little anxious. She is far
+too cool and self-contained to suit him. He wishes women to lean
+on him and to work his will. Does she intend to establish a thorough
+position abroad, and claim some future rights? Has she views of a
+settlement? Who knows?
+
+Hardin sees too late, that in the control of both children, and
+her knowledge of his past, she is now independent of his mere daily
+influence. The millions of Lagunitas mine cannot be hidden. If he
+recalls the heiress, will "Natalie de Santos" be as easily controlled
+as "Hortense Duval"?
+
+And his own child, what of her? Hardin dares not tie himself up by
+acknowledging her claims. If he gives a large sum to the girl, it
+will give his "sultana" a powerful weapon for the future.
+
+Is she watching him through spies? She betrays no anxiety to know
+anything, save what he imparts. He dare not go to Paris, for fear
+of some public scandal and a rupture. He must confirm his position
+there. What new friends has she there?
+
+Ah! He will wait and make a final settlement of a handsome fortune
+on the child. He will provide a future fixed income for this new
+social star, now, at any rate, dependent on her obedience. Reports,
+in due form, accompany the occasional communications forwarded
+from the "Sacred Heart" as to the heiress. This must all be left
+to time.
+
+With a deep interest, Hardin sees the cessation of all hostilities,
+the death of Lincoln, the disbandment, in peace, of the great
+Union armies.
+
+Bayonets glitter no more upon the crested Southern heights.
+The embers of the watchfires are cold, gray ashes now. The lonely
+bivouac of the dead is the last holding of the foughten fields.
+
+While the South and East is a graveyard or in mourning, strange
+to say, only a general relief is felt in the West. The great issue
+easily drops out of sight. There are here no local questions, no
+neighborhood hatreds, no appealing graves. Happy California! happy,
+but inglorious. The railway approaches completion. A great activity
+of scientific mining, enterprises of scope and local development,
+urge the Western communities to action. The bonanza of Lagunitas
+gives Judge Hardin even greater local prominence. He establishes
+his residence at the old home in the Sierras.
+
+With no trusted associates, he splits and divides the funds from
+the mine, placing them in varied depositories. He refrains from an
+undue appearance of wealth or improvement at the rancho itself.
+No one knows the aggregates, the net returns, save himself. Cunning
+old robber.
+
+To identify himself with the interior and southern part of the State,
+he enters the higher body of the Legislature. His great experience
+and unflagging hospitalities make him at once a leader.
+
+Identified with State and mining interests, he engages public
+attention. He ignores all contention, and drops the question of
+the Rebellion. A hearty welcome from one and all, proves that his
+commanding talents are recognized.
+
+There are no relatives, no claims, no meddlesome legatees to question
+the disposition of Colonel Valois' estate. His trusteeship is well
+known, and his own influence is pre-eminent in the obscure District
+Court having control of the legal formalities.
+
+Hardin is keenly watchful of all returning ex-Confederates who might
+have been witnesses of Maxime Valois' death. They do not appear.
+His possession is unchallenged. His downy couch grows softer daily.
+
+He has received the family papers left by the departing padre. They
+are the baptismal papers of the little heiress. The last vouchers.
+
+Hardin, unmoved by fear, untouched by sympathy, never thinks of
+the lowly grave before the ramparts of Atlanta. The man lies there,
+who appealed to his honor, to protect the orphaned child, but he
+is silent in death.
+
+He decides to quietly strip the rancho of its great metallic wealth.
+He will hold the land unimproved, to be a showing in future years
+should trouble come as to the settlement of the estate.
+
+With the foresight of the advocate, Hardin fears the Valois heirs of
+New Orleans. He must build up his defensive works in that quarter.
+From several returned "Colonels" and "Majors" he hears of the
+death of old Judge Valois.
+
+The line of the family is extinct, save the boy in Paris, who has
+been lost sight of. A wandering artist.
+
+A sudden impulse seizes him. He likes not the ominous silence of
+Natalie as to important matters.
+
+Selecting one of his law clerks (now an employee of the estate),
+he sends him to Paris, amply supplied with funds, to look up the
+only scion left of the old family. He charges his agent to spare
+neither money nor time in the quest. A full and detailed report of
+Madame de Santos' doings and social surroundings is also ordered.
+
+"Mingle in the circles of travelling Americans, spend a little money,
+and find out what you can of her private life," are his orders. He
+says nothing of the heiress.
+
+In the gay season of 1866, Hardin, still bent on the golden quest
+in the hills, reads with some astonishment, the careful "precis"
+of his social spy. He writes:
+
+"I have searched Paris all over. The old Confederate circles are
+scattered now. They are out of favor at the imperial court. Even
+Duke Gwin, the leader of our people, has departed. His Dukedom of
+Sonora has gone up with our Confederacy. From one or two attaches
+of the old Confederate agency, I learned that the boy Armand Valois
+is now sixteen or seventeen years old, if living. He was educated
+in one of the best schools here, and is an artist by choice. When
+his father died he was left without means. I understand he intended
+to make a living by selling sketches or copying pictures. I have
+no description of him. There are thousands of young students lost
+in this maze. I might walk over him in the Louvre and not know him.
+If you wish me to advertise in the journals I might do so."
+
+"Fool," interjects Hardin, as he reads this under the vines at
+Lagunitas. "I don't care to look up an heir to Lagunitas. One is
+enough."
+
+"Now for Madame de Santos: I have by some effort worked into the
+circle of gayety, where I have met her. She is royally beautiful.
+I should say about thirty-five. Her position is fixed as an
+'elegante." Her turnout in the Bois is in perfect taste. She goes
+everywhere, entertains freely, and, if rumor is true, is very
+rich. She receives great attention, as they say she is guardian of
+a fabulously wealthy young girl at one of the convents here.
+
+"Madame de Santos is very accomplished, and speaks Spanish,
+French, and English equally well. I have made some progress in
+her acquaintance, but since, by accident, she learned I was from
+California she has been quite distant with me. No one knows her
+past, here. It is supposed she has lived in Mexico, and perhaps
+California. The little feminine 'Monte Cristo' is said to be Spanish
+or Mexican. Madame Santos' reputation is absolutely unblemished.
+In all the circle of admirers she meets, she favors but one. Count
+Ernesto de Villa Rocca, an Italian nobleman, is quite the 'ami de
+maison.'
+
+"I have not seen the child, save at a distance. Madame permits no
+one to meet her. She only occasionally drives her out, and invariably
+alone with herself.
+
+"She visits the convent school regularly. She seems to be a vigilant
+wide-awake woman of property. She goes everywhere, opera, balls,
+theatres, to the Tuileries. She is popular with women of the best
+set, especially the French. She sees very few Americans. She is
+supposed to be Southern in her sympathies. Her life seems to be
+as clear as a diamond. She has apparently no feminine weaknesses.
+If there is a sign of the future, it is that she may become 'Countess
+de Villa Rocca.' He is a very fine fellow, has all the Italian
+graces, and has been in the 'Guardia Nobile.' He is desperately
+devoted to Madame, and to do him justice, is an excellent fellow,
+as Italian counts go.
+
+"By the way, I met old Colonel Joe Woods here. He entertained me
+in his old way. He showed me the sights. He has become very rich,
+and operates in New York, London, and Paris. He is quite a swell
+here. He is liberal and jolly. Rather a change from the American
+River bar, to the Jockey Club at Paris. He sends you remembrances.
+
+"I shall wait your further orders, and return on telegraph. I
+cannot fathom the household mysteries of the Madame. When all Paris
+says a woman is 'dead square,' we need not probe deeper. There is
+no present sign of her marrying Villa Rocca, but he is the first
+favorite."
+
+"So," muses the veteran intriguer Hardin, as he selects a regalia,
+"my lady is wary, cautious, and blameless. Danger signals these.
+I must watch this Villa Rocca. Is he a 'cavalier servente'? Can he
+mean mischief? She would not marry him, I know," he murmurs.
+
+The red danger signal's flash shows to Hardin, Marie Berard standing
+by the side of Natalie and the two girls. Villa Rocca is only a
+dark shade of the background as yet.
+
+He smiles grimly.
+
+The clicking telegraph key invokes the mysterious cable. For two
+days Judge Philip paces his room a restless wolf.
+
+His prophetic mind projects the snares which will bring them all
+to his feet. He will buy this soubrette's secrets.
+
+A French maid's greed and Punic faith can be counted on always.
+
+With trembling fingers he tears open the cipher reply from his spy.
+He reads with flaming eyes:
+
+"Have seen girl; very knowing. Says she can tell you something
+worth one hundred thousand francs. Will not talk now. Money useless
+at present. She wants your definite instructions, and says, wait.
+Cable me orders."
+
+Hardin peers through the grindstone, and evolves his orders. He
+acts with Napoleon's rapidity. His answer reads:
+
+"Let her alone. Tell her to notify Laroyne & Co., 16 Rue Vivienne,
+when ready to sell her goods. Wait orders."
+
+Hardin revolves in his busy brain every turn of fortune's wheel.
+
+Has Natalie an intrigue?
+
+Is she already secretly married? Is the heiress of Lagunitas dead?
+
+The labors of his waking hours and the brandy bottle only tell him
+of an unfaithful woman's vagaries; a greedy lover's plots, or the
+curiosity of the dark-eyed maid, whose avarice is above her fidelity.
+
+Bah! she will tattle. No woman can resist it; they all talk.
+
+But this Italian cur; he must be watched.
+
+The child! Pshaw; she is a girl in frocks. But Villa Rocca is a
+needy man of brains and nerve; he must be foiled.
+
+Now, what is her game? Hardin must acknowledge that she is true
+to her trust, so far.
+
+The Judge walks over to his telegraph office, for there is a post,
+telegraph, and quite a mining settlement now on the Lagunitas
+grant.
+
+He sends a cable despatch to Paris to his agent, briefly:
+
+"Stop work. Report acceptable. Come back. Take your time leisurely,
+East. Well pleased."
+
+He does not want any misplaced zeal of his spy to alarm Natalie.
+As the year 1866 rolls on, the regular reports, business drafts and
+details as to Isabel Valois are the burden of the correspondence.
+Natalie's heart is silent. Has she one? She has not urged him to
+come back; she has not pressed the claims of her child. His agent
+returns and amplifies the general reports, but he has no new facts.
+
+The clerk drops into his usual life. He is not curious as to the
+Madame. "Some collateral business of the Judge, probably," is his
+verdict.
+
+While the stamps rattle away in the Lagunitas quartz mills, Judge
+Hardin takes an occasional run to the city by the bay. The legislative
+season approaches. Senator Hardin's rooms at the Golden Eagle are
+the centre of political power. Railroads are worming their way into
+politics. Franchises and charters are everywhere sought. Over the
+feasts served by Hardin's colored retainers, he cements friendships
+across old party lines.
+
+As Christmas approaches in this year, the Judge receives a letter
+from Natalie de Santos which rouses him from his bed of roses. He
+steadies his nerves with a glass of the best cognac, as he reads
+this fond epistle:
+
+I have waited for you to refer to the future of our child. I will
+not waste words. If you wished to make me happy, you would have,
+before now, provided for her. I do not speak of myself. You have been
+liberal enough to me. I am keeping up the position you indicated.
+My child is now old enough to ask meaning questions, to be informed
+of her place in the world and to be educated for it. You spoke of
+a settlement for her. If anything should happen to me, what would
+be her future? Isabel will be of course, in the future, a great
+lady. There is nothing absolutely my own. I am dependent on you.
+What I asked you, Philip, you have not given me: the name of wife.
+It is for her, not for myself, I asked it. I have made myself worthy
+of the position I would hold. You know our past. I wish absolutely
+now, to know my child's destiny. If you will not do the mother
+justice, what will you do for the child? Whose name shall she
+bear? What shall she have?
+
+Philip, I beg you to act in these matters and to remember that, if
+I once was Hortense Duval, I now am NATALIE DE SANTOS.
+
+Danger signals. Red and flaring they burn before Hardin's steady
+eyes. What does she mean? Is her last clause a threat? Woman!
+Perfidious woman!
+
+Hardin tosses on a weary couch several nights before he can frame
+a reply. It is not a money question. In his proud position now,
+forming alliances daily with the new leaders of the State, he could
+not stoop to marry this woman. Never. To give the child a block sum
+of money would be only to give the mother more power. To settle an
+income on her might be a future stain on his name. Shall he buy
+off Natalie de Santos? Does she want money alone? If he did so,
+would not Villa Rocca marry her and he then have two blackmailers
+on his hands? To whom can he trust Isabel Valois if he breaks with
+Natalie? The girl is growing, and may ask leading questions. She
+must be kept away. In a few years she not only will be marriageable,
+but at eighteen her legal property must be turned over.
+
+And to give up the Lagunitas quartz lead? Hardin's brow is gloomy. He
+uses days for a decision. The letter makes him very shaky in his
+mind. Is the "ex-Queen of the El Dorado" ready to strike a telling
+blow?
+
+He remembers how tiger-like her rage when she drew her dagger over
+the hand of "French Charlie." She can strike at need, but what will
+be her weapon now?
+
+He sets the devilish enginery of his brain at work. His answer to
+Natalie de Santos is brief but final:
+
+"You may trust my honor. I shall provide a fund as soon as I can,
+to be invested as you direct, either in your name or the other.
+You can impart to the young person what you wish. In the meantime
+you should educate her as a lady. If you desire an additional
+allowance, write me. I have many burdens, and cannot act freely
+now. Trust me yet awhile."
+
+Philip Hardin feels no twinge as he seals this letter. No voice
+from the grave can reach him. No proof exists in Natalie de Santos'
+hands to verify her story.
+
+As for Lagunitas, and orphan Isabel, he pores over every paper
+left by the unsuspicious Padre Francisco. He smiles grimly. It was
+a missionary parish. Its records have been all turned over to him.
+He quietly destroys the whole mass of papers left at Lagunitas by
+the priest. As for the marriage papers of her parents and certificate
+of baptism of Isabel, he conceals them, ready for destruction at
+a moment's notice.
+
+He will wait till the seven years elapse before filing legal proof
+of Maxime Valois' death.
+
+Securing from the papers of the old mansion house, materials, old
+in appearance, he quietly writes up a bill of sale of the quartz
+lead known as the Lagunitas mine, to secure the forty thousand
+dollars advanced by him to Maxime Valois, dated back to 1861. Days
+of practice enable him to imitate the signature of Valois. He appends
+the manual witness of "Kaintuck" and "Padre Francisco." They are
+gone forever; one in the grave, one in a cloister.
+
+This paper he sends quietly to record. It attracts no attention.
+"Kaintuck" is dead. Valois sleeps his last sleep. From a lonely cell
+in a distant French monastery, Padre Francisco will never hear of
+this.
+
+As for Isabel Valois, he has a darker plot than mere theft and
+forgery, for the future.
+
+The years to come will strengthen his possession and drown out all
+possible gossip.
+
+Natalie de Santos must hang dependent on his bounty. He will not
+arm her with weapons against himself. He knows she will not return
+to face him in California. His power there is too great. If she
+dares to marry any one, her hold on him is lost. She must lie to
+hide her past. Hardin smiles, for he counts upon a woman's vanity
+and love of luxury. The veteran lawyer sums up the situation to
+himself. She is powerless. She dares not talk. Time softens down
+all passions. When safe, he will give the child some funds, but
+very discreetly.
+
+And to bury the memory of Maxime Valois forever is his task.
+
+Broadening his political influence, Hardin moves on to public
+prominence. He knows well he can bribe or buy judge and jury,
+suppress facts, and use the golden hammer in his hands, to beat
+down any attack. Gold, blessed gold!
+
+The clattering stamps ring out merry music at Lagunitas as the
+months sweep by.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+AN OLD PRIEST AND A YOUNG ARTIST.--THE CHANGELINGS.
+
+
+
+
+
+As a thoroughfare of all nations, nothing excels the matchless
+Louvre. Though the fatal year of 1870 summons the legions of France
+under the last of the Napoleons to defeat, Paris, queen of cities,
+has yet to see its days of fire and flame. The Prussians thunder
+at its gates. It is "l'annee terrible. "Dissension and rapine
+within. The mad wolves of the Commune are yet to rage over the
+bloody paths of the German conqueror.
+
+Yet a ceaseless crowd of strangers, a polyglot procession of all
+ages and sexes, pours through these wonderful halls of art.
+
+In the sunny afternoons of the battle year, an old French priest
+wanders through these noble galleries. Pale and bowed, Francois
+Ribaut dreams away his waning hours among the priceless relics of
+the past. These are the hours of release from rosary and breviary.
+The ebb and flow of humanity, the labors of the copyists, the
+diverse types of passing human nature, all interest the padre.
+
+He has waited in vain for responses to his frequent letters
+to Judge Hardin. Perhaps the Judge is dead. Death's sickle swings
+unceasingly. The little heiress may have returned to her western
+native land. He waits and marvels. He finally sends a last letter
+through the clergy at Mission Dolores. To this he receives a response
+that they are told the young lady has returned to America and is
+being educated in the Eastern States.
+
+With a sigh Francois Ribaut abandons all hopes of seeing once more
+the child he had baptized, the orphaned daughter of his friend.
+She is now far from him. He feels assured he will never cross the
+wild Atlantic again.
+
+Worn and weary, waiting the approach of old age, he yet participates,
+with a true Frenchman's patriotism, in the sorrows of "l'annee
+terrible." Nothing brightens the future! Human nature itself seems
+giving way.
+
+All is disaster. Jacques Bonhomme's blood waters in vain his native
+fields. Oh, for the great Napoleon! Alas, for the days of 1805!
+
+As he wanders among the pictures he makes friendly acquaintance
+with rising artist and humble imitator. The old padre is everywhere
+welcome. His very smile is a benediction.
+
+He pauses one day at the easel of a young man who is copying a
+Murillo Madonna. Intent upon his work, the artist politely answers,
+and resumes his task. Spirited and artistic in execution, the copy
+betokens a rare talent.
+
+Day after day, on his visits, the padre sees the glowing canvas
+nearing completion. He is strangely attracted to the resolute young
+artist.
+
+Dark-eyed and graceful, the young painter is on the threshold
+of manhood. With seemingly few friends or acquaintances, he works
+unremittingly. Padre Francisco learns that he is a self-supporting
+art-student. He avows frankly that art copying brings him both his
+living and further education.
+
+Francois Ribaut is anxious to know why this ardent youth toils,
+when his fellows are in the field fighting the invaders. He is
+astonished when the young man tells him he is an American.
+
+"You are a Frenchman in your language and bearing," says the priest
+doubtfully.
+
+The young artist laughs.
+
+"I was educated here, mon pere, but I was born in Louisiana. My
+name is Armand Valois."
+
+The old priest's eyes glisten.
+
+"I knew an American named Valois, in California. He was a Louisianan
+also."
+
+The youth drops his brush. His eyes search the padre's face. "His
+name?" he eagerly asks.
+
+"He was called Maxime Valois," says the priest, Sadly. "He went
+into the Southern war and was killed."
+
+The artist springs from his seat. Leading the priest to a recessed
+window-seat, he says, quietly:
+
+"Mon pere, tell me of him. He was my cousin, and the last of my
+family. I am now the only Valois."
+
+Padre Francisco overstays his hour of relaxation. For the artist
+learns of the heroic death of his gallant kinsman, and all the
+chronicles of Lagunitas.
+
+"But you must come to me. I must see you often and tell you more,"
+concludes the good old priest. He gives Armand his residence,
+a religious establishment near Notre Dame, where he can spend his
+days under the shadows of the great mystery-haunted fane.
+
+Armand tells the priest his slender history.
+
+Left penniless by his aged father's death, the whirlwind of
+the Southern war swept away the last of his property. Old family
+friends, scattered and poor, cannot help him. He has been his own
+master for years. His simple annals are soon finished. He tells
+of his heart comrade, Raoul Dauvray (his senior a few years), now
+fighting in the Army of the Loire. The priest learns that the
+young American remained, to be a son in the household, while Raoul,
+a fellow art-student of past years, has drawn his sword for France.
+
+Agitated by the discovery, Padre Francisco promises to visit the
+young man soon. It seems all so strange. A new romance! Truly the
+world is small after all. Is it destiny or chance?
+
+In a few weeks, Francois Ribaut is the beloved of that little circle,
+where Josephine Dauvray is the household ruler. Priest and youth
+are friends by the memory of the dead soldier of the Confederacy.
+Armand writes to New Orleans and obtains full details of the death,
+in the hour of victory, of the gallant Californian. His correspondent
+says, briefly, "Colonel Henry Peyton, who succeeded your relative
+in command of the regiment, left here after the war, for Mexico
+or South America. He has never been heard from. He is the one man
+who could give you the fullest details of the last days of your
+kinsman--if he still lives."
+
+Thundering war rolls nearer the gates of Paris. The horrible days
+of approaching siege and present danger, added to the gloom of the
+national humiliation, make the little household a sad one. Padre
+Francisco finds a handsome invalid officer one day at the artist's
+home. Raoul Dauvray, severely wounded, is destined to months of
+inaction. There is a brother's bond between the two younger men.
+Padre Francisco lends his presence to cheer the invalid. Father and
+mother are busied with growing cares, for the siege closes in.
+
+The public galleries are now all closed. The days of "decheance"
+are over. France is struggling out of the hands of tyranny under
+the invaders' scourge into the nameless horrors of the Commune.
+
+It is impossible to get away, and unsafe to stay. The streets are
+filled with the mad unrest of the seething population. By the side
+of the young officer of the Garde Mobile, Francois Ribaut ministers
+and speeds the recovery of the chafing warrior. Thunder of guns
+and rattle of musketry nearer, daily, bring fresh alarms. Armand
+Valois has thrown away the palette and is at last on the ramparts
+with his brother artists, fighting for France. The boy has no
+country, for his blood is as true to the Lost Cause as the gallant
+cousin who laid down his life at Atlanta. He can fight for France,
+for he feels he has no other country now. It has been his foster-mother.
+
+Bright and helpful, demure and neat-handed, is the little nurse,
+who is the life of the household. Padre Francisco already loves
+the child. "Louise Moreau" is a pretty, quiet little maiden of
+twelve. Good Josephine Dauvray has told the priest of the coming
+of the child. He listens to the whole story. He sighs to think
+of some dark intrigue, behind the mask of this poor child's humble
+history. He gravely warns Josephine to tell him all the details of
+this strange affair. The motherly care and protection of Josephine
+has rendered the shy child happy. She knows no home but her little
+nest with the Dauvrays. Her education is suited to her modest station
+in life. The substantial payments and furtive visits of the woman
+who is responsible for her, tell the priest there is here a mystery
+to probe.
+
+Josephine casts down her eyes when Pere Francois asks her sternly
+if she has not traced the woman who is the only link between her
+charge and the past. Interest against duty.
+
+"I have followed her, mon pere, but I do not know her home. She
+comes irregularly, sometimes on foot, sometimes in a carriage. I have
+always lost all traces. She must have friends here, but I cannot
+find them, for she was sent to us by others to give this child a
+home."
+
+"This must be looked into," murmurs the priest.
+
+He interrogates the soldier and also Armand when he returns from
+the lines, as the siege drags slowly on. They know nothing save
+the fact of the child's being friendless. It may be right; it may
+be wrong. "Voila tout." It's the way of Paris.
+
+The priest is much disturbed in mind. Since his conversations with
+Armand Valois he feels a vague unrest in his heart as to the young
+artist's rights in Lagunitas. Does none of that great estate go to
+Armand? Is this equitable? There must be some share of the domain,
+which would legally descend to him. In the days of the convalescence
+of Raoul Dauvray, the two friends of the soldier-artist, now waiting
+the orders for the great attack, commune as to his rights. It would
+not be well to disturb him with false hopes.
+
+The gentle old priest tells Raoul the whole story of Lagunitas.
+
+"Mon pere," says the sculptor, "I think there is something wrong
+with the affairs of that estate. This great Judge may wish you
+out of the way. He may wish to keep Armand out of his rights. He
+is deceiving you. It would be well, when brighter days come, that
+Armand should go to the western land and see this man."
+
+"But he is poor," Raoul sighs, "and he cannot go."
+
+"If he writes to the 'avocat,' the man will be on his guard."
+
+Pere Francois takes many a pinch of snuff. He ponders from day to
+day. When the fatal days of the surrender of Paris come, Armand
+returns saddened and war-worn, but safe. The victorious columns
+of the great German "imperator" march under the Arc de Triomphe.
+Their bayonets shine in the Bois de Boulogne. Thundering cannon at
+Versailles bellow a salute to the new-crowned Emperor of Germany.
+
+The days of the long siege have been dreadful. Privation, the
+streams of wounded, and the dull boom of the guns of the forts are
+sad witnesses of the ruin of war.
+
+When to the siege and the shame of surrender, the awful scenes
+of the Commune are added, each day has a new trial. Raoul is well
+enough to be out, now. The two young men guard the household.
+Aristide Dauvray is gloomily helpless at his fireside. Armand
+busies himself in painting and sketching. Pere Francois' visits are
+furtive, for the priest's frock is a poor safeguard now. Already
+the blood of the two murdered French generals, Lecomte and
+Clement-Thomas, cries to heaven for vengeance against rash mutiny.
+
+Raoul Dauvray foresees the downfall of the socialistic mob. After
+consultation, he decides to take a place where he can protect the
+little household when the walls are stormed. He escapes by night
+to the lines of the Versaillese.
+
+For, maddened Paris is now fighting all France. In his capacity of
+officer, he can at once insure the personal safety of his friends
+when the city is taken.
+
+The red flag floats on the Hotel de Ville. The very streets
+are unsafe. Starvation faces the circle around Aristide Dauvray's
+hearth. Mad adventurers, foolish dreamers, vain "bourgeois"
+generals, head the Communists. Dombrowski, Cluseret, Flourens, the
+human tigers Ferre and Lullier, Duval, Bergeret, and Eudes, stalk
+in the stolen robes of power. Gloomy nights close sad and dreary
+days. From Issy and Vanvres huge shells curve their airy flight,
+to carry havoc from French guns into French ranks.
+
+Hell seems to have vomited forth its scum. Uncanny beings lurk at
+the corners. Wild with cognac and absinthe, the unruly mob commits
+every wanton act which unbridled wickedness can suggest. Good men
+are powerless, and women exposed to every insult. Public trade is
+suspended. Robbery and official pillage increase. The creatures of
+a day give way quickly to each other. Gallant Rossell, who passed
+the Prussian lines to serve France, indignantly sheathes his sword.
+He is neither a Nero nor a mountebank.
+
+Alas, for the talented youth! a death volley from his old engineer
+troops awaits him at the Buttes de Chaumont. To die the dishonored
+death of a felon, a deserter!
+
+Alas, for France: bright of face and hard of heart! Tigress queen,
+devouring your noblest children.
+
+While Thiers proclaims the law, he draws around him the wreck of
+a great army. A bloody victory over demented brethren hangs awful
+laurels on the French sword: De Gallifet, Vinoy, Ducrot, L'Admirault,
+Cissey, D'Aurelle de Palladines, Besson and Charrette surround the
+unlucky veteran, Marshal McMahon, Duc de Magenta. General Le Flo,
+the Minister of War, hurls this great army against the two hundred
+and fifty-two battalions of National Guards within the walls of
+Paris. These fools have a thousand cannon.
+
+Down in the Bois de Boulogne, the fighting pickets pour hissing
+lead into the bosoms of brothers. From the heights where the
+brutal Prussian soldiery grinned over the blackened ruins of the
+ill-starred Empress Eugenie's palace of St. Cloud, the cannon of
+the Versaillese rain shot and shell on the walls of defenceless
+Paris.
+
+Pere Francois is a blessing in these sad and weary days. Clad
+"en bourgeois," he smuggles in food and supplies. He cheers the
+half-distracted Josephine. Armand Valois keeps the modest little
+maiden Louise, fluttering about the home studio which he shares with
+Raoul. Their casts and models, poor scanty treasures, make their
+modest sanctum a wonder to the girl. Her life's romance unfolds.
+Art and dawning love move her placid soul. The days of wrangling
+wear away. An occasional smuggled note from Raoul bids them be of
+cheer. Once or twice, the face of Marie Berard is seen at the door
+for a moment.
+
+Thrusting a packet of notes in Josephine's hand, she bids her guard
+the child and keep her within her safe shelter.
+
+The disjointed masses of Communists wind out on April 3d of the
+terrible year of '71, to storm the fortified heights held by the
+Nationalists.
+
+Only a day before, at Courbevoie, their bayonets have crossed
+in fight. Mont Valerien now showers shells into Paris. Bergeret,
+Duval, and Eudes lead huge masses of bloodthirsty children of the
+red flag, into a battle where quickening war appalls the timid
+Louise. It makes her cling close to Armand. The human family seems
+changed into a pack of ravening wolves. Pouring back, defeated and
+dismayed, the Communists rage in the streets. The grim fortress
+of Mont Valerien has scourged the horde of Bergeret. Duval's column
+flees; its defeated leader is promptly shot by the merciless
+Vinoy. Fierce De Gallifet rages on the field--his troopers sabring
+the socialists without quarter.
+
+Flourens' dishonored body lies, riddled with bullets, on a dung
+heap at St. Cloud.
+
+Eudes steals away, to sneak out and hide his "loot" in foreign lands.
+Red is the bloody flail with which McMahon thrashes out Communism.
+
+The prisoned family, joined by Pere Francois, now a fugitive, day
+by day shudder at the bedlam antics and reign of blood around them.
+
+Saintly Archbishop Darboy dies under the bullets of the Communists.
+His pale face appeals to God for mercy.
+
+Vengeance is yet to come. The clergy are now hunted in the streets!
+Plunder and rapine reign! Orgies and wild wassail hold a mocking
+sway in the courts of death. Unsexed women, liberated thieves, and
+bloodthirsty tramps prey on the unwary, the wounded, or the feeble.
+On April 3Oth, the great fort of Issy falls into the hands of the
+government. Blazing shells rain, in the murky night air, down on
+Paris. Continuous fighting from April 2d until May 21st makes the
+regions of Auteuil, Neuilly, and Point du Jour a wasted ruin.
+
+Frenzied fiends drag down the Colonne Vendome where the great Corsican
+in bronze gazed on a scene of wanton madness never equalled. Not
+even when drunken Nero mocked at the devastation of the imperial
+city by the Tiber, were these horrors rivalled.
+
+Down the beautiful green slopes into the Bois de Boulogne, the
+snaky lines of sap and trench bring the octopus daily nearer to
+the doomed modern Babylon. Flash of rifle gun and crack of musketry
+re-echo in the great park. It is now shorn of its lovely trees,
+where man and maid so lately held the trysts of love. A bloody dew
+rains on devoted Paris.
+
+A fateful Sunday is that twenty-first of May when the red-mouthed
+cannon roar from dawn till dark. At eventide, the grim regulars
+bayonet the last defenders of the redoubts at the Point du Jour
+gates. The city is open to McMahon.
+
+The lodgment once made, a two nights' bombardment adds to the
+horrors of this living hell.
+
+On the twenty-third, Montmartre's bloody shambles show how merciless
+are the stormers. Dombrowski lies dead beside his useless guns.
+All hope is lost. Murder and pillage reign in Paris.
+
+Behind their doors, barricaded with the heavier furniture, the
+family of Aristide Dauvray invoke the mercy of God. They are led
+by Pere Francois, who thinks the awful Day of Judgment may be near.
+Humanity has passed its limits. Fiends and furies are the men and
+women, who, crazed with drink, swarm the blood-stained streets.
+
+In their lines, far outside, the stolid Prussians joke over their
+beer, as they learn of the wholesale murder finishing red Bellona's
+banquet. "The French are all crazy." They laugh.
+
+The twenty-fourth of May arrives. Paris is aflame. Battle unceasing,
+storm of shell, rattle of rifles, and cannon balls skipping down
+the Champs Elysees mark this fatal day. A deep tide of human blood
+flows from the Madeleine steps to the Seine. The river is now
+filled with bodies. Columns of troops, with heavy tramp and ringing
+platoon volleys, disperse the rallying squads of rebels, or storm
+barricade after barricade. Squadrons of cavalry whirl along, and
+cut down both innocent and guilty.
+
+After three awful days more, the six thousand bodies lying among
+the tombs of Pere la Chaise tell that the last stronghold of the
+Commune has been stormed. Belleville and Buttes de Chaumont are
+piled with hundreds of corpses. The grim sergeants' squads are
+hunting from house to house, bayoneting skulking fugitives, or
+promptly shooting any persons found armed.
+
+The noise of battle slowly sinks away. Flames and smoke soar to the
+skies: the burnt offering now; the blood offering is nearly over.
+
+Thirty superb palaces of the municipality are in flames. Under
+Notre Dame's sacred roof, blackened brands and flooded petroleum
+tell of the human fiends' visit.
+
+The superb ruins of the Tuileries show what imperial France has
+been. Its flaming debris runs with streams of gold, silver, and
+melted crystal.
+
+Banks, museums, and palaces have been despoiled. Boys and old
+crones trade costly jewels in the streets for bread and rum. The
+firing parties are sick of carnage.
+
+Killing in cold blood ceases now, from sheer mechanical fatigue.
+
+On the twenty-eighth, a loud knocking on the door of the house
+brings Aristide Dauvray to the door. A brief parley. The obstructions
+are cleared. Raoul is clasped in his father's arms. Safe at last.
+Grim, bloody, powder-stained, with tattered clothes, he is yet
+unwounded. A steady sergeant and half-dozen men are quickly posted
+as a guard. They can breathe once more. This help is sadly needed.
+In a darkened room above, little Louise Moreau lies in pain and
+silence.
+
+Grave-faced Pere Francois is the skilful nurse and physician.
+A shell fragment, bursting through a window, has torn her tender,
+childish body.
+
+Raoul rapidly makes Armand and his father known to the nearest
+"poste de garde." He obtains protection for them. His own troops
+are ordered to escort drafts of the swarming prisoners to the
+Orangery at Versailles. Already several thousands of men, women,
+and children, of all grades, are penned within the storied walls.
+Here the princesses of France sported, before that other great
+blood frenzy, the Revolution, seized on the Parisians.
+
+With a brief rest, he tears himself away from a mother's arms, and
+departs for the closing duties of the second siege of Paris. The
+drawing in of the human prey completes the work.
+
+Safe at last! Thank God! The family are able to look out to the
+light of the sun again. They see the glittering stars of night
+shine calmly down on the slaughter house, the charnel of "Paris
+incendie." The silence is brooding. It seems unfamiliar after
+months of siege, and battle's awful music.
+
+In a few days the benumbed survivors crawl around the streets. Open
+gates enable provisions to reach the half-famished dwellers within
+the walls. Over patched bridges, the railways pour the longed-for
+supplies into Paris. Fair France is fruitful, even in her year
+of God's awful vengeance upon the rotten empire of "Napoleon the
+Little."
+
+Pere Francois lingers by the bedside of the suffering girl. She
+moans and tosses in the fever of her wound. Her mind is wandering.
+
+A slender, girlish arm wanders out of the coverlid often. She lies,
+with flushed cheeks and eyes strangely bright.
+
+Tenderly replacing the innocent's little hands under the counterpane,
+Francois Ribaut starts with sudden surprise.
+
+He fastens his gaze eagerly on the poor girl's left arm.
+
+Can there be two scars like this?
+
+The sign of the cross.
+
+He is amazed. The little Spanish girl, from whose baby arm he
+extracted a giant poisonous thorn, bore a mark like this,--a record
+of his own surgery.
+
+At far Lagunitas, he had said, playfully to Dolores Valois:
+
+"Your little one will never forget the cross; she will bear it
+forever."
+
+For the incision left a deep mark on baby Isabel Valois' arm.
+
+The old priest is strangely stirred. He has a lightning flash of
+suspicion. This girl has no history; no family; no name. Who is
+she?
+
+Yet she is watched, cared for, and, even in the hours of danger,
+money is provided for her. Ah, he will protect this poor lamb. But
+it is sheer madness to dream of her being his lost one. True, her
+age is that of the missing darling. He kneels by the bed of the
+wounded innocent, and softly quavers a little old Spanish hymn. It
+is a memory of his Californian days.
+
+Great God! her lips are moving; her right hand feebly marks his
+words, and as he bends over the sufferer, he hears "Santa Maria,
+Madre de Dios."
+
+Francois Ribaut falls on his knees in prayer. This nameless waif,
+in her delirium, is faltering words of the cradle hymns, the baby
+lispings of the heiress of Lagunitas.
+
+A light from heaven shines upon the old priest's brow.
+
+Is it, indeed, the heiress!
+
+He can hear his own heart beat.
+
+The wearied, hunted priest feels the breezes from the singing pines
+once more on his fevered brow. Again he sees the soft dark eyes
+of Dolores as they close in death, beautiful as the last glances
+of an expiring gazelle. Her dying gaze is fixed on the crucifix in
+his hand.
+
+"I will watch over this poor lonely child," murmurs the old man,
+as he throws himself on his knees, imploring the protection of the
+Virgin Mother mild.
+
+Sitting by the little sufferer, softly speaking the language of her
+babyhood, the padre hears word after word, uttered by the girl in
+the "patois" of Alta California.
+
+And now he vows himself to a patient vigil over this defenceless
+one. Silence, discretion, prudence. He is yet a priest.
+
+He will track out this mysterious guardian.
+
+In a week or so, a normal condition is re-established in conquered
+Paris. Though the yellowstone houses are pitted with the scourge
+of ball and mitraille, the streets are safe. Humanity's wrecks
+are cleared away. Huge, smoking ruins tell of the mad barbarity of
+the floods of released criminals. The gashed and torn beauties of
+the Bois de Boulogne; battered fortifications, ruined temples of
+Justice, Art, and Commerce, and the blood-splashed corridors of
+the Madeleine are still eloquent of anarchy.
+
+The reign of blood is over at last, for, in heaps of shattered
+humanity, the corses of the last Communists are lying in awful
+silence in the desecrated marble wilderness of Pere la Chaise.
+
+The heights of Montmartre area Golgotha. Trade slowly opens its
+doors. The curious foreigner pokes, a human raven, over the scenes
+of carnage. Disjointed household organizations rearrange themselves.
+The railway trains once more run regularly. Laughter, clinking
+of glasses, and smirking loiterers on the boulevards testify that
+thoughtless, heartless Paris is itself once more. "Vive la bagatelle."
+
+Francois Ribaut at last regains his home of religious seclusion.
+Louise is convalescent, and needs rest and quiet. There is no want
+of money in the Dauvray household. The liberal douceurs of Louise
+Moreau's mysterious guardian, furnish all present needs.
+
+"Thank God!" cries Pere Frangois, when he remembers that he has
+the fund intact, which he received from the haughty Hardin.
+
+He can follow the quest of justice. He has the means to trace
+the clouded history of this child of mystery. A nameless girl who
+speaks only French, yet in her wandering dreams recalls the Spanish
+cradle-hymns of lost Isabel.
+
+Already the energy of the vivacious French is applied to the care
+of what is left, and the repair of the damages of the reign of
+demons. The rebuilding of their loved "altars of Mammon" begins.
+The foreign colony, disturbed like a flock of gulls on a lonely
+rock, flutters back as soon as the battle blast is over. Aristide
+Dauvray finds instant promotion in his calling. The hiding Communists
+are hunted down and swell the vast crowd of wretches in the Orangery.
+
+Already, all tribunals are busy. Deportation or death awaits the
+leaders of the revolt.
+
+Raoul Dauvray, whose regiment is returned from its fortnight's guard
+duty at Versailles, is permitted to revisit his family. Peace now
+signed--the peace of disgrace--enables the decimated Garde Mobile
+to be disbanded. In a few weeks, he will be a sculptor again. A
+soldier no more. France needs him no longer in the field.
+
+By the family Lares and Penates the young soldier tells of
+the awful sights of Versailles. The thousand captured cannon of
+the Communists, splashed with human blood, the wanton ruin of the
+lovely grounds of the Bois, dear to the Parisian heart, and all the
+strange scenes of the gleaning of the fields of death show how the
+touch of anarchy has seared the heart of France. Raoul's adventures
+are a nightly recital.
+
+"I had one strange adventure," says the handsome soldier, knocking
+the ashes from his cigar. "I was on guard with my company in command
+of the main gate of the Orangery, the night after the crushing of
+these devils at Montmartre. The field officer of the day was away.
+Among other prisoners brought over, to be turned into that wild
+human menagerie, was a beautiful woman, richly dressed. She was
+arrested in a carriage, escaping from the lines with a young girl.
+Their driver was also arrested. He was detained as a witness.
+
+"She had not been searched, but was sent over for special examination.
+She was in agony. I tried to pacify her. She declared she was an
+American, and begged me to send at once for the officers of the
+American Legation. It was very late. The best I could do was to give
+her a room and put a trusty sergeant in charge. I sent a messenger
+instantly to the American Legation with a letter. She was in mortal
+terror of her life. She showed me a portmanteau, with magnificent
+jewels and valuables. I calmed her terrified child. The lady insisted
+I should take charge of her jewels and papers. I said:
+
+"'Madame, I do not know you.'
+
+"She cried, 'A French officer is always a gentleman.'
+
+"In the morning before I marched off guard, a carriage with a foreign
+gentleman and one of the attaches of the United States Embassy,
+came with a special order from General Le Flo for her release. She
+had told me she was trying to get out of Paris with her child, who
+had been in a convent. It was situated in the midst of the fighting
+and had been cut off. Passing many fearful risks, she was finally
+arrested as 'suspicious.'
+
+"She persists in saying I saved her life. She would have been
+robbed, truly, in that mad whirl of human devils penned up there
+under the chassepots of the guards on the walls. Oh! it was horrible."
+
+The young soldier paused.
+
+"She thanked me, and was gracious enough not to offer me a reward.
+I am bidden to call on her in a few days, as soon as we are tranquil,
+and receive her thanks.
+
+"I have never seen such beauty in woman," continues the officer.
+
+"A Venus in form; a daughter of the South, in complexion,--and her
+thrilling eyes!"
+
+Gentle Louise murmurs, "And the young lady?"
+
+"A Peri not out of the gates of Paradise," cries the enthusiastic
+artist.
+
+"What is she? who is she?" cried the circle. Even Pere Francois
+lifted his head in curiosity. Raoul threw two cards on the table.
+A dainty coronet with the words,
+
+{Madame Natalie de Santos, 97 Champs Elysees.}
+
+appeared on one; the other read,
+
+{Le Comte Ernesto Villa Rocca, Jockey Club.}
+
+"And you are going to call?" said Armand.
+
+"Certainly," replies Raoul. "I told the lady I was an artist.
+She wishes to give me a commission for a bust of herself. I hope
+she will; I want to be again at my work. I am tired of all this
+brutality."
+
+That looked-for day comes. France struggles to her feet, and loads
+the Teuton with gold. He retires sullenly to where he shows his
+grim cannons, domineering the lovely valleys of Alsace and the
+fruitful fields of Lorraine.
+
+Louise Moreau is well now. The visits of her responsible guardian
+are resumed. Adroit as a priest can be, Pere Francois cannot run
+down this visitor. Too sly to call in others, too proud to use a
+hireling, in patience the priest bides his time.
+
+Not a word yet to the fair girl, who goes singing now around the
+house. A few questions prove to Francois Ribaut that the girl has
+no settled memory of her past. He speaks, in her presence, the
+language of the Spaniard. No sign of understanding. He describes
+his old home in the hills of Mariposa. The placid child never
+raises her head from her sewing.
+
+Is he mistaken? No; on her pretty arm, the crucial star still
+lingers.
+
+"How did you get that mark, my child?" he asks placidly.
+
+"I know not, mon pere; it has been there since I can remember."
+
+The girl drops her eyes. She knows there is a break in her
+history. The earliest thing she can remember of her childhood is
+sailing--sailing on sapphire seas, past sculptured hills. Long days
+spent, gazing on the lonely sea-bird's flight.
+
+The priest realizes there is a well-guarded secret. The regular
+visitor does not speak TO the child, but OF her.
+
+Pere Francois has given Josephine his orders, but there is no
+tripping in the cold business-like actions of the woman who pays.
+
+Pere Francois is determined to take both the young men into his
+confidence. He will prevent any removal of this child, without the
+legal responsibility of some one. If they should take the alarm?
+How could he stop them? The law! But how and why?
+
+Raoul Dauvray is in high spirits. After his regiment is disbanded,
+he is not slow to call at the splendid residence on the Champs
+Elysees. In truth, he goes frequently.
+
+The splendors of that lovely home, "Madame de Santos'" gracious
+reception, and a royal offer for his artistic skill, cause him to
+feel that she is indeed a good fairy.
+
+A modelling room in the splendid residence is assigned him. Count
+Villa Rocca, who has all an Italian's love of the arts, lingers
+near Natalie de Santos, with ill-concealed jealousy of the young
+sculptor. To be handsome, smooth, talented, jealous--all this is
+Villa Rocca's "metier." He is a true Italian.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+NEARING EACH OTHER.--THE VALOIS HEIRS.
+
+
+
+
+
+Paris is a human hive. Thousands labor to restore its beauty. The
+stream of life ebbs and flows once more on the boulevards. The
+galleries reopen. Armand labors in the Louvre. He finished the
+velvet-eyed Madonna, copied after Murillo's magic hand. He chafes
+under Raoul's laurels. The boy would be a man. Every day the
+sculptor tells of the home of the wealthy Spaniard. The girl is at
+her convent again. Raoul meets Madame Natalie "en ami de maison."
+
+He tells of Count Villa Rocca's wooing. Marriage may crown the
+devotion of the courtly lover.
+
+The bust in marble is a success. Raoul is in the flush of glory.
+His patroness directs him to idealize for her "Helen of Troy."
+
+Armand selects as his next copy, a grand inspiration of womanly
+beauty. He, too, must pluck a laurel wreath.
+
+Under the stress of emulation, his fingers tremble in nervous ardor.
+He has chosen a subject which has myriad worshippers.
+
+Day by day, admirers recognize the true spirit of the masterpiece.
+
+Throngs surround the painter, who strains his artistic heart.
+
+A voice startles him, as the last touches are being laid on:
+
+"Young man, will you sell this here picture?"
+
+"That depends," rejoins Armand. His use of the vernacular charms
+the stranger.
+
+"Have you set a price?" cries the visitor, in rough Western English.
+
+"I have not as yet," the copyist answers.
+
+He surveys the speaker, a man of fifty years, whose dress and manner
+speak of prosperity in efflorescent form.
+
+The diamond pin, huge watch-chain, rich jewelled buttons, and
+gold-headed cane, prove him an American Croesus.
+
+"Well, when it's done, you bring it to my hotel. Everyone knows
+me. I will give you what you want for it. It's way up; better than
+the original," says the Argonaut, with a leer at its loveliness.
+
+He drops his card on the moist canvas. The nettled artist reads,
+
+{{Colonel Joseph Woods, California. Grand Hotel.}}
+
+on the imposing pasteboard.
+
+The good-humored Woods nods.
+
+"Yes sir, that's me. Every one in London, Paris, and New York,
+knows Joe Woods.
+
+"Good at the bank," he chuckles.
+
+"What's your name?" he says abruptly.
+
+Armand rises bowing, and handing his card to the stranger:
+
+"Armand Valois."
+
+Woods whistles a resounding call. The "flaneurs" start in
+astonishment.
+
+"Say; you speak English. By heavens! you look like him. Did you ever
+know a Colonel Valois, of California?" He gazes at the boy eagerly.
+
+"I never met him, sir, but he was the last of my family. He was
+killed in the Southern war."
+
+"Look here, young man, you pack up them there paint-brushes, and
+send that picture down to my rooms. You've got to dine with me
+to-night, my boy. I'll give you a dinner to open your eyes."
+
+The painter really opens his eyes in amazement.
+
+"You knew my relative in California?"
+
+"We dug this gold together," the stranger almost shouts, as he
+taps his huge watch-chain. "We were old pardners," he says, with
+a moistened eye.
+
+There was a huskiness in the man's voice; not born of the mellow
+cognac he loved.
+
+No; Joe Woods was far away then, in the days of his sturdy youth.
+He was swinging the pick once more on the bars of the American
+River, and listening to its music rippling along under the giant
+pines of California.
+
+The young painter's form brought back to "Honest Joe" the unreturning
+brave, the chum of his happiest days.
+
+Armand murmurs, "Are you sure you wish this picture?"
+
+"Dead sure, young man. You let me run this thing. Now, I won't take
+'no.' You just get a carriage, and get this all down to my hotel.
+You can finish it there. I've got to go down to my bank, and you
+be there to meet me. You'll have a good dinner; you bet you will.
+God! what a man Valois was. Dead and gone, poor fellow!
+
+"Now, I'm off! don't you linger now."
+
+He strides to his carriage, followed by a crowd of "valets de place."
+All know Joe Woods, the big-souled mining magnate. He always leaves
+a golden trail.
+
+Armand imagines the fairy of good luck has set him dreaming. No;
+it is all true.
+
+He packs up his kit, and sends for a coupe. Giving orders as to
+the picture, he repairs to the home of the Dauvrays for his toilet.
+He tells Pere Francois of his good fortune.
+
+"Joe Woods, did you say," murmurs the priest. "He was a friend of
+Valois. He is rich. Tell him I remember him. He knows who I am. I
+would like to see him."
+
+There is a strange light in Francois Ribaut's eye. Here is a
+friend; perhaps, an ally. He must think, must think.
+
+The old priest taps his snuff-box uneasily.
+
+In a "cabinet particulier" of the Grand Hotel restaurant, Woods
+pours out to the young man, stories of days of toil and danger;
+lynching scenes, gambling rows, "shooting scrapes," and all
+kaleidoscopic scenes of the "flush days of the Sacramento Valley."
+
+Armand learns his cousin's life in California. He imparts to the
+Colonel, now joyous over his "becassine aux truffes" and Chambertin,
+the meagre details he has of the death of the man who fell in the
+intoxicating hour of victory on fierce Hood's fiercest field.
+
+Colonel Joe Woods drains his glass in silence.
+
+"My boy," he suddenly says, "Valois left an enormous estate; don't
+you come in anywhere?"
+
+"I never knew of his will," replies Armand. "I want you, Colonel,
+to meet my old friend Pere Francois, who was the priest at
+this Lagunitas. He tells me, a Judge Hardin has charge of all the
+property."
+
+Joe Woods drops the knife with which he is cutting the tip of his
+imperial cigar.
+
+"By Heavens! If that old wolf has got his claws on it, it's a long
+fight. I'll see your Padre. I knew him. Now, my boy," says Colonel
+Joe, "I've got no wife, and no children," he adds proudly.
+
+"I'll take you over to California with me, and we'll see old Hardin.
+I'm no lawyer, but you ought to hear of the whole details. We'll
+round him up. Let's go up to my room and look at your picture."
+
+Throwing the waiter a douceur worthy of his financial grade, the
+new friends retire to the Colonel's rooms.
+
+Here the spoils of the jeweler, the atelier, and studio, are
+strangely mingled. Joe Woods buys anything he likes. A decanter
+of Bourbon, a box of the very primest Havanas, and a business-like
+revolver, lying on the table, indicate his free and easy ways.
+
+Letters in heaps prove that "mon brave Colonel Woods" is even known
+to the pretty free-lances who fight under the rosy banner of Venus
+Victrix.
+
+In hearty terms, the Californian vents his enthusiasm.
+
+"By the way, my boy, I forgot something." He dashes off a check
+and hands it to the young painter.
+
+"Tell me where to send for a man to frame this picture in good
+shape," he simply says.
+
+He looks uneasily at the young man, whose senses fail him when he
+sees that the check is for five thousand francs.
+
+"Is that all right?" he says cheerfully, nudging Armand in the ribs.
+"Cash on delivery, you know. I want another by and by. I'll pick
+out a picture I want copied. I'm going to build me a bachelor
+ranch on Nob Hill: Ophir Villa." He grins over some pet "deal" in
+his favorite Comstock. Dulcet memories.
+
+For Colonel Joe Woods is a man of "the Golden Days of the Pacific."
+He too has "arrived."
+
+The boy murmurs his thanks. "Now look here, I've got to run over
+to the Cafe Anglais, and see some men from the West. You give me
+your house number. I'll come in and see the padre to-morrow evening.
+
+"Stay; you had better come and fetch me. Take dinner with me
+to-morrow, and we'll drive down in a hack."
+
+The Colonel slips his pistol in its pocket, winks, takes a pull
+at the cocktail of the American, old Kentucky's silver stream, and
+grasps his gold-headed club. He is ready now to meet friend or
+foe.
+
+Joy in his heart, good humor on his face, jingling a few "twenties,"
+which he carries from habit, he grasps a handful of cigars, and
+pushes the happy boy out of the open door.
+
+"Oh! never mind that; I've got a French fellow sleeping around here
+somewhere," he cries, as Armand signals the sanctum is unlocked.
+"He always turns up if any one but HIMSELF tries to steal anything.
+He's got a patent on that," laughs the "Croesus of the American
+River."
+
+Armand paints no stroke the next day. He confers with Pere Francois.
+He is paralyzed when the cashier of the "Credit Lyonnais" hands
+him five crisp one-thousand-franc notes. Colonel Joe Woods' check
+is of international potency. It is not, then, a mere dream.
+
+When the jovial Colonel is introduced to the family circle he
+is at home in ten minutes. His good nature carries off easily his
+halting French. He falls into sudden friendship with the young
+soldier-sculptor. He compliments Madame Josephine. He pleases the
+modest Louise, and is at home at once with Padre Francisco.
+
+After a friendly chat, he says resolutely:
+
+"Now, padre, you and I want to have a talk over our young friend
+here. Let us go up to his room a little."
+
+Seated in the boy's studio, Woods shows the practical sense which
+carried him to the front in the struggle for wealth.
+
+"I tell you what I'll do," he says. "I'm going out to the coast
+in a month or so. I'll look this up a little. If I want our young
+friend here, I'll send you a cable, and you can start him out to
+me. My banker will rig him out in good style. Just as well he comes
+under another name. See? Padre, you take a ride with me to-morrow.
+We will talk it all over."
+
+The Californian's questions and sagacity charm the padre. He is
+now smoking one of those blessed "Imperiales." An innocent pleasure.
+
+They rise to join the circle below. A thought animates the priest.
+
+Yes, he will confer with the clear-headed man and tell him of the
+child below, whose pathway is unguarded by a parent's love.
+
+Around the frugal board Colonel Joe enters into the family spirit.
+He insists on having Raoul come to him for a conference about his
+portraiture in marble.
+
+"I have just finished a bust of Madame de Santos, the beautiful
+Mexican lady," remarks Raoul.
+
+Colonel Joe bounds from his chair. "By hokey, young man, you are
+a bonanza. Do you know her well?" he eagerly asks.
+
+The sculptor tells how he saved her from the bedlam horrors of the
+Orangery.
+
+The miner whistles. "Well, you control the stock, I should say.
+Now, she's the very woman, Gwin, and Erlanger, and old Slidell,
+and a whole lot told me about. I want you to take me up there," he
+says.
+
+"I will see Madame de Santos to-morrow," remarks Raoul, diplomatically.
+
+"Tell her I'm a friend of her Southern friends. They're scattered
+now. Most of them busted," says Wood calmly. "I must see her. See
+here, padre; we'll do the thing in style. You go and call with me,
+and keep me straight." The priest assents.
+
+In gayest mood the Colonel bids Raoul come to him for this most
+fashionable call. Claiming the padre for breakfast and the ride
+of the morrow, he rattles off to his rooms, leaving an astounded
+circle.
+
+Golden claims to their friendly gratitude bound them together.
+
+Colonel Joe has the "dejeuner a deux" in his rooms. He says, "More
+homelike, padre, you know," ushering the priest to the table. Under
+the influence of Chablis, the Californians become intimate.
+
+Raoul arrives with news that Madame de Santos will be pleased to have
+the gentlemen call next day in the afternoon. After an arrangement
+about the bust, the horses, champing before the doors, bear the elders
+to the Bois, now beginning to abandon its battle-field appearance.
+
+Long is their conference on that ride. Pere Francois is thoughtful,
+as he spends his evening hour at dominoes with Aristide Dauvray.
+His eyes stray to fair Louise, busied with her needie. At last,
+he has a man of the world to lean on, in tracing up this child's
+parentage. Raoul and Armand are deep in schemes to enrich Joe's queer
+collection, the nucleus of that "bachelor ranch," "Ophir Villa."
+
+In all the bravery of diamonds and goldsmithing the Westerner
+descends from his carriage, at the doors of Madame de Santos, next
+day.
+
+Pale-faced, aristocratic Pere Francois is a foil to the "occidental
+king." Mind and matter.
+
+Waiting for the Donna, the gentlemen admire her salon.
+
+Pictures, objets d'art, dainty bibelots, show the elegance of a
+queen of the "monde."
+
+"Beats a steamboat," murmurs Colonel Joe, as the goddess enters
+the domain.
+
+There is every grace in her manner. She inquires as to mutual
+friends of the "Southern set." Her praises of Raoul are justified
+in the beautiful bust, a creation of loveliness, on its Algerian
+onyx pedestal.
+
+Colonel Joe Woods is enchanted. He wonders if he has ever seen this
+classic face before.
+
+"I drive in the Bois," says madame, with an arch glance.
+
+She knows the Californian is a feature of that parade, with his
+team. Paris rings with Colonel Joe's exploits.
+
+"No poor stock for me," is Colonel Joe's motto.
+
+With a cunning glance in his eyes, the miner asks: "Were you ever
+in California, madame?"
+
+Her lips tremble as she says, "Years ago I was in San Francisco."
+
+Colonel Joe is thoughtful. His glance follows madame, who is ringing
+a silver bell.
+
+The butler bows.
+
+"I shall not drive this afternoon," she says.
+
+With graceful hospitality, she charms Pere Francois. Chat about
+the Church and France follows.
+
+The gentlemen are about to take their leave. Madame de Santos,
+observing that Pere Francois speaks Spanish as well as French,
+invites him to call again. She would be glad to consult him in
+spiritual matters.
+
+Colonel Joe speaks of California, and asks if he may be of any
+service.
+
+"I have no interests there," the lady replies with constraint.
+
+Passing into the hall, Pere Francois stands amazed as if he sees
+a ghost.
+
+"What's the matter, padre?" queries Colonel Joe as they enter their
+carriage.
+
+"Did you see that maid who passed us as we left the salon?" remarks
+the padre.
+
+"Yes, and a good-looking woman too," says the Californian.
+
+"That woman is the guardian of Louise Moreau," the padre hastily
+replies.
+
+"Look here! What are you telling me?" cries the Colonel.
+
+"There's some deviltry up! I'm sorry I must leave. But how do you
+know?" he continues.
+
+The priest tells him about artful Josephine, whose womanly curiosity
+has been piqued. He has seen this person on her visits. Useless to
+trace her. Entering an arcade or some great shop, she has baffled
+pursuit. Through the Bois, the friends commune over this mystery.
+
+"I'll fix you out," says Woods, with a shout. "I've got a fellow
+here who watched some people for me on a mining deal. I'll rip that
+household skeleton all to pieces. We'll dissect it!"
+
+He cries: "Now, padre, I'm a-going to back you through this affair,"
+as they sit in his rooms over a good dinner. Colonel Joe has sent
+all his people away. He wants no listeners. As he pours the Cliquot,
+he says, "You give me a week and I'll post you. Listen to me. You
+can see there is an object in hiding that child. Keep her safely
+guarded. Show no suspicion. You make friends with the lady. Leave
+the maid dead alone. Take it easy, padre; we'll get them. I'll tell
+my bankers to back you up. I'll take you down; I'll make you solid.
+
+"All I fear is they will get frightened and take her off. You people
+have got to watch her. They'll run her off, if they suspect. Poor
+little kid.
+
+"It's strange," says the miner; "they could have put this poor
+little one out of the way easy. But they don't want that. Want her
+alive, but kept on the quiet. I suppose there's somebody else," he
+mutters.
+
+"By Jove! that's it. There's property or money hanging on her
+existence. Now, padre, I'll talk plain. You priests are pretty sly.
+You write your people about this child. I'll see you have money.
+My banker will work the whole municipality of Paris for you.
+
+"That's it; we've got it." The miner's fist makes the glasses
+rattle, as he quaffs his wine.
+
+"Don't lose sight of her a minute. Don't show your hand."
+
+The priest rolls home in Joe's carriage. He busies himself the
+next days with going to the bank, conferring with his fellows, and
+awaking the vigilance of Josephine.
+
+It is left to the priest and his ally from the ranks of "Mammon" to
+follow these tangled threads. The younger men know nothing, save
+the injunctions to Josephine.
+
+Ten days after this visit, Colonel Joe, who has run over to London,
+where he closed some financial matters of note, sends post-haste
+to Pere Francois this note:
+
+"Come up, padre. I've got a whole history for you. It will make
+your eyes open. I want you to talk to the detective."
+
+Even the Californian's horses are not quick enough to-day for the
+priest.
+
+Ushered in, he finds Colonel Joe on the broad grin.
+
+Accepting a cigar, his host cries, "We've struck it rich. A mare's
+nest. Now, Vimont, give my friend your report."
+
+Joe Woods smokes steadily, as Jules Vimont reads from his note-book:
+
+"Madame Natalie de Santos arrived in Paris with two young girls,
+one of whom is at the Sacre-Coeur under the name of Isabel Valois;
+the other is the child who is visited by Marie Berard, her maid.
+She is called Louise Moreau."
+
+Pere Francois listens to this recital. The detective gives a
+description of the beautiful stranger, and at length.
+
+Joe interrogates. The priest gravely nods until the recital is
+finished. Vimont shuts his book with a snap and disappears, at a
+nod from the miner. The friends are alone.
+
+Pere Francois is silent. His face is pale. Joe is alarmed at his
+feeling. Forcing a draught of Bourbon on the padre, Joe cries,
+"What is the matter?"
+
+"I see it now," murmurs the priest. "The children have been changed.
+For what object?"
+
+He tells Woods of the proofs gained in days of Louise's illness.
+
+"Your little friend is the heiress of Lagunitas?" Woods asks.
+
+"I am sure of it. We must prove it."
+
+"Leave that to me," bursts out Joe, striding the room, puffing at
+his cigar.
+
+"How will you do it?" falters the priest.
+
+"I will find the father of the other child," Joe yells. "I am
+going to California. I will root up this business. I have a copy
+of Vimont's notes. You write me all you remember of this history.
+Meanwhile, not a word. No change in your game. You make foothold
+in that house on the Elysees.
+
+"There was no railroad when these people came here. I will get
+the lists of passengers and steamer reports, I have friends in the
+Pacific Mail."
+
+Joe warms up. "Yes, sir. I'll find who is responsible for that
+extra child. The man who is, is the party putting up for all this
+splendor here. I think if I can stop the money supplies, we can
+break their lines. I think my old 'companero,' Judge Hardin, is
+the head-devil of this deal.
+
+"It's just like him.
+
+"Now, padre, I have got something to amuse me. You do just as I
+tell you, and we'll checkmate this quiet game.
+
+"We are not on the bedrock yet, but we've struck the vein. Don't
+you say a word to a living soul here.
+
+"I'll have that maid watched, and tell Vimont to give you all the
+particulars of her cuttings-up.
+
+"She's not the master-mind of this. She has never been to the
+convent. There's a keynote in keeping these girls apart. I think
+our handsome friend, Madame de Santos, is playing a sharp game."
+In two days he has vanished.
+
+In his voyage to New York and to the Pacific, Joe thinks over
+every turn of this intrigue. If Hardin tries to hide Armand Valois'
+fortune, why should he dabble in the mystery of these girls?
+
+Crossing the plains, where the buffalo still roam by thousands,
+Woods meets in the smoking-room many old friends. A soldierly-looking
+traveller attracts his attention. The division superintendent
+makes Colonel Peyton and Colonel Woods acquainted. Their friendship
+ripens rapidly. Joe Woods, a Southern sympathizer, has gained his
+colonelcy by the consent of his Western friends. It is a brevet
+of financial importance. Learning his friend is a veteran of the
+"Stars and Bars," and a Virginian, the Westerner pledges many a cup
+to their common cause. To the battle-torn flag of the Confederacy,
+now furled forever.
+
+As the train rattles down Echo Canyon, Peyton tells of the hopes
+once held of a rising in the West.
+
+Woods is interested. When Peyton mentions "Maxime Valois," the
+Croesus grasps his hand convulsively.
+
+"Did you serve with him?" Joe queries with eagerness. "He was my
+pardner and chum."
+
+"He died in my arms at Peachtree Creek," answers Peyton.
+
+Joe embraces Peyton. "He was a game man, Colonel."
+
+Peyton answers: "The bravest man I ever saw. I often think of
+him, in the whirl of that struggle for De Gress's battery. Lying
+on the sod with the Yankee flag clutched in his hand, its silk was
+fresh-striped with his own heart's blood. The last sound he heard
+was the roar of those guns, as we turned them on the enemy."
+
+"God! What a fight for that battery!" The Californian listens,
+with bated breath, to the Virginian. He tells him of the youthful
+quest for gold.
+
+The war brotherhood of the two passes in sad review. Peyton tells
+him of the night before Valois' death.
+
+Joe Woods' eyes glisten. He cries over the recital. An eager
+question rises to his lips. He chokes it down.
+
+As Peyton finishes, Woods remarks:
+
+"Peyton, I am going to get off at Reno, and go to Virginia City.
+You come with me. I want to know about Valois' last days."
+
+Peyton is glad to have a mentor in the West. He has gained neither
+peace nor fortune in wandering under the fringing palms of Latin
+America.
+
+Toiling up the Sierra Nevada, Woods shows Peyton where Valois won
+his golden spurs as a pathfinder.
+
+"I have a favor to ask of you, Peyton," says Joe. "I want to hunt
+up that boy in Paris. I'm no lawyer, but I think he ought to have
+some of this great estate. Now, Hardin is a devil for slyness. I
+want you to keep silent as to Valois till I give you the word.
+I'll see you into some good things here. It may take time to work
+my game. I don't want Hardin to suspect. He's an attorney of the
+bank. He counsels the railroad. He would spy out every move."
+
+"By the way, Colonel Woods," Peyton replies, "I have the papers
+yet which were found on Valois' body. I sealed them up. They are
+stained with his blood. I could not trust them to chances. I intended
+to return them to his child. I have never examined them."
+
+Joe bounds from his seat. "A ten-strike! Now, you take a look at
+them when we reach 'Frisco.' If there are any to throw a light on
+his affairs, tell me. Don't breathe a word till I tell you. I will
+probe the matter. I'll break Hardin's lines, you bet." The speculator
+dares not tell Peyton his hopes, his fears, his suspicions.
+
+San Francisco is reached. Peyton has "done the Comstock." He is
+tired of drifts, gallery, machinery, miners, and the "laissez-aller"
+of Nevada hospitality. The comfort of Colonel Joe's bachelor
+establishment places the stranger in touch with the occidental
+city.
+
+Received with open arms by the Confederate sympathizers, Peyton is
+soon "on the stock market." He little dreams that Joe has given
+one of his many brokers word to carry a stiff account for the
+Virginian. Pay him all gains, and charge all losses to the "Woods
+account."
+
+Peyton is thrilled with the stock gambling of California Street.
+Every one is mad. Servants, lawyers, hod carriers, merchants,
+old maids, widows, mechanics, sly wives, thieving clerks, and the
+"demi-monde," all throng to the portals of the "Big Board." It
+is a money-mania. Beauty, old age, callow boyhood, fading manhood,
+all chase the bubble values of the "kiting stocks."
+
+From session to session, the volatile heart of San Francisco throbs
+responsive to the sliding values of these paper "stock certificates."
+
+Woods has departed for a fortnight, to look at a new ranch in San
+Joaquin. He does not tell Peyton that he lingers around Lagunitas.
+He knows Hardin is at San Francisco. A few hours at the county seat.
+A talk with his lawyer in Stockton completes Joe's investigations.
+No will of Maxime Valois has ever been filed. The estate is held
+by Hardin as administrator after "temporary letters" have been
+renewed. There are no accounts or settlements. Joe smiles when
+he finds that Philip Hardin is guardian of one "Isabel Valois," a
+minor. The estate of this child is nominal. There is no inventory
+of Maxima Valois' estate on file. County courts and officials are
+not likely to hurry Judge Philip Hardin.
+
+On the train to San Francisco, Woods smokes very strong cigars
+while pondering if he shall hire a lawyer in town.
+
+"If I could only choose one who would STAY bought when I BOUGHT>
+him, I'd give a long price," Joe growls. With recourse to his great
+"breast-pocket code," the Missourian runs over man after man, in
+his mind. A frown gathers on his brow.
+
+"If I strike a bonanza, I may have to call in some counsel. But I
+think I'll have a few words with my friend Philip Hardin."
+
+Woods is the perfection of rosy good-humor, when he drags Hardin
+away from his office next day to a cosey lunch at the "Mint."
+
+"I want to consult you, Judge," is his excuse. Hardin, now counsel
+for warring giants of finance, listens over the terrapin and birds,
+to several legal posers regarding Joe's affairs. Woods has wide
+influence. He is a powerful friend to placate. Hardin, easy now
+in money matters, looks forward to the United States Senate. Woods
+can help. He is a tower of strength.
+
+"They will need a senator sometime, who knows law, not one of those
+obscure MUD-HEADS," says Hardin to himself.
+
+Colonel Joe finishes his Larose. He takes a stiff brandy with his
+cigar, and carelessly remarks:
+
+"How's your mine, Judge?"
+
+"Doing well, doing well," is the reply.
+
+"Better let me put it on the market for you. You are getting old
+for that sort of bother."
+
+"Woods, I will see you by and by. I am trustee for the Valois
+estate. He left no will, and I can't give a title to the ranch till
+the time for minor heirs runs out. So I am running the mine on my
+own account. Some outside parties may claim heirship."
+
+"Didn't he leave a daughter?" says Woods.
+
+"There is a girl--she's East now, at school; but, between you and
+me, old fellow, I don't know if she is legitimate or not. You know
+what old times were."
+
+Colonel Joe grins with a twinge of conscience. He has had his
+"beaux-jours."
+
+"I will hold on till the limitation runs out. I don't want to cloud
+the title to my mine, with litigation. It comes through Valois."
+
+"You never heard of any Eastern heirs?" Joe remarks, gulping a
+"stiffener" of brandy.
+
+"Never," says Hardin, reaching for his hat and cane. "The Judge
+died during the war. I believe his boy died in Paris. He has never
+turned up. New Orleans is gone to the devil. They are all dead."
+
+"By the way, Judge, excuse me." Woods dashes off a check for Hardin.
+"I want to retain you if the 'Shooting Star' people fool with my
+working the 'Golden Chariot;' I feel safe in your hands."
+
+Even Hardin can afford to pocket Joe's check. It is a prize. Golden
+bait, Joseph.
+
+Woods says "Good-bye," floridly, to his legal friend. He takes a
+coupe at the door. "Cute old devil, Hardin; I'll run him down yet,"
+chuckles the miner. Joe is soon on his way to the Pacific Mail
+Steamship office.
+
+Several gray-headed officials greet the popular capitalist.
+
+He broaches his business. "I want to see your passenger lists for
+1865." He has notes of Vimont's in his hand. While the underlings
+bring out dusty old folios, Joe distributes his pet cigars. He is
+always welcome.
+
+Looking over the ancient records he finds on a trip of the Golden
+Gate, the following entries:
+
+    Madame de Santos,
+    Miss Isabel Valois,
+    Marie Berard and child.
+
+He calls the bookkeeper. "Can you tell about these people?"
+
+The man of ink scans the entry. He ponders and says:
+
+"I'll tell you who can give you all the information, Colonel Joe.
+Hardin was lawyer for this lady. He paid for their passages with
+a check. We note these payments for our cash references. Here is
+a pencil note: 'CK Hardin.' I remember Hardin coming himself."
+
+"Oh, that's all right!" says the Argonaut.
+
+An adjournment of "all hands," to "renew those pleasing assurances,"
+is in order.
+
+"Ah, my old fox!" thinks Woods. "I am going to find out who gave
+Marie Berard that other child. But I won't ask YOU. YOUR TIME IS
+TOO VALUABLE, Judge Philip Hardin."
+
+He gives his driver an extra dollar at the old City Hall.
+
+Joe Woods thinks he is alone on the quest. He knows not that the
+Archbishop's secretary is reading some long Latin letters, not three
+blocks away, which are dated in Paris and signed Francois Ribaut.
+They refer to the records of the Mission Dolores parish. They invoke
+the aid of the all-seeing eye of the Church as to the history and
+rights of Isabel Valois.
+
+Pere Ribaut humbly begs the protection of his Grace for his protege,
+Armand Valois, in case he visits California.
+
+Philip Hardin, in his office, weaving his golden webs, darkened
+here and there with black threads of crime, is deaf to the cry of
+conscience. What is the orphaned girl to him? A mere human puppet.
+He hears not the panther feet of the avengers of wrong on his trail.
+Blind insecurity, Judge Hardin.
+
+Woods has seized Captain Lee, and taken him out of his sanctum to
+the shades of the "Bank Exchange."
+
+The great detective captain, an encyclopedia of the unwritten
+history of San Francisco, regards Woods with a twinkle in his gray
+eye. The hunted, despairing criminal knows how steady that eye can
+be. It has made hundreds quail.
+
+Lee grins over his cigar. Another millionaire in trouble. "Some
+woman, surely." The only question is "What woman?"
+
+The fair sex play a mighty part in the mysteries of San Francisco.
+
+"Lee, I want you to hunt up the history of a woman for me," says
+the old miner.
+
+The captain's smile runs all over his face. "Why, Colonel Joe!" he
+begins.
+
+"Look here; no nonsense!" says Joseph, firmly. "It's a little matter
+of five thousand dollars to you, if you can trace what I want."
+
+There is no foolishness in Lee's set features. He throws himself
+back, studying his cigar ash. That five thousand dollars is an
+"open sesame."
+
+"What's her name?"
+
+Joseph produces his notes.
+
+"Do you remember Hardin sending some people to Panama, in '65?"
+begins the Colonel. "Two women and two children. They sailed on
+the GOLDEN GATE."
+
+"Perfectly," says the iron captain, removing his cigar. "I watched
+these steamers for the government. He was a Big Six in the K.G.C.,
+you remember, Colonel Joe?"
+
+Joe winces; that Golden Circle dinner comes back, when he, too,
+cheered the Stars and Bars.
+
+"I see you do remember," says Lee, throwing away his cigar. "Now
+be frank, old man. Tell me your whole game."
+
+Woods hands him the list of the passengers. He is keenly eying Lee.
+
+"Who was that Madame de Santos?" he says eagerly.
+
+"Is it worth five thousand to know?" says the detective, quietly.
+
+"On the dead square," replies Joe, "Cash ready."
+
+"Do you remember the 'Queen of the El Dorado'?" Lee simply says.
+
+"Here! Great God, man!" cries Lee, for Joe Woods' fist comes down
+on the table. Flying cigars, shattered glasses, and foaming wine
+make a rare havoc around.
+
+"By God!" shouts the oblivious Joe," the woman Hardin killed 'French
+Charlie' for."
+
+"The same," says Lee, steadily, as he picks some splintered glass
+out of his goatee. "Joe, you can add a suit of clothes to that
+check."
+
+"Stop your nonsense," says the happy Joe, ringing for the waiter
+to clear away the wreck of his cyclonic fist. "The clothes are
+O.K."
+
+"Where did she come from to take that boat?" demands Woods.
+
+"From Hardin's house," says Lee.
+
+A light breaks in on Colonel Joe's brain.
+
+"And that woman with her?"
+
+"Was her maid, who stayed with her from the time she left the El
+Dorado, and ran the little nest on the hill. The mistress never
+showed up in public."
+
+"And the child who went with the maid?" Joe's voice trembles.
+
+"Was Hardin's child. Its mother was the 'Queen of the El Dorado.'"
+
+Woods looks at Lee.
+
+"Can you give me a report, from the time of the killing of 'French
+Charlie' down to the sailing?"
+
+"Yes, I can," says the inscrutable Lee.
+
+"Let me have it, to-morrow morning. Not a word to Hardin."
+
+"All right, Colonel Joe," is the answer of silent Lee.
+
+Joseph chokes down his feelings, orders a fresh bottle of wine,
+some cigars, and calls for pen and ink.
+
+While the waiter uncorks the wine, Joe says: "What do you pay for
+your clothes, Lee?"
+
+"Oh, a hundred and fifty will do," is the modest answer. "That
+carries an overcoat."
+
+Joe laughs as he beautifies a blank check with his order to himself,
+to pay to himself, five thousand one hundred and fifty dollars,
+and neatly indorses it, "Joseph Woods." "I guess that's the caper,
+Captain," he says. This "little formality" over, the wine goes to
+the right place THIS TIME.
+
+"Now I don't want to see you any more till I get your reminiscences
+of that lady," remarks Joe, reaching for his gold-headed club.
+
+"On time, ten o'clock," is the response of the police captain.
+
+"Have you seen her since, Joe? She was a high stepper," muses the
+Captain. He has been a great connoisseur of loveliness. Many fair
+ones have passed under his hands in public duty or private seance.
+
+"That's my business," sturdy Joe mutters, with an unearthly wink.
+"You give me back my check, old man, and I'll tell you what _I_
+know."
+
+Lee laughs. "I'm not so curious, Colonel."
+
+They shake hands, and the gray old wolf goes to his den to muse
+over what has sent Joe Woods on a quest for this "fallen star."
+
+Lee wastes no time in mooning. The check is a "pleasing reality."
+The memories of Hortense Duval are dearer to Joe than to him. His
+pen indites the results of that watchful espionage which covers
+so many unread leaves of private life in San Francisco.
+
+There is an innocent smile on Woods' face when he strolls into
+his own office and asks Peyton to give him the evening in quiet.
+Strongly attracted by the Virginian, Woods has now a double interest
+in his new friend.
+
+In the sanctum, Woods says, "Peyton, I am going to tell you a
+story, but you must first show me the papers you have kept so long
+of poor Valois."
+
+Peyton rises without a word. He returns with a packet.
+
+"Here you are, Woods. I have not examined them yet. Now, what is
+it?"
+
+"You told me Valois made a will before he died, Peyton," begins
+Woods.
+
+"He did, and wrote to Hardin. He wrote to the French priest at his
+ranch."
+
+Woods starts. "Ha, the damned scoundrel! Go on; go on." Joe knows
+Pere Francois never got that letter. "I read those documents. His
+letter of last wishes to Hardin. When I was in Havana, I found
+Hardin never acknowledged the papers."
+
+Woods sees it all. He listens as Peyton tells the story.
+
+"We have to do with a villain," says Joe. "He destroyed the papers
+or has hidden them. Colonel, open this packet." Joe's voice is
+solemn.
+
+With reverent hand, Peyton spreads the papers before the miner.
+There are stains upon them. Separating them, he arranges them one
+by one. Suddenly he gives a gasp.
+
+"My God! Colonel Joe, look there!"
+
+Woods springs to his side.
+
+It is a "message from the dead."
+
+Yes, lying for years unread, between the last letters of his wife
+and the tidings of her death, is an envelop addressed:
+
+    Major Henry Peyton,
+        Fourteenth Louisiana Inf'y,
+            C.S.A."
+
+Tears trickle through Peyton's fingers, as he raises his head, and
+breaks the seal.
+
+"Read it, Major," says Woods huskily. He is moved to the core of
+his heart. It brings old days back.
+
+Peyton reads:
+
+        Atlanta--In the field,
+            July 21, 1864.
+
+My Dear Peyton:--I am oppressed with a strange unrest about my
+child! I do not fear to meet death to-morrow. I feel it will take
+me away from my sadness. I am ready. Our flag is falling. I do not
+wish to live to see it in the dust. But I am a father. As I honor
+you, for the brotherhood of our life together, I charge you to
+watch over my child. Hardin is old; something might happen to him.
+I forgot a second appointment in the will; I name you as co-executor
+with him. Show him this. It is my dying wish. He is a man of honor.
+I have left all my estate to my beloved child, Isabel Valois. It
+is only right; the property came by my marriage with my wife, her
+dead mother. In the case of the death of my child, search out the
+heirs of Judge Valois and see the property fairly divided among
+them. Hardin is the soul of honor, and will aid you in all. I desire
+this to be a codicil to my will, and regarded as such. I could not
+ask you to ride out again for me this wild night before my last
+battle.
+
+The will you witnessed, is the necessary act of the death of my
+wife. If you live through the war, never forget
+
+Your friend and comrade, MAXIME VALOIS.
+
+P.S. If you go to California, look up Joe Woods. He is as true a
+man as ever breathed, and would be kind to my little girl. Padre
+Francisco Ribaut married me at Lagunitas to my Dolores. Good-bye
+and good-night. M.V.
+
+The men gaze at each other across the table, touched by this solemn
+voice sweeping down the path of dead years. That lonely grave by
+the lines of Atlanta seemed to have opened to a dead father's love.
+Peyton saw the past in a new light. Valois' reckless gallantry that
+day was an immolation. His wife's death had unsettled him.
+
+Joe Woods' rugged breast heaved in sorrow as he said, "Peyton,
+I will stand by that child. So help me, God! And he thought of me
+at the last--he thought of me!" The old miner chokes down a rising
+sob. Both are in tears.
+
+"Look here, Colonel!" said Woods briskly. "This will never do! You
+will want to cheer up a little, for your trip, you know."
+
+"Trip?" says the wondering Virginian.
+
+"Why, yes," innocently remarks Joseph Woods. "You are going to
+New Orleans to look up about the Valois boy. Then you are to see
+those bankers at Havana, and get proof before the Consul-General
+about the documents. I want you to send your affidavit to me. I've
+got a lawyer in New York, who is a man. I'll write him. You can
+tell him all. I'm coming on there soon. After you get to New York
+from Havana, you will go to Paris and stay there till I come."
+
+Peyton smiles even in his sadness. "That's a long journey, but I
+am yours, Colonel. Why do I go to Paris?"
+
+"You are going to answer the letter of that dead man," impressively
+remarks Joseph.
+
+"How?" murmurs Peyton.
+
+"By being a father to his lonely child and watching over her.
+There's two girls there. You can keep an eye on them both. I'll
+trap this old scoundrel here. You've got to leave this town. He
+might suspect YOU when I start MY machinery.
+
+"I'll plow deep here. I'll meet you in New York. Now, I want you
+to take to-morrow's train. I'll run your stock account, Colonel
+Henry," Woods remarks, with a laugh.
+
+The next day, Peyton speeds away on his errand after receiving the
+old miner's last orders. His whispered adieu was: "I'm going to
+stand by my dead pardner's kid, for he thought of me at the last."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+WEAVING SPIDERS.--A COWARD BLOW.--MARIE BERARD'S DOOM.
+
+
+
+
+
+Peyton's good-bye rings in Woods' ears as the train leaves. The
+boxes and parcels forced on the Confederate veteran, are tokens
+of his affection. The cognac and cigars are of his own selection.
+Joe's taste in creature comforts is excellent, and better than his
+grammar.
+
+On the ferry, Joe surveys San Francisco complacently from the
+steamer.
+
+"I've got those documents in the vaults. I'll have Peyton's evidence.
+I rather fancy Captain Lee's biography will interest that dame in
+Paris. I will prospect my friend Hardin's surroundings. He must
+have some devil to do his dirty work. I will do a bit of 'coyote
+work' myself. It's a case of dog eat dog, here."
+
+Joseph classes all underhand business as "coyote work." He appreciates
+the neatness with which that furtive Western beast has taken his
+boots, soap, his breakfast and camp treasures under his nose.
+
+Invincible, invisible, is the coyote.
+
+"By Heavens! I'll make that old wolf Hardin jump yet!" Joseph swears
+a pardonable oath.
+
+After writing several telling letters to the Padre and Vimont, he
+feels like a little stroll. He ordered Vimont to guard Louise Moreau
+at any cost. "No funny business," he mutters.
+
+"If she's the girl, that scoundrel might try to remove her from
+this world," thinks Joseph. "As for the other girl, he's got a
+tiger cat to fight in the 'de Santos.'"
+
+Colonel Woods beams in upon the clerks of Judge Hardin. That magnate
+is absent. The senatorial contest is presaged by much wire-pulling.
+
+"I don't see the young man who used to run this shebang," carelessly
+remarks the Croesus.
+
+"Mr. Jaggers is not here any longer," smartly replies his pert
+successor, to whom the fall of Jaggers was a veritable bonanza.
+
+"What's the matter with him?" says Woods. "I wanted him to do a
+job of copying for me."
+
+The incumbent airily indicates the pantomime of conveying the too
+frequent Bourbon to his lips.
+
+"Oh, I see! The old thing," calmly says Woods. "Fired out for
+drinking."
+
+The youth nods. "He is around Montgomery Street. You 'most always
+will catch him around the 'old corner' saloon."
+
+Joseph Woods is familiar with that resort of bibulous lawyers. He
+wanders out aimlessly.
+
+While Barney McFadden, the barkeeper, surveys Colonel Joseph
+swallowing his extra cocktail, he admires himself in the mirror.
+He dusts off his diamond pin with a silk handkerchief.
+
+"Jaggers! Oh, yes; know him well. In back room playing pedro. Want
+him?"
+
+Woods bows. The laconic Ganymede drags Jaggers away from his ten-cent
+game.
+
+Impelled by a telegraphic wink, Barney deftly duplicates the favorite
+tipple of the Californian. The Golden State has been sustained in
+its growth, by myriads of cocktails. It is the State coat of arms.
+
+"Want to see me? Certainly, Colonel." Jaggers is aroused.
+
+In a private room, Jaggers wails over his discharge. His pocket
+is his only fear. Otherwise, he is in Heaven. His life now, is all
+"Cocktails and poker!" "Poker and cocktails!" It leaves him little
+time for business. Woods knows his man--a useful tool.
+
+"Look here, Jaggers; I know your time is valuable." Jaggers bows
+gravely; he smells a new twenty-dollar piece; it will extend his
+"cocktail account." "I want you to do some business for me." Jaggers
+looks stately.
+
+"I'm your man, Colonel," says Jaggers, who is, strange to say, very
+expert in his line. The trouble with Jaggers is, the saloon is not
+near enough to Judge Hardin's office. The OFFICE should be in the
+SALOON. It would save useless walking.
+
+"I want you to search a title for me," says Colonel Joe, from
+behind a cloud of smoke. Jaggers sniffs the aroma. Joseph hands
+him several "Excepcionales."
+
+Jaggers becomes dignified and cool. "Is there money in it, Colonel?"
+he says, with a gleam of his ferret eyes.
+
+"Big money," decisively says Woods.
+
+"I'm very busy now," objects Jaggers. He thinks of his ten-cent
+ante in that pedro game.
+
+"I want you to give me your idea of the title to the Lagunitas
+mine. I am thinking of buying in," continues Joe. "I'll give you
+five hundred dollars, in cold twenties, if you tell me what you
+know."
+
+"How soon?" Jaggers says, with a gasp.
+
+"Right off!" ejaculates Woods, banging the bell for two more
+cocktails.
+
+Jaggers drains the fiery compound. He whispers with burning breath
+in Woods' ears:
+
+"Make it a cool thousand, and swear you'll look out for me. I'll
+give the thing dead away. You know what a son-of-a-gun Hardin is?"
+
+Woods bows. He DON'T know, but he is going to find out. "I'll give
+you a job in my mine (the Golden Chariot), as time-keeper. You can
+keep drunk all your life, except at roll-call. If Hardin hunts you
+up there, I'll have the foreman pitch him down the shaft. Is this
+square?"
+
+"Honor bright!" says Jaggers, extending his palm. "Honor bright!"
+says Joseph, who dares not look too joyous.
+
+Jaggers muses over another cocktail. "You go to the bank, and get
+a thousand dollars clean stuff. Give me a coupe. I'll give you the
+things you want, in half an hour. I've got 'em stowed away. Don't
+follow me!"
+
+Woods nods, and throws him a double-eagle. "I'll be here when
+you come back. Keep sober till we're done. I'll give you a pass
+to Virginia City, so you can finish your drunk in high altitudes.
+It's healthier, my boy!" Joe winks.
+
+Jaggers is off like a shot. Colonel Joseph walks two blocks to the
+bank. He returns with fifty yellow double-eagles.
+
+"Got to fight coyote style to catch a coyote!" is the murmur
+of Colonel Woods to his inward monitor. "It's for the fatherless
+kid."
+
+"Barney," impressively says Joseph, "make me a good cocktail this
+time! Send 'em in, ANY WAY, when that young man returns. His life
+is insured. _I_ have to work for a living. Make one for yourself.
+YOU are responsible."
+
+Barney's chef d'oeuvre wins a smile from the genial son of Missouri.
+As the last drops trickle down his throat, Jaggers enters. He has
+had external cocktails. He is flushed, but triumphant.
+
+"Colonel, you're a man of honor. There's your stuff." He throws an
+envelope on the table.
+
+Joseph Woods opens the packet. "Just count that, young man, while
+I look at these."
+
+He peruses the papers handed him, with interest. Jaggers follows
+him.
+
+"This is all you have. Anything else in the office?" says Woods.
+
+"Not a scratch. Colonel, I thought they would come in handy."
+Jaggers' work is done.
+
+"Take care of your money, my lad. It is yours," says Woods. He
+rings for Barney, and indites a note to his foreman at the "Golden
+Chariot." "You better get up there, to-night, Jaggers," he says,
+handing him the note and a pass. "Your appointment is only good
+for that train. You give that note to Hank Daly. He'll supply you
+all the whiskey you want, free. By the way, the boys up there play
+poker pretty well. Now you keep cool, or you'll get shot as well
+as lose your money. Don't you forget to stay there, if it's ten
+years till I want you. Daly will have orders for you.
+
+"If you come back here, Hardin will kill you like a dog, if he
+finds this out."
+
+"And you?" murmurs Jaggers, who is imbibing the stirrup cup.
+
+"Oh, I'll look out for that!" remarks cheerful Joe Woods. Armed
+with substantial "persuaders," Jaggers leaves with an agent of
+Barney's. He has orders to see Jaggers and his "baggage," started
+for Virginia City.
+
+Jaggers beams. Joe Woods never drops a friend. His future smiles
+before him. Exit Jaggers.
+
+Woods reads the documents. One is a press copy of a letter dated
+January, 1864, addressed to Colonel Maxime Valois, from Hardin,
+asking him to sell him the quartz claims on the Lagunitas grant.
+
+The answer of Valois is written while recovering from his wounds.
+It reads:
+
+"TALLULAH, GEORGIA, March 1, 1864.
+
+"MY DEAR HARDIN: I have your letter, asking me to sell you the
+quartz leads on the Lagunitas grant. I am still suffering from my
+wound, and must be brief.
+
+"I cannot do this. My title is the title of my wife. I have no right
+to dispose of her property by inheritance, without her consent.
+She has my child to look after. As the ranch income may fail some
+day, I will not cut off her chances to sell. It is her property. I
+would not cloud it. I will join my regiment soon. If the war ends
+and I live to return, I will arrange with you. I have no power to
+do this, now, as my wife would have to join in the sale. I will
+not ask her to diminish the value of the tract. I leave no lien on
+this property. My wife and child have it free from incumbrance if
+I die.
+
+"Address me at Atlanta, Georgia.
+
+"YOURS, MAXIME VALOIS."
+
+"I think I hold four aces now, Mr. Philip Hardin," says Woods,
+contemplating himself in the mirror over the bar as he settles with
+the gorgeous Barney.
+
+"By the way," remarks Woods, "Barney; if that young man owes you a
+bill, send it around to my office." Barney escorts his visitor to
+the door, bowing gratefully. Woods departs in a quandary.
+
+"I guess I'll gather up all my documents, and take a look over
+things. New York is the place for me to get a square opinion."
+
+When Woods reaches New York he meets Peyton, successful in his
+tour for evidence. On consultation with Judge Davis, his adviser,
+Woods sends Peyton to Tallulah. It is likely Valois' papers may be
+found, for the Colonel "joined" hurriedly on the last advance of
+Sherman. Colonel Joseph imparts his ideas to his counsel. A certified
+copy of the transfer recorded by Hardin, of the Lagunitas mine,
+is sent on by Jaggers, directed in his trip by Hank Daly from the
+mine.
+
+In five days a despatch from Tallulah gladdens the miner, who longs
+for Paris:
+
+"Found and examined baggage. Original letter in my hands. Coming
+with all. Many other papers.
+
+"PEYTON."
+
+On the Virginian's arrival Judge Davis instructs the friends. Woods
+insists on Peyton taking joint charge of the quest for the orphan's
+fortune.
+
+"Hardin is responsible under his trusteeship. You can't force
+Peyton on him as co-executor. He has concealed the will. A suit
+now would warn the villain and endanger the child's life. Take the
+certified copy of the transfer to Paris. Get the priest's deposition
+that the document is forged; then guard the girl as if she were
+your life. In a few years the heiress will be entitled to claim her
+estate. Keep the child near Paris, but change her residence often.
+Watch the maid and Madame de Santos. Follow them to California.
+Produce the girl you claim to be the heiress. I will give you a
+letter to an advocate in Paris, who will close up the proof. Beware
+of Hardin! If he suspects, the child's life may be in danger!"
+
+"I'll kill him myself if there is any foul play!" roars Joe Woods.
+
+"My dear Colonel, that would not bring the child back," remarks
+Judge Davis, smiling at his handsome counsel fee. "Count on me!
+Use the cable."
+
+On the Atlantic the guardians agree on their duties. "I will
+interview Madame de Santos when I close some business in London,"
+says Woods grimly.
+
+Peyton, with credentials to Padre Francisco, speeds from Liverpool
+to Paris. He arrives none too soon.
+
+Philip Hardin's villany strikes from afar!
+
+Judge Hardin, passing the county seat, on his way to the mine,
+looks in to obtain his annual tax papers. A voluble official remarks:
+
+"Going to sell your mine, Judge?"
+
+"Certainly not, sir," replies the would-be Senator, with hauteur.
+
+"Excuse me. You sent for certified copies of the title. We thought
+you were putting it on the market."
+
+Hardin grows paler than his wont. Some one has been on the trail.
+He asks no questions. His cipher-book is at San Francisco. Who is
+on the track? He cannot divine. The man applying was a stranger
+who attracted no attention. The Judge telegraphs to the mine for
+his foreman to come to San Francisco. He returns to his house on
+the hill. From his private safe he extracts the last letters of
+Natalie de Santos.
+
+Since her urgent appeal, she has been brief and cold. She is
+waiting. Is this her stroke? He will see. Has anyone seen the child
+and made disclosures? His heart flutters. He must now placate
+Natalie. The child must be quickly removed from Paris. He dare not
+give a reason. No, but he can use a bribe.
+
+After several futile attempts he pens this cipher:
+
+Remove child instantly to Dresden. Telegraph your address on
+arrival. Definite settlement as you wished. Remember your promise.
+Directions by mail. Imperative.
+
+PHILIP.
+
+Hardin chafes anxiously before a reply reaches him. When he reads
+it, he rages like a fiend. It clearly reads:
+
+I will not obey. Marry me first. Come here. Keep your oath. I will
+keep my promise. A settlement on the other child is no safeguard
+to me. She must have a name. Letters final. Useless to telegraph.
+HORTENSE.
+
+When Hardin's rage subsides, he reviews the situation in his
+palace. He is safe for years from an accounting, yet it is coming
+on. If he brings the heiress to California, it will precipitate it.
+Secret plans for the Senate of the United States are now maturing.
+Marriage with Hortense. Impossible. His friends urge his giving
+his name to an ambitious lady of the "blue blood" of his Southern
+home. She is a relative of the head of the Democratic capitalists.
+This is a "sine qua non." The lady has claims on these honors.
+It has been a secret bargain to give his hand in return for that
+seat. Hortense talks madness. Never.
+
+As for facing her, he dare not. He has established her. She is
+too subtle to risk herself out of the lines she has found safe.
+Who can be the "Deus ex machina"?
+
+Ah, that Italian meddler, Villa Rocca! Hardin weaves a scheme. He
+will wait her letters. If the Italian is his enemy, he will lure
+him to California and then----
+
+Ah, yes, till then, patience--the patience of the tiger crouching
+at the water-pool for his coming prey.
+
+Peyton loses no time in Paris. He reaches the home of Aristide
+Dauvray. He is welcomed by the circle. The young artists are busy
+with brush and modelling tool. Woods' patronage has been a blessing.
+The fame of his orders has been extended by the exhibition of the
+works ordered by him. His bankers have directed the attention of
+the travelling Americans to the young man.
+
+Louise Moreau is no longer a bud, but an opening rose. So fair is
+she, so lovely, that Armand feels his heart beat quicker when the
+girl nears his canvas to admire his skill. By the direction of Pere
+Francois, she leaves the house no more for her lessons. There is
+a secret guard of loving hearts around her.
+
+Pere Francois meets Peyton with open arms. They are to be joint
+guardians over the innocent child of destiny.
+
+At Peyton's hotel, the men commune. It is not strange that the
+ex-Confederate is comfortably settled opposite the Dauvray mansion!
+In an exchange of opinion with the able Josephine, it is agreed
+that one of the young men or the Colonel shall be always at hand.
+
+Woods meditates a "coup de maitre." He intends, on his arrival, to
+remove the girl Louise where no malignity of Hardin can reach her,
+to some place where even Marie Berard will be powerless. He will
+force some one to show a hand. Then, God keep the villain who
+leaves his tree to fight in the open! It is war to the death. Woods
+directs Peyton to use his bankers and the police, telegraphing him
+at London. He has a fear they have been followed to Europe. The
+bankers understand that Peyton and the priest are Woods' ambassadors.
+
+Marie Berard comes no more to the home of her charge. Her letters
+are sent by a commissionaire. Peyton reads in this a danger signal.
+The soldier is on the watch for treachery. His quiet habits are
+easily satisfied. He has his books, daily journals, and also French
+lessons from charming Louise.
+
+It is sunny splendor at the house on the Champs Elysees, where
+Natalie de Santos moves in her charmed circle of luxury. While
+Peyton waits for the "Comstock Colonel," an anxious woman sits in
+her queenly boudoir.
+
+Natalie's beauty is ravishing. The exquisite elegance of her manner
+is in keeping with the charms of the shining loveliness which makes
+her a cynosure in the "Bois."
+
+Face to face with a dilemma, the fair "chatelaine" racks her brain
+for a new expedient. Her woman's wit is nonplussed.
+
+Villa Rocca DEMANDS, URGES, PLEADS, SUES for marriage. Is it love?
+Of all her swains he is the only one who touches her heart. At his
+approach, her tell-tale pulse beats high. She dare not yet quit
+Hardin. There is a campaign before her. To force Hardin to marry
+her, even secretly, is the main attack. He is now old. Then, to
+establish her daughter as the heiress of Lagunitas. After Hardin's
+death, marriage with Villa Rocca. That is the goal. But how to
+restrain his lover-like ardor.
+
+She smiles at her reflection in the glass. She knows "the fatal
+gift of beauty." It is another woman than the "queen of the gambling
+hell" who smiles back at her. The pearls on her neck rise and fall.
+Hardin! Ah, yes; his possible treachery! Would he dare to take the
+convent pupil away from her? Perhaps.
+
+A devilish smile plays on her lips. She will let him steal his own
+child; the other, the REAL Lady of Lagunitas, he never shall know.
+Gods! If he should be aware of it. It must be prevented. Whom can
+she trust? No one.
+
+Villa Rocca? Triumph shines in her eyes! She must definitely
+promise him marriage in these happy years, and give him the child
+as a gage. He can hide her in his Italian hills. He really has a
+bit of a castle under the olive-clad hills of Tuscany.
+
+But Marie Berard. She must outwit that maid. When the child is
+gone, Marie's power ceases. No one will ever believe her. A few
+thousand francs extra will satisfy the greedy soubrette.
+
+Seizing her pen, she sends a note to the club where baccarat
+and billiards claim Villa Rocca's idle hours. He meets her in the
+Bois de Boulogne, now splendid in transplanted foliage. His coupe
+dismissed, they wander in the alleys so dear to lovers. There
+is triumph in her face as they separate. A night for preparation;
+next day, armed with credentials in "billets de banque," Villa Rocca
+will lure the girl to her mysterious guardian who will be "sick"
+near Paris. Once under way, Villa Rocca will not stop till the girl
+is in his Italian manor.
+
+With bounding heart, he assents. He has now Natalie's promise to
+marry him. They are one in heart.
+
+"I am yours to the death," he says.
+
+While Natalie sips her chocolate next morning, a carriage draws
+up before Aristide Dauvray's home. Josephine is busied with the
+household. Louise, singing like a lark, gayly aids her foster-mother.
+Aristide is far away. He toils at the new structures of beauty.
+Arm in arm, the young artists are taking a long stroll.
+
+A gentleman of elegant appearance descends, with anxious visage. The
+peal of the bell indicates haste. Josephine receives her visitor.
+He curtly explains his visit. The guardian of Louise Moreau needs
+her instant presence. She is ill, perhaps dying. In her excitement,
+Josephine's prudence is forgotten. To lose the income from the
+child, to hazard the child's chances of property. "But the child
+must go: at once!" Josephine is awed and flurried. As she hastily
+makes preparation, a ray of suspicion darts through her mind. Who
+is this messenger?
+
+"I think I had better accompany you," cries Josephine. Then, "her
+house," to be left to only one feeble old servant.
+
+"Ah, ciel! It is terrible."
+
+"Madame, we have no time to lose. It is near the train time. We will
+telegraph. You can follow in two hours," the stranger remarks, in
+silken voice.
+
+The visitor urges. The girl is cloaked and bonneted. Josephine
+loses her head. "One moment,"--she rushes for her hat and wrap;
+she will go at once, herself.
+
+As she returns, there is a muffled scream at the door of the coupe.
+
+"Mon Dieu!" Josephine screams. "My child! my Louise!" The coupe
+door is closing.
+
+A strong voice cries to the driver, "Allez vite!"
+
+As "Jehu" is about to lash his horses, an apparition glues him to
+his seat.
+
+A gray-haired man points an ugly revolver at his head.
+
+"Halt!" he says. The street is deserted. Villa Rocca opens the
+door. A strong hand hurls him to the gutter. Louise is urged from
+the coach. She is in her home again!
+
+Peyton turns to grasp the man, who picks himself from the gutter.
+He is ten seconds too late. The carriage is off like a flash; it
+turns the corner at a gallop. Too cool to leave the fort unguarded,
+Peyton enters the salon. He finds Josephine moaning over Louise,
+who has fainted.
+
+In a half-hour, Pere Francois and the young men are a bodyguard on
+duty. Peyton drives to the bank, and telegraphs Woods at London:
+
+"Come instantly! Attempt to abduct, prevented by me! Danger!
+PEYTON."
+
+The next night, in the rooms of the miner, the padre and Peyton
+hold a council of war. An engine waits at the "Gare du Nord." When
+sunlight gilds once more Notre Dame, Peyton enters the car with a
+lady, clad in black. A maid, selected by Joseph Vimont, is of the
+party. "Monsieur Joseph" himself strolls into the depot. He jumps
+into the cab with the engineer. "Allons!" They are off.
+
+From forty miles away a few clicks of the telegraph flash the news
+to Woods. The priest knows that Peyton and his ward are safely "en
+route." "Tres bien!"
+
+It is years before the light foot of Louise Moreau presses again
+the threshold of her childhood's home. In a sunny chateau, near
+Lausanne, a merry girl grows into a superb "Lady of the Lake." She
+is "Louise Moreau," but Louise "en reine." She rules the hearts
+of gentle Henry Peyton and the "autocrat of the Golden Chariot."
+It is beyond the ken of "Natalie de Santos," or Philip Hardin, to
+pierce the mystery of that castle by the waters of the Swiss lake.
+
+Visions of peace lend new charms to the love of the pure-souled
+girl who wanders there.
+
+Louise is not always alone by Leman's blue waters. Colonel Peyton
+is a thoughtful, aging man, saddened by his fiery past.
+
+He sees nothing. He dreams of the flag which went down in battle
+and storm. The flag of which Father Ryan sang--"in fond recollection
+of a dead brother"--the ill-fated stars and bars:
+
+   "Furl that banner, for 'tis weary,
+    Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary.
+        Furl it, fold it, it is best;
+    For there's not a man to wave it--
+    And there's not a sword to save it--
+    And there's not one left to lave it
+    In the blood which heroes gave it;
+    And its foes now scorn and brave it;
+        Furl it, hide it; let it rest."
+
+But younger and brighter eyes than his own, dimmed with battle smoke,
+look love into each other. Louise and Armand feel the throbbing
+whispers of the lake in their own beating hearts.
+
+Far above them there, the silver peaks lift unsullied altars to
+the God of nature, life, and love.
+
+And as the rosy flush of morning touches the Jungfrau, as the tender
+light steals along the sunlit peaks of the Alps, so does the light
+of love warm these two young hearts. Bounding pulse and melting
+accent, blush of morning on rosy peak and maiden's cheek, tell of
+the dawning day of light and love.
+
+Shy and sweet, their natures mingle as two rivulets flowing to
+the sea. Born in darkness and coldness, to dance along in warmth
+and sunlight, and mingle with that great river of life which flows
+toward the unknown sea.
+
+In days of bliss, in weeks of happiness, in months of heart growth,
+the two children of fortune drink in each other's eyes the philter
+of love. They are sworn a new Paul and Virginia, to await the
+uncertain gifts of the gods. The ardor of Armand is reflected in
+the tender fidelity of graceful Louise, who is a radiant woman now.
+
+While this single car flies out of Paris, a "mauvais quart d'heure"
+awaits Ernesto de Villa Rocca, at the hands of Natalie.
+
+Bounding from her seat, she cries, "Imbecile fool, you have ruined
+both of us! The girl is lost now!"
+
+In an hour the Italian evolves a new plan. Marie Berard shall
+herself find and abduct the child! The Comte de Villa Rocca will
+escort them to the Italian tower, where Natalie's dangerous ward
+will be lost forever to Hardin.
+
+But Marie must now be placated! Natalie de Santos smiles as she
+points to a plump pocket-book.
+
+"A magic sceptre, a magnetic charm, my dear Count." Her very voice
+trickles with gold.
+
+While Ernesto Villa Rocca and his promised bride dine in the
+lingering refinement of a Parisian table, they await the return
+of the baffled Marie. The maid has gone to arrange the departure
+of Louise. No suspicion must be awakened! Once under way, then
+silence!--quietly enforced. Ah, chloroform!
+
+There was no etiquette in the sudden return of the pale-faced
+maid; she dashed up, in a carriage, while the lovers dallied with
+the dessert.
+
+"Speak, Marie! What has happened?" cries Natalie, with a sinking
+heart.
+
+"Madame, she is gone! Gone forever!"
+
+Madame de Santos bounds to the side of the defeated woman. "If
+you are lying, beware!" she hisses. Her hand is raised. There is a
+dagger flashing in the air. Villa Rocca wrests it from the raging
+woman's hand. "No folly, Madame! She speaks the truth!"
+
+Marie stubbornly tells of her repulse. Josephine was "not alone!"
+Blunt Aristide elbowed her out of the house, saying:
+
+"Be off with you! The girl is gone! If you want to know where she
+is, apply to the police. Now, don't show your lying face here
+again! I will have you arrested! You are a child stealer! You and
+your ruffian had better never darken this door. Go!"
+
+Natalie de Santos sinks back in her chair. Her teeth are chattering.
+A cordial restores her nerves. Count Villa Rocca lingers, moody
+and silent.
+
+What powerful adversary has baffled them?
+
+"Marie, await me in my room!" commands Natalie. In five minutes the
+roll of rubber-tired wheels proves that madame and the count have
+gone out. "To the opera?" "To the theatre?" The sly maid does not
+follow them. Her brain burns with a mad thirst for vengeance. Her
+hoard must now be completed. "Has she been tricked?" "Thousand
+devils, no!"
+
+Softly moving over the driveway, Natalie eagerly pleads with Villa
+Rocca. Her perfumed hair brushes his cheek. Her eyes gleam like
+diamonds, as they sweep past the brilliantly lighted temples of
+pleasure. She is Phryne and Aspasia to-night.
+
+Villa Rocca is drunk with the delirium of passion. His mind reels.
+
+"I will do it," he hoarsely murmurs. Arrived at the "porte cochere,"
+the count lifts his hat, as madame reenters her home.
+
+There is a fatal glitter in Natalie's eyes, as she enters alone
+her robing room.
+
+When madame is seated in the freedom of a wonderful "robe de
+chambre," her face is expectant, yet pleasant. Marie has fulfilled
+every duty of the eyening.
+
+"You may go, Marie. I am tired. I wish to sleep," remarks the lady,
+nonchalantly.
+
+"Will madame pardon me?"
+
+Marie's voice sounds cold and strange. Ah, it has come, then!
+Natalie has expected this. What is the plot?
+
+Natalie looks her squarely in the eyes. "Well?" she says, sharply.
+
+"I hope madame will understand that I close my duties here to-night!"
+the maid slowly says.
+
+"Indeed?" Madame lifts her eyebrows.
+
+"I would be glad to be permitted to leave the house to-morrow."
+
+"Certainly, Marie!" quietly rejoins Natalie. "You may leave when
+you wish. The butler will settle your account. I shall not ring
+for you to-morrow." She leans back. Checkmate!
+
+"Will madame excuse me?" firmly says the maid, now defiantly looking
+her mistress in the eyes. "The butler can probably not settle my
+little account."
+
+"What is it?" simply asks Madame de Santos.
+
+"It is one hundred thousand francs," firmly replies the woman.
+
+"I shall not pay it! decidedly not!" the lady answers.
+
+"Very good. Judge Hardin might!"
+
+The maid moves slowly to the door.
+
+"Stay!" commands Natalie. "Leave my house before noon to-morrow.
+You can come here with any friend you wish at this hour to-morrow
+night. You will have your money. How do you wish it?"
+
+"In notes," the maid replies, with a bow. She walks out of the
+room. She pauses at the threshold. "Will madame ask Georgette to
+look over the property of madame?"
+
+"Certainly. Send her to me!"
+
+Marie Berard leaves her world-wearied mistress, forever, and without
+a word.
+
+When the other maid enters, madame finds need for the assistant.
+"You may remain in my apartment and occupy the maid's couch. I
+may want you. I am nervous. Stay!"
+
+The under-maid is joyous at her promotion. Madame de Santos sleeps
+the sleep of the just. Happy woman!
+
+Marie Berard rages in her room, while her mistress sleeps in a
+bed once used by a Queen of France.
+
+The ticking clock drives her to madness. She throws it into the
+court-yard.
+
+Spurned! foiled! baffled!
+
+Ah, God! She will have both fortunes. She remembers that little
+paper of years ago.
+
+Yes, to find it now. Near her heart. By the candle, she reads the
+cabalistic words:
+
+"Leroyne & Co., 16 Rue Vivienne."
+
+Was it an imprudence to speak of Hardin? No, it was a mere threat.
+Marie's cunning eyes twinkle. She will get this money here quietly.
+Then, to the bank--to the bank! Two fortunes at one "coup."
+
+But she must see Jules! Jules Tessier! He must help now; he must
+help. And how? He is at the Cafe Ney.
+
+Yet she has often slipped out with him to the "bals de minuit." A
+friend can replace him; servants keep each others' secrets. Victory!
+
+She must see him at once. Yes, Jules will guide her. He can go to
+the bank, after she has received her money. And then the double
+payment and vengeance on madame!
+
+Like lightning, she muffles herself for the voyage. A coupe, ten
+minutes, and above all--a silent exit. All is safe; the house
+sleeps. She steals to her lover. Jules Tessier starts, seeing Marie
+in the ante-room at the Cafe Ney. There are, even here, curious
+spies.
+
+Marie's eyes are flashing; her bosom heaves. "Come instantly,
+Jules! it is the hour. My coupe is here."
+
+"Mon Dieu, in an instant!" The sly Jules knows from her shaken
+voice the golden hoard is in danger.
+
+In a few moments he is by her side in the coupe. "Where to?"
+huskily asks the head-waiter.
+
+"To the 'bal de minuit.' We can talk there."
+
+"Allons! au Jardin Bullier," he cries.
+
+Before the "fiacre" stops, Jules has an idea of the situation. Ah!
+a grand "coup." Jules is a genius!
+
+Seated in a bosky arbor, the two talk in lowest tones over their
+chicken and Burgundy.
+
+There is a noisy party in the next arbor, but a pair of dark Italian
+eyes peer like basilisks through the leaves of the tawdry shade.
+The lovers are unconscious of the listener.
+
+With joint toil, the pair of lovers prepare a letter to Leroyne &
+Co., bankers, 16 Rue Vivienne.
+
+Marie's trembling hand draws the paper from her bosom. She knows
+that address by heart.
+
+"Give it to me, Marie," he pleads, "for safety." A FRENCHWOMAN can
+deny her lover nothing.
+
+"Now, listen, 'ma cherie,'" Jules murmurs. "You get the one treasure.
+To-morrow I go to the bank, the telegraph, you understand, but not
+till you have the other money safe." Her eyes sparkle. A double
+fortune! A double revenge! A veritable "coup de Machiavelli."
+
+"And I must go, dearest. I wait for you to-morrow. You get your
+money; then I am off to the bank, and we will secure the rest.
+Bravo!"
+
+Jules snaps his fingers at the imbeciles. He sees the "Hotel Tessier"
+rising in cloudland.
+
+"Press this proud woman hard now. Be careful. I will pay the coupe;
+we might be followed."
+
+While Jules is absent, Marie dreams the rosy dreams of fruition.
+Love, avarice, revenge!
+
+Down through the entrance, they saunter singly. Both are Parisians.
+After a square or two brings them to night's obscurity, parting
+kisses seal the dark bond; Judge Hardin shall pay after madame;
+Marie's velvet hand grips Jules' palm in a sinful compact.
+
+Home by the usual way, past Notre Dame, and Jules will discreetly
+watch her safety till she reaches the omnibus.
+
+She knows not when she reaches Notre Dame that Tessier lies behind
+her, stunned upon the sidewalk, his pockets rifled, and his senses
+reeling under brutal blows. Her heart is blithe, for here, under
+the shade of Notre Dame, she is safe. Twenty steps bring her to
+the glaring street. Yet the avenger has panther feet.
+
+Out of the shadow, in a moment, she will be. "Oh, God!" the cry
+smothers in her throat. Like lightning, stab after stab in her back
+paralyzes her.
+
+Bubbling blood from her quivering lips, Marie falls on her face.
+A dark shadow glides away, past buttress and vaulted door.
+
+Is it Villa Rocca's ready Italian stiletto?
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BOOK V.
+
+REAPING THE WHIRLWIND.
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+JOE WOODS SURPRISES A LADY.--LOVE'S GOLDEN NETS.
+
+
+
+
+
+When a cab is halted, the horses shying at a prostrate body, knots
+of street loungers gather at the cries of the discoverers of
+Marie Berard's body. The "sergents de ville" raise the woman. Her
+blood stains the sidewalk, in the shadow of the Church of Christ.
+Twinkling lights flicker on her face. A priest passing by, walks
+by the stretcher. He is called by his holy office to pray for the
+"parting soul."
+
+It is Pere Francois. He has been in Notre Dame. To the nearest
+hospital the bearers trudge. It is only a few rods. When the body
+is examined, the pale face is revealed. Pere Francois clasps his
+hands.
+
+It is, indeed, the mysterious guardian of Louise, stabbed and dying.
+It is the hand of fate!
+
+Breathing faintly, the poor wretch lies prone. There is no apparent
+clue to her assailant. She is speechless. It has not been robbery;
+her valuables are intact. Hastily anointing her, Pere Francois
+departs. He promises to return in the morning. He hastens to the
+nearest cabstand, and whirls away to Colonel Woods' hotel. Whose
+hand has dealt this blow? The financier is startled at the priest's
+face. Joseph has been jocular since the safe departure of Louise.
+
+He listens. A prodigious whistle announces his feelings. "Padre,"
+says he, "if that Frenchwoman is alive to-morrow, you must see
+her. Find out all she knows. I'll turn out at daybreak, and watch
+Madame Santos' house myself. I think that handsome 'she devil'
+had something to do with this.
+
+"Got done with the maid. No more use for her. Now, my dear friend,
+I will be here to-morrow when you show up. We will interview the
+madame. She's the spider in this game."
+
+Woods sleeps like a man in a tossing storm. He knows from the padre's
+repeated visits at the Santos mansion that dying Marie holds the
+secret of these two children's lives. If she could only talk.
+
+All night the miner battles for Valois' unknown child.
+
+Up with the lark, Joe sends his "French fellow" for detective
+Vimont. "Voila! un grand proces."
+
+Vimont sees gold ahead.
+
+By eight o'clock, ferret eyes are watching the Santos mansion, the
+home of discreet elegance.
+
+A stunning toilet is made by Joseph, in the vain hope of impressing
+the madame. He will face this Lucrezia Borgia "in his raiment
+of price." He has a dim idea, that splendid garb will cover his
+business-like manner of coming to "first principles."
+
+A happy man is he at his well-ordered dejeuner, for though Joe is
+no De Rohan or Montmorency, yet he eats like a lord and drinks like
+a prince of the blood. He is the "first of his family"--a golden
+fact.
+
+He revenges himself daily for the volunteer cuisine of the American
+River. Often has he laughed over haughty Valois' iron-clad bread,
+his own flinty beans, the slabs of pork, cooked as a burnt offering
+by slow combustion. Only one audacious Yankee in the camp ever
+attempted a pie. That was a day of crucial experiment, a time of
+bright hopes, a period of sad failure.
+
+Vimont reports at noon. A visit from Villa Rocca of a half-hour.
+Sauntering up the Elysees, after his departure, the count, shadowed
+carefully, strolled to his club. He seemed to know nothing. The
+waxen mask of Italian smoothness fits him like a glove. He hums a
+pleasant tune as he strolls in. The morning journals? Certainly;
+an hour's perusal is worthy the attention of the elegant "flaneur."
+Ah! another murder. He enjoys the details.
+
+Pere Francois enters the colonel's rooms, with grave air. While
+Vimont frets over his cigar, in the courtyard, the story of Marie
+Berard is partly told.
+
+She will not live through the night. At her bedside, Sisters of
+Charity twain, tell the beads and watch the flickering pulse of the
+poor lost girl. The police have done their perfunctory work. They
+are only owls frightened by sunlight. Fools! Skilful fools! She knows
+nothing of her assailant. Her feeble motions indicate ignorance.
+She must have rest and quiet. The saddened Pere Francois can not
+disguise from Woods that he suspects much. Much more than the
+police can dream in their theories.
+
+What is it? Hopes, fears, the rude story of a strange life, and upon
+it all is the awful seal of the confessional. For, Marie Berard has
+unfolded partly, her own life-story. Joe Woods clasps the padre's
+hands.
+
+"You know which of these children is a million-heiress, and which
+a pauper?"
+
+The padre's eyes are blazing. He is mute. "Let us trust to God.
+Wait, my friend," says Pere Francois solemnly. Before that manly
+voice, the miner hushes his passionate eagerness. Violence is vain,
+here.
+
+It seems to him as if the dead mother of an orphan child had placed
+her hand upon his brow and said: "Wait and hope!"
+
+Monte Cristo's motto once more.
+
+The padre eyes the Comstock colonel under his thin lashes.
+
+"My friend"--his voice trembles--"I can tell you nothing yet, but
+I will guide you. I will not see you go wrong."
+
+"Square deal, padre!" roars Joseph, with memories of gigantic
+poker deals. Irreverent Joe.
+
+"Square deal," says the priest, solemnly, as he lays an honest
+man's hand in that of its peer. He knows the Californian force of
+this appeal to honor. Joseph selects several cigars. He fusses with
+his neckgear strangely.
+
+"Vamos, amigo," he cries, in tones learned from the muleteers of
+the far West.
+
+Once in the halls of "Madame de Santos," Colonel Joe is the pink
+of Western elegance. The acute sense of the Missourian lends him
+a certain dignity, in spite of his gaudy attire.
+
+Under fire, this Western pilgrim can affect a "sang froid" worthy
+of Fontenoy.
+
+Radiant in white clinging "crepe de Chine," her "prononcee" beauty
+unaccentuated by the baubles of the jeweller, Madame de Santos
+greets the visitors.
+
+A blue circle under her eyes tells of a vigil of either love or
+hate. Speculation is vain. The "monde" has its imperial secrets.
+
+Who can solve the equation of womanhood? Colonel Joseph is effusive
+in his cheery greeting. "My dear madame, I am glad to be in Paris
+once more." He would charm this sphinx into life and warmth. Foolish
+Joseph.
+
+"We all are charmed to see you safely returned," murmurs the madame.
+The padre is studying the art treasures of the incomparable "Salon
+de Santos."
+
+"I have some messages from a friend of yours," continues Joseph,
+strangely intent upon the narrow rim of his hat.
+
+"Ah, yes! Pray who remembers me so many years?"
+
+Joseph fires out the answer like a charge of canister from a
+Napoleon gun: "Philip Hardin."
+
+The lady's lips close. There is a steely look in her eyes. Her hand
+seeks her heaving bosom. Is there a dagger there?
+
+"Useless, my lady." There are two men here. The padre is intent
+upon a war picture of Detaille. His eyes catch a mirror showing
+the startled woman.
+
+"And--what--did--Mr.--Philip--Hardin say?" the lady gasps.
+
+"He asked me if you remembered Hortense Duval, the Queen of the
+El--" Natalie reels and staggers, as if shot.
+
+"By God, Lee was right!" cries Woods. He catches her falling form.
+The first and only time he will ever hold her in his arms.
+
+"Padre, ring the bell!" cries the excited miner.
+
+The clock ticks away noisily in the hall. The wondering servants
+bear madame to her rooms. All is confusion. A fainting fit.
+
+"Let's get out of here," whispers Woods, frightened by his own
+bomb-shell.
+
+"Stay till we get a message of formality," murmurs the diplomatic
+padre. "It would look like violence or insult to leave abruptly.
+No one here must suspect." Joe nods gloomily and wipes his brows.
+
+The stately butler soon expresses the regrets of madame. "A most
+unforeseen affair, an assault upon one of her discharged servants,
+has tried her nerves. Will Colonel Woods kindly excuse madame, who
+will send him word when she receives again?"
+
+"Colonel Woods will decidedly excuse madame." He returns to his
+hotel. He grieves over the dark shadows cast upon her suffering
+loveliness. "By the gods! It's a shame SHE IS WHAT SHE IS," he
+murmurs to his cigar. Ah, Joseph! entangled in the nets of Delilah.
+
+In a few days the spacious apartments of Colonel Woods have another
+tenant. Bag and baggage he has quietly departed for the Pacific
+Slope. Pere Francois runs on to Havre. He waves an adieu from the
+"quai." It would not be possible to prove that Colonel Joe has not
+gone to Switzerland. That is not the question, however. But the
+padre and the colonel are now sworn allies. Joseph is the bearer
+of a letter to the Archbishop of California. It carries the heart
+and soul of Pere Francois. The great Church acts now.
+
+"My dear old friend," says Woods in parting, "I propose to keep
+away from Paris for a couple of years and watch Philip Hardin's
+handling of this great estate. Peyton will bring the girl on, when
+her coming of age calls for a legal settlement of the estate. I
+don't want to strike that woman down until she braves me.
+
+"I'm going to lure Madame de Santos over to California. If she
+wants to watch me, I will be on deck every time there. I'll bring
+Peyton and Louise Moreau over to San Francisco. I will never lose
+sight of that child. Judge Davis shall now run my whole game. I
+don't ask you who killed that woman, padre, but I will bet the de
+Santos knows the hand which struck the blow.
+
+"By leaving you, Vimont, to watch her, you may be yet able to catch
+our man. We'll let her bring forward the heiress of Lagunitas, whom
+she stowed away in the convent. Don't spare the cash, padre. You
+can use what you want from my bankers. They will cable me at once,
+at your wish. Good-bye." Joe Woods is off. His mind is bent on a
+great scheme.
+
+Pere Francois thinks of the unavenged murder of the poor maid-servant.
+She is now sleeping the last sleep in Pere la Chaise. Paris has its
+newer mysteries already, to chase away her memory--only one more
+unfortunate.
+
+Joe gets news after his arrival at the Golden Gate. "I will tell
+you, my dear friend, that a large sum of money was due to this
+woman from Madame de Santos. She was to have it the next day. I
+can not see who would kill her to prevent her getting money from a
+prosperous mistress. She was making her a final present on leaving
+her service. Madame de Santos openly admits she intended to give
+her a considerable sum of money. She has acted with commendable
+kindness as to her funeral. All is quiet. The police are baffled."
+This is the priest's letter.
+
+"I cannot, at present, reveal to you all I learned from the dying
+penitent. I need a higher permission. I have given you an order
+to receive the original Valois marriage papers, and the baptismal
+and birth certificates of Isabel Valois. She is the only child of
+Maxime and Dolores Valois. Louise Moreau is the real heiress, in
+my opinion, but we must prove it. I shall come to San Francisco to
+watch the sequel of the guardianship of the rightful heiress.
+
+"One person ALONE can now positively swear to this child. I shall
+watch that defiant woman, until she goes to California."
+
+High life in Paris rolls on golden wheels as always. Ernesto Villa
+Rocca is a daily visitor at the Santos residence. A change has been
+inaugurated by the death of Marie Berard.
+
+There is a lovely girl there now, whose beauty shines out even by
+the side of Natalie the peerless. The heiress is at home. Not even
+to Villa Rocca does Natalie confide herself. The disappearance of
+Louise Moreau startles her yet. The sudden death of Marie brings
+her certain advantages in her once dangerous position. She has no
+fear to boldly withdraw the blooming Isabel Valois, so called,
+from the "Sacre Coeur," now she has learned that the legal control
+of the child can only be taken from her by Hardin himself. He will
+never dare to use open force as regards her. No! fear will restrain
+him. The dark bond of the past prevents.
+
+But by fraud or artifice, yes! To defeat any possible scheme, she
+surrounds the young girl with every elegance of instruction and
+accomplishment. She watches her like a tigress guarding its young,
+But by her side, in her own home, the young "claimant" will be
+surely safe. Hardin fears any public denouncement of his schemes.
+Open scandal is worse than secret crime, in the high circles he
+adorns.
+
+Count Ernesto Villa Rocca does not plead immediately for madame's
+hand. Wise Italian. "Chi va piano va sano." Since the fateful
+evening when he promised to do a certain deed of blood for Natalie,
+his ardor has chilled a little. "Particeps criminis." He revolves
+the whole situation. With cool Italian astuteness, he will wait a
+few months, before linking himself to the rich lady whose confidential
+maid was so mysteriously murdered. There has been no hesitation,
+on his part, to accept a large sum of money from Natalie. Besides,
+his eye rests with burning admiration on the young girlish beauty.
+Her loveliness has the added charms of untold millions, in her
+future fortune. A prize. Does he dare? Ernesto Villa Rocca cannot
+fathom the mysterious connection between the guardian siren and her
+charge. Would he be safe to depend upon Madame de Santos' fortune?
+He knows not. Has not the young girl a greater value in his eyes?
+
+Seated in the boudoir of Natalie, with bated breath, Villa Rocca
+has told Natalie what he expects as a reward for freeing her from
+Marie.
+
+Natalie hails the expiration of the minority of the "daughter
+of the Dons." The millions will now fall under her own control.
+Power!--social power! concrete power!
+
+The most urgent appeals to her from Hardin cannot make her leave
+France. Hardin storms. He threatens. He implores. He cannot leave
+California and go to France himself. The wily wretch knows that
+Natalie THERE will have a local advantage over him. Month after month
+glides away. Swordplay only. Villa Rocca, dallying with Natalie,
+gloats over the beauties of the ward.
+
+Armand Valois, by invitation of Colonel Peyton, has decided to spend
+a year or so in Switzerland and Germany, painting and sketching.
+Louise Moreau soons becomes a proficient amateur artist. She wanders
+on the lovely shores of the lake, with the gifted young American.
+Love weaves its golden web. Joined heart and soul, these children
+of fortune whisper their love by the throbbing bosom of the lake.
+
+It is with the rare genius of her sly nature, a happy thought, that
+Madame de Santos requests the chivalric Raoul Dauvray to instruct
+her own ward in modelling and sketching. It will keep her mind
+busy, and content the spirited girl. She must save her from Villa
+Rocca. Dauvray is also a painter of no mean talent. A studio is
+soon arranged. The merry girl, happy at her release from convent
+walls, spends pleasant hours with the ex-Zouave. Drifting, drifting
+daily down happy hours to the knowledge of their own ardent feelings.
+
+Natalie absolutely debars all other visitors from meeting her young
+ward. Only her physician and Pere Francois can watch these studio
+labors. She fears Hardin's emissaries only.
+
+Many visits to the studio are made by Villa Rocca. He is a lover
+of the "beaux-arts."
+
+The days fly by pleasantly. Natalie is playing a cool game now.
+Pere Francois and Raoul Dauvray are ever in her charmed circle.
+She dare not refuse the friendship of the inscrutable priest. She
+watches, cat-like, for some sign or token of the absent Louise Moreau.
+Nothing. Colonel Joseph's sagacity has arranged all communication
+from the Swiss lakes, through his trusted banker. It is a blind
+trail.
+
+Vimont, eying Natalie and Villa Rocca keenly, reports that he cannot
+fathom their relations. Guilty lovers? No. There is no obstacle at
+all to their marriage. Then why not a consummation? "Accomplices?"
+"In what crime?" "Surely none!" The count is of station undoubted.
+A member of the Jockey Club. Natalie de Santos speaks frankly to
+Pere Francois of her obligations to the dead woman. That mysterious
+assailant still defies the famed police of Paris.
+
+Yet around Madame de Santos a web of intrigue is woven, which even
+her own keen eyes do not ferret out.
+
+Strange woman-heart. Lonely and defiant, yet blind, she thinks she
+guards her control of the budding heiress, "Isabel Valois." Waiting?
+
+In the studio, handsome Raoul Dauvray bends glowing eyes on the
+clay which models the classic beauty of Isabel Valois. The sabre
+scar on his bronzed face burns red as he directs the changes
+of his lovely model. Neither a Phryne nor an Aphrodite, but "the
+Unawakened Venus."
+
+A dreamy light flickers in her eyes, as she meets the burning gaze
+of an artist lover.
+
+Fighting hard against the current, the heiress of millions affects
+not to understand.
+
+It is "Monsieur Raoul," "Mademoiselle Isabel;" and all the while,
+their hearts beat in unison.
+
+Raoul, soldier-artist, Frenchman, and lover, dissembles when Villa
+Rocca is present. There is a strange constraint in the girl's dark
+eyes, as her idle hands cross themselves, in unconscious pose, when
+they are alone.
+
+"Lift your eyes a little, mademoiselle. Look steadily at me," is
+his gentle request. He can hear the clock tick as if its beat was
+the fail of a trip hammer.
+
+When even his fastidious task can no longer delay, he says, as
+the afternoon sun gilds the dome of the Invalides, throwing down
+his graver, "Je n'en puis plus, mademoiselle. It is finished. I
+will release you now."
+
+As Raoul throws the cloth over the clay model, Isabel passes him
+with a gasp, and gazes with set face from the window.
+
+His bursting heart holds him back. There is no longer an excuse.
+
+"And I shall see you no more, Monsieur Raoul?" the heiress of
+millions softly says.
+
+"Not till this is in marble, mademoiselle. A poor artist does not
+mingle in your own gay world."
+
+"But a soldier of France is welcome everywhere," the girl falters.
+
+A mist rises to Raoul's eyes. He bears the cross of the Legion of
+Honor on his breast. The perfume from her hair is blown across his
+face. "Les violettes de Parme." The artist sinks in the soldier.
+
+Springing to the window, the girl's assenting hand, cold as ice,
+is clasped in his palm.
+
+"Isabel!" he cries. She trembles like a leaf. "May the soldier
+ask what the artist would not dare?" He is blind with passion.
+
+The lovely dark-eyed girl turns a splendid face upon him, her eyes
+filled with happy tears, and cries:
+
+"Captain, you saved my life!"
+
+The noisy clock ticks away; the only sound beside its clang is
+the beating hearts which close in love's first embrace, when the
+soldier knows he has won the heart of the Pearl of Paris.
+
+"Your rank, your millions, your guardian! The Count Villa Rocca,
+my enemy!" he hoarsely whispers.
+
+The clinging beauty hands him the ribbon from her throat.
+
+"Claim me with this!" she cries as his arms enfold her.
+
+The dream of young love; first love; true love.
+
+Every obstacle fades away: Lagunitas' millions; proud guardian;
+scheming duenna; watchful Villa Rocca. The world is naught to the
+two whose arms bind the universe in love's golden circle,
+
+Raoul murmurs to the glowing maiden in his arms:
+
+"And can you trust me?"
+
+The splendid beauty clasps him closer, whispering softly:
+
+"A Spanish girl loves once and to the death."
+
+"But, darling," she falters, as her arms cling closer, "we must
+wait and hope!"
+
+A letter from Philip Hardin arrives, in the gayest midwinter of a
+rejuvenated Paris. The time for decisive action has arrived. Natalie
+revolves every clause of Hardin's proposition in her mind.
+
+In less than a year the now blooming Isabel will be eighteen years
+of age. The accounting--
+
+Hardin is trying now to cut the legal Gordian knot. His letter
+reads as follows:
+
+I have determined to make you a proposition which should close all
+our affairs. It should leave no cause for complaint. I need Isabel
+Valois here, You will not trust yourself in America with our past
+relations unsettled. I shall not force you, but I must do my duty
+as guardian.
+
+You are worthy of a settlement. No one knows you here now. Marry
+Villa Rocca. Come here with Isabel. I will give you jointly a
+fortune which will content you. I will settle upon your child the
+sum of one hundred thousand dollars, to be paid over to her use when
+of age. If you marry Villa Rocca now, I will give him the drafts
+for the child's money. If you decide to marry him, you may ask
+him to visit me here, as your agent. I will show him where your
+own property is located, to the extent of half a million dollars.
+This is to be turned over to you and him jointly, when you are man
+and wife. This will satisfy his honor and his rank. Otherwise, I
+shall soon cease my remittances. You may not be willing to do as
+I wish, but the heiress must be returned to me, or you and your
+child will remain without means.
+
+Your marriage will be my safeguard and your own establishment.
+Tell Villa Rocca any story of your life; I will confirm and prove
+it. I shall name my bankers as trustee to join with any person
+you name for your child. The principal to be paid over to her on
+her marriage, to her own order. She can take any name you choose,
+except mine. If this is satisfactory, cable to me, "Accepted; agent
+coming." Send a letter by your agent, with a private duplicate to
+me, with your wishes. HARDIN.
+
+Natalie stands face to face with a life's decision. Can she trust
+Villa Rocca? By the dark bond of crime between them she must. A
+poor bond of crime. And the millions of Lagunitas. To yield them
+up. A terrible temptation.
+
+In her boudoir, Villa Rocca sums up with lightning flashes, the
+merits of this proposition. It is partly unfolded to him by the
+woman, who holds his pledge to marry her. "She must settle her
+affairs." It is a good excuse. He smiles, as he says:
+
+"Madonna mia, in whose name will this property be placed, if I make
+you Countess Villa Rocca?"
+
+"In our joint names, with benefit to the survivor," she replies.
+
+"If arranged in even sums on each of us, with a reversion to me,
+if you die childless, I will accept. I will go to California, and
+bring the deposit for the missing child. I can make every arrangement
+for your lawyer. We can go over together and marry there, when
+you restore the heiress next year to her guardian." A bargain, a
+compact, and a bond of safety. It suits both.
+
+The lady despatches to Hardin her acceptance of his proposal.
+In preparing a letter to the Judge she gives her "fiance" every
+instruction. She permits him to mail the duplicate, carefully
+compared.
+
+In a week, Count Ernesto is tossing on the billows of the Atlantic.
+He is a fashionable Columbus. He is sufficiently warned to be on his
+guard in conversation with the wily Hardin. Natalie is far-seeing.
+
+Villa Rocca laughed as he embraced his future bride. "Trust an
+Italian, in finesse, cara mia."
+
+It is arranged between the two that Hardin is to have no hint of the
+character, appearance, or whereabouts of the child who receives the
+bounty. The letter bears the name of "Irene Duval" as the beneficiary
+of the fund. A system of correspondence is devised between them. Villa
+Rocca, using his Italian consul at San Francisco as a depositary,
+will be sure to obtain his letters. He will write to a discreet
+friend in Paris. Perhaps a spy on herself, Natalie muses.
+
+Still she must walk hand in hand with Villa Rocca, a new sharer of
+her secret. But HE dare not talk.
+
+When these two have said their last adieux, when Natalie sums
+up her lonely thoughts, she feels, with a shudder for the future,
+that not a shade of tenderness clings around this coming marriage.
+Mutual passion has dissipated itself. There is a self-consciousness
+of meeting eyes which tells of that dark work under the gloomy
+buttresses of Notre Dame. Murder--a heavy burden!
+
+Can they trust each other? They MUST. The weary secret of unpunished
+crime grows heavier, day by day. In losing a tyrant, in the maid,
+will she not gain a colder master in the man she marries? Who
+knows?
+
+Natalie Santos realizes that she has no legal proof whose hand
+struck that fatal blow. But Villa Rocca can expose her to Hardin.
+A fatal weakness. The anxious woman realizes what her false position
+and idle luxury cost in heartache. It is life!
+
+The roses turn to ashes on her cheeks as she paces her lonely
+rooms. Restless and weary in the Bois, she is even more dull and
+"distraite" in society. The repression of her secret, the daily
+presence of the daughter she dares not own, all weary her heart
+and soul. She feels that her power over Hardin will be gone forever
+when the heiress enters upon her rights. Has the child learned to
+love another? Her life is barren, a burning waste.
+
+Money, with its myriad luxuries, must be gained by the marriage
+with Villa Rocca. To see her child inherit an honored name, and in
+possession of millions, will be revenge enough upon Philip Hardin.
+He never shall know the truth while he lives. Once recognized, Isabel
+Valois cannot be defeated in her fortune. Marie is dead. The only
+one who might wish to prove the change of the two children, Hardin
+himself, knows not. He must take her word. She is invincible.
+
+Pere Francois becomes a greater comfort to her daily. The graceful
+priest brings with him an air of peace into the gaudy palace on
+the Elysees. She softens daily.
+
+Raoul Dauvray has finished the artistic labors of his commissions.
+He is now only an occasional visitor. If he has the love of the
+heiress he dares not claim her yet. The fiery Zouave chafes in vain.
+Natalie holds him off. Pere Francois whispers, "Wait and hope!"
+
+With the blindness of preoccupation, Natalie sees not how the
+tendrils of "first love" have filled the girl's heart. The young
+soldier-artist rules that gentle bosom. Love finds its ways of
+commune. Marriage seems impossible for years. Isabel must mount
+her "golden throne" before suitors can come to woo. A sculptor!
+The idea is absurd.
+
+Not a single trace is left of "Louise Moreau." Natalie's lip curls
+as she fathoms the motive of the girl's disappearance. Friends of
+Marie Berard's have probably secreted her, as a part of the old
+scheme of blackmail upon her. Did the secret die with her? It is
+fight now. She muses: "Now they may keep her. The seal of the grave
+is on the only lips which could tell the story of Lagunitas." Villa
+Rocca even, does not know who the child was! His evidence would
+be valueless.
+
+If--yes, if the Dauvray household should seek to fathom the history
+of the waif, how like an everyday history is the story in reply:
+
+"Marie Berard wished to disembarrass herself of her fatherless child.
+She yet wished to hold some claim on the future in its behalf. That
+explains Louise Moreau's motives." There is a high wall of defence
+around her whole position. Her own child dead; but where, or how?
+She must invent. Walls have been scaled, my Lady of the Castle
+Dangerous. The enemy is mining under your defences, in silence.
+
+With Villa Rocca's nerve and Italian finesse, even Hardin can
+be managed. If HE should die, then the dark secret of her child's
+transformation is safe forever!
+
+Days fly by. Time waits for no aching hearts. There is a smile of
+satisfaction on the lovely face of Natalie. She peruses the letters
+from Hardin and the count. They announce the arrangement of the
+dower for the absent "Irene Duval." Villa Rocca is in San Francisco.
+The count forwards one set of the drafts, without comments. He only
+says he will bring the seconds, and thirds of exchange himself, He
+is going to come "home."
+
+He announces his departure to the interior with Judge Hardin. He
+wishes to see the properties and interests held for Madame de Santos
+by her lawyer.
+
+In a month he will be on his homeward way; Judge Hardin has loyally
+played his part. Villa Rocca's letters prove his respect for a bride
+who brings him a half million. The letters warm visibly. Even an
+Italian count can be impressed by solid wealth. Natalie de Santos's
+lips curl in derision of man. Her clouded history is now safe.
+Yes, the golden glitter of her ill-gotten fortune will cover all
+inquiry as to the late "Senor de Santos," of shadowy memory. She
+IS safe!
+
+It is only a fair exchange of courtesy. She has not investigated
+the family stories of the noble Villa Rocca.
+
+Cool, suave, polished; accepted at the clubs as a man of the
+world; an adept with rapier and pistol; Ernesto Villa Rocca bears
+his social coronet as bravely as the premier duke of France--always
+on guard!
+
+"Does she love this man?" Natalie looks in her glass. From girlhood
+she has been hunted for her beauty. Now a fortune, title, and the
+oblivion of years will aid her in reigning as a mature queen. A
+"mondaine" with no entanglements. Paradise opens.
+
+Liberal in works of charity, the adventuress can glide easily
+into religion. Once her feet firmly planted, she will "assume that
+virtue, if she have it not."
+
+"And then--and after all!" The last tableau before the curtain
+falls. The pall of sable velvet. Natalie shudders. She remakes
+her toilet and drives to the opera.
+
+"After all, social life is but a play." Her heart beats high with
+pride. Villa Rocca's return with the funds will be only a prelude
+to their union. But how to insure the half million? "How?"
+
+The count's greed and entire union in interest with her will surely
+hold him faithful,
+
+She will marry Ernesto as soon as he returns. She can trust him with
+the heiress until the property is settled on the married lovers.
+
+Hardin, when Jules Tessier's addled brains are restored by careful
+nursing, receives a document from Leroyne & Co., which rouses his
+inmost soul.
+
+Jules Tessier, handsome brute, chafes under the loss of the double
+blackmail. "Two hundred thousand francs," and his Marie.
+
+To add to his anguish, he knows not where or under what name,
+Marie has deposited her own golden hoard. The "Hotel Tessier" has
+gone to Cloudland with the other "chateaux en Espagne"--the two
+payments are lost! Jules rages at knowing that even the savings
+of murdered Marie are lost to him. Even if found, they cannot be
+his by law. The ruffians who robbed him of everything, have left
+no trace.
+
+The two weeks passed tossing on a hospital bed, have been lost to
+the police. Dimly Jules remembers the sudden assault. Crashing
+blows raining down upon him! Not a scrap of paper is left. The
+fatal letter to Leroyne & Co. is gone.
+
+The police question the artful Jules.
+
+He holds the secret of Leroyne & Co. to himself.
+
+He may yet get a handsome bribe to tell even the meagre facts he
+knows. Marie Berard's case is one of the reigning sensations. Her
+lips are now sealed in death.
+
+The baffled police only see in the visit to the "bal de minuit,"
+a bourgeois intrigue of ordinary character.
+
+Jules dares not tell all. He fears the stern French law. Tossing
+on his bed of pain, his only course is to secretly visit Leroyne
+& Co.
+
+The bereaved lover feels that the parties who followed him, were
+directed by some malign agency which is fraught with future danger
+for him.
+
+The poniard of darkness may reach his heart, if he betrays his
+designs.
+
+Strongly suspecting Natalie de Santos, yet he knows her revenge
+struck through meaner hands than her own.
+
+He has no proof. Not a clue. Villa Rocca is to him unknown. He
+fears to talk.
+
+He hobbles forth to his vocation, and dares not even visit Marie's
+grave.
+
+Spies may track him as on that fatal night. And even Leroyne's bank
+may be watched.
+
+He must take this risk, for his only reward lies in that mysterious
+address.
+
+Jules, in workman's blouse, spends an hour with the grave-faced
+banker of the Rue Vivienne.
+
+When he emerges, he has ten one-thousand-franc notes in his
+waist-lining and the promise of more.
+
+The banker knows the whole story of Jules' broken hopes; of the
+promised reward; the double crime.
+
+He directs Jules Tessier to further await orders at the cafe, and
+to ignore the whole affair.
+
+A significant hint about going forth at night makes Jules shudder.
+And the cipher cablegram gives Hardin the disjointed facts of
+Marie's death! His one ally gone. Her lips sealed forever.
+
+Musing in his library, Hardin's clear head unravels this intrigue.
+The Paris police know not the past history of the actors in this
+drama. Jules is simply greedy and thick-headed. Leroyne & Co. are
+passionless bankers.
+
+But Hardin gathers up the knotted threads and unravels all.
+
+Accustomed to weigh evidence, to sift facts, his clear mind indicates
+Natalie de Santos as the brain, Villa Rocca as the striking assassin
+of this plot.
+
+It is all aimed at him.
+
+"Ah, yes!" the chafing lawyer muses, as he walks the legal
+quarter-deck of his superb library. "Villa Rocca and Natalie are
+lovers. The girl tried to blackmail them. She was trapped and put
+out of the way.
+
+"Marie Berard dead--one dangerous ally gone. Villa Rocca and
+Natalie are the only two who know all. Her mind is his now.
+
+"Ah, I have it!" with a devilish sneer. "I will separate these
+two billing and cooing lovers. If I get Villa Rocca here, he will
+never get back to France.
+
+"When he is out of the way, Natalie can prove nothing.
+
+"If she comes here I will treat her story as that of an insane
+woman."
+
+Hardin draws a glass with shaking hand.
+
+"Yes; a private asylum."
+
+As for the heiress, there are plans in his mind he dare not whisper.
+
+Illegitimacy and other reasons may bar her rights. The heiress
+knows nothing and she has not a paper.
+
+Some outsider must fight this case.
+
+In Hardin's dreams he sees his enemies at his feet. On Ernesto
+Villa Rocca's handsome face is the pallor of death. Lagunitas and
+its millions are his by right of power and cunning.
+
+Marie Berard's avenger is thousands of miles away from her grave,
+and his cunning plan already woven to ensnare the Italian when off
+his guard. Yet Hardin's blood boils to feel that "the secret for
+a price" is buried in Marie Berard's grave. Toss as he may, his
+dreams do not discover the lost secret. Even Philip Hardin may
+meet a Nemesis.
+
+Villa Rocca, slain by a well-contrived accident, died for a secret
+he knew not.
+
+His own hand slew the woman who knew alone of the changelings, save
+the bright and defiant ex-queen of the El Dorado.
+
+Dark memories hover around some of the great mines of the Pacific.
+Giant stock operations resulted from a seeming accidental fire.
+A mine filled with water by mysterious breakage of huge pumps.
+Hoisting machinery suddenly unmanageable; dashing to their doom
+unsuspecting wretches. Imprisoned miners, walled up in rich drifts,
+have died under stifling smoke, so that their secrets would die
+with them.
+
+Grinning Molochs of finance have turned markets on these ghastly
+tricks.
+
+Madame de Santos may never suspect how a steel spike adroitly set
+could cut a rope and dash even a noble Villa Rocca to his doom,
+carrying down innocent men as a mask to the crime.
+
+In the clear sky of Natalie's complacency, a lightning stroke of
+the gods brings her palace of delight crashing down around her.
+Nemesis!
+
+The telegraph flashes across the prairies, far beneath the Atlantic;
+the news of Villa Rocca's death arrives. Hardin's cable is brief.
+It is all-sufficient. Her trembling limbs give way. She reads:
+
+SAN FRANCISCO.
+
+Count Ernesto killed while visiting a mine, with friends. Accident
+of hoisting machinery. I was not there. Leave to-night for the
+place. Telegraph your wishes. Remain. Wait my reports. Write fully
+in a few days.
+
+HARDIN.
+
+She is all alone on earth. This is a crushing blow. No one to trust.
+None to advise, for she has leaned on Ernesto. Her mind reels under
+this blow. Pere Francois is her only stay. The sorrow of these days
+needs expression.
+
+Villa Rocca's gay letters continue to arrive. They are a ghastly
+mockery of these hours. Hardin can cast her off now, and claim the
+heiress.
+
+Hardin's full account dispels any suspicion of foul play. After
+a visit to the interior, the count went to see some interesting
+underground workings. By a hazard of mining life, a broken rope
+caused the death of the visitor, with several workmen, and a mine
+superintendent who was doing the honors. Death waited at the foot
+of the shaft for the noble stranger.
+
+Hundreds of days, on thousands of trips like this, the princes
+of the Comstock have risked their own lives in the perils of the
+yawning pits. These dark holes blown out of the mountain rocks have
+their fearful death-rolls to show.
+
+It is the revenge of the gnomes. Every detail points to a frank
+explanation. Journals and reports, with letters from the Italian
+consul, lifted the sad tragedy above any chance of crime or
+collusion. It is kismet.
+
+Hardin's letter was manly. In it, he pledged his honor to carry
+out the agreement, advising Natalie to select a friend to accompany
+her to California with the heiress, as soon as she could travel.
+His banker had orders to supply funds.
+
+"I suggest, in view of this untimely accident, you would sooner
+have your funds settled on you in Europe. It shall be as you wish.
+You may rely on me," so ran the closing lines.
+
+The parted strands of the hoisting cable cannot reveal whether it
+was cut or weakened, yet Hardin knows. It was his devilish masterpiece.
+
+Days of sadness drag down the self-reliant adventuress. Whom can
+she trust now? Dare she confide in Pere Francois?
+
+A simple envelope addressed in a scrawling hand, and postmarked San
+Francisco, drives all sorrow from her heart. The tiger is loosened
+in her nature. She rages madly. A newspaper slip contains the
+following, in flaming prominence:
+
+"THE UNITED STATES SENATE.
+
+"The choice of the Legislature for U. S. Senator will undoubtedly
+fall upon that distinguished jurist Judge Hardin, who is now
+supported by the railroad kings and leading financiers of the coast.
+
+"It is rumored that Judge Hardin will, in the event of his election,
+contract a matrimonial alliance with one of our leaders of society.
+His bride will entertain extensively in the national capital."
+
+A paper bears pithy advice:
+
+"Come out and strike for your rights. You will find a friend to
+back you up. Don't delay."
+
+Natalie recognizes Joe Woods in this. He is the only man knowing
+half the secret. Tossing on her pillow, the Queen of the El Dorado
+suffers the tortures of the Inferno. Now is the time to strike
+Hardin. Before the great senatorial contest. Before this cruel
+marriage. She will boldly claim a secret marriage. The funds now
+in the Paris bank are safe. She can blast his career. If she does
+not take the heiress out, her chances vanish. And once there,
+what will not Hardin do? What is Woods' motive? Jealousy. Revenge.
+Hatred.
+
+Ah, the priest! She will unbosom herself to Pere Francois. She will
+urge him to accompany her and the girl to San Franciso. He will
+be a "background." And his unrivalled calmness and wisdom. Pere
+Francois only knows her as the "elegante" of the Champs Elysees.
+She feels that Woods has been wisely discreet.
+
+Summoning the ecclesiastic, Madame de Santos tells the story of
+her claims upon Hardin.
+
+The old Frenchman passes his rosary beads, with a clinking sound,
+as he listens to the half-truths told him.
+
+"And your child?" he queries.
+
+"I have placed her secretly where Hardin cannot reach her. She
+will be produced if needed."
+
+There is a peculiar smile in the priest's face. "Madame, I will
+accompany you on one condition."
+
+"Name it," cries the siren, "I will furnish money, and every comfort
+for you. It shall be my duty to reward you."
+
+The priest bows gravely.
+
+"I wish to have a resolute man with our party. My young friend,
+Raoul Dauvray, has a lion's courage. Let him go with us. I do not
+wish Judge Hardin to know of my presence in San Francisco. Dauvray
+will guard you with his life."
+
+"I agree to your wishes!" says madame thoughtfully. And loyal
+Raoul will fight for her and his hoped-for bride. In a month there
+is a notable departure from Paris. Madame de Santos, Mademoiselle
+Isabel Valois, with their maids, and Raoul, "en cavalier." On the
+same steamer, Pere Francois travels. He affects no intimacy with
+the distinguished voyagers. His breviary takes up all his time.
+Arrived at New York, Pere Francois leaves for San Francisco several
+days in advance of the others.
+
+It is singular that he goes no farther than Sacramento. The
+legislature is about to assemble. Joseph Woods, as State senator,
+is launched in political life. The robust miner laughs when he is
+asked why he accepts these cheap honors.
+
+"I'm not too old to learn some new tricks," he cheerfully remarks.
+His questions soon exhaust Pere Francois' stock of answers.
+
+A day's conference between the friends leads to a series of
+Napoleon-like mandates of the mining Croesus. Telegraph and cable
+bear abroad to the shores of the Lake of Geneva the summons which
+brings Peyton, with Armand Valois and the lovely blooming "Louise
+Moreau," secretly to the Pacific. Natalie knows nothing of these
+pilgrims. Quietly reaching San Francisco, by a local train, Pere
+Francois becomes again Padre Francisco. He rests his weary head
+under the hallowing sounds of the well-remembered bells of the past
+at the Mission Dolores.
+
+Natalie de Santos rubs her eyes in wonder at the queen city of the
+West, with its conquered hills and vanished sand-dunes. Whirled away
+to a secure quiet retreat in a convent, selected by Pere Francois,
+the heiress and her young guardian are safe from even Hardin's
+wiles.
+
+Pere Francois at New York has conferred a day with Judge Davis,
+and bids his new charge be calm and trust to his own advice. Isabel
+Valois is in a maze of new impressions, and bewildered by a strange
+language.
+
+Bravely attired, and of a generous port, Raoul Dauvray installs
+himself in one of the palatial hotels which are the pride of the
+occidental city. Colonel Joseph Woods is conspicuously absent.
+
+When the fatigue of travel is over, Natalie de Santos quietly summons
+Philip Hardin to the interview she dreads. She has been prepared
+by Pere Francois for this ordeal. Yet her tiger blood leaps up in
+bubbling floods. She will at last face the would-be traitor, and
+upbraid him. Oh, for one resolute friend!
+
+It is in another convent that lovely "Isabel Valois" is concealed.
+The heiress longs to burst her bonds. Is not Raoul near her?
+Assured of a necessity for patience, the wayward beauty bides her
+time. Every day the roses she caresses, whisper to her of the ardent
+lover who sighs near her in vain.
+
+Philip Hardin steels himself to face the woman he intends to trick
+and deceive at the very last. There are such things as insane
+asylums in California, if she makes any hubbub.
+
+But he has a "coup d'etat" in his mind. The old schemer will bring
+Natalie to terms. Flattery first; fear afterwards.
+
+"And they are face to face once more."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+LOVERS ONCE.--STRANGERS NOW.--FACE TO FACE.
+
+
+
+
+
+Ushered into a private room, the soulless Hardin's iron nerves
+fail him. His heart leaps up wildly when royal "Madame de Santos"
+approaches silently. Heavens! Her startling beauty is only mellowed
+with time. Another woman than the Hortense Duval of old stands
+before him. A goddess.
+
+She has grown into her new role in life.
+
+"Hortense!" he eagerly cries, approaching her.
+
+"Spare me any further deceit, Philip," she coldly replies. Seating
+herself, she gazes at him with flaming eyes! She is a queen at
+bay!
+
+He is startled. A declaration of war. No easy mastery now.
+
+"Where is your charge?" Hardin queries.
+
+"Where you will not see her, until we understand each other,"
+rejoins the determined woman. Her steady glance pierces his very
+soul. Memories of old days thrill his bosom.
+
+"What do you mean by all this?" Hardin's nerve returns. He must
+not yield to mortal.
+
+The woman who queened it over his home, extends a jewelled hand
+with an envelop. "Explain this," she sharply cries.
+
+The Judge reads it. It is the announcement of his double senatorial
+and matrimonial campaign.
+
+"Is there any foundation for that report?" Madame de Santos
+deliberately asks.
+
+"There is," briefly rejoins the lawyer. He muses a moment. What
+devil is awakened in her now? This is no old-time pleading suppliant.
+
+"Then you will not see Isabel until you have settled with me and
+provided the funds promised before the death of the count."
+
+"Ah!" sneers the old advocate; "I understand you NOW, madame. Blood
+money!"
+
+"Partly," remarks Madame de Santos. "I also insist upon your giving
+up this marriage."
+
+Hardin springs from his chair. Age has robbed him of none of his
+cold defiance. He will crush her.
+
+"You dare to dream of forcing me to marry you?" His eyes have the
+glitter of steel.
+
+"You need not give up the senate, but you must marry me, privately,
+and give your own child a name. Then I will leave, with the funds
+you will provide. You can separate from me afterward by the mere
+lapse of time. There will be no publicity needed."
+
+"Indeed!" Hardin snarls, "A nice programme, You have had some
+meddling fool advise you; some later confidant; some protector."
+
+"Exactly so, Judge," replies the woman, her bosom heaving in scorn
+and defiance. "We have lived together. We are privately married
+now by law! Philip, you know the nameless girl you have never asked
+for is your own child."
+
+Hardin paces the floor in white rage. He gazes sternly in her eyes.
+She regards his excited movements, glaring with defiant eyes. A
+tigress at bay.
+
+"I will end this here, madame! In two weeks Isabel Valois will be
+eighteen. If she is not forthcoming I will invoke the law. If I
+am forced to fight you, you will not have a cent from me. I will
+never marry you! I decline to provide for you or yours, unless you
+yield this girl up. You must leave the country before the senatorial
+election. That is my will."
+
+Natalie faces her old lover. Tyrant of her heart once, he is now
+a malignant foe!
+
+"Philip Hardin," she pleads, "look out of that window. You can see
+the house my child was born in--YOUR home, OUR home! Philip, give
+that child a name; I will leave you in peace forever!" There is
+the old music in her velvet voice.
+
+"Never!" cries the Judge. "Give up the girl you took away. Leave
+at once. I will secure your fortune. You cannot force me. You never
+could. You cannot now!" He glares defiance to the death.
+
+His eyes tell the truth. He will not yield,
+
+"Then God help you, Philip," the woman solemnly says. "You will
+never reach the Senate! You will never live to marry another
+woman!"
+
+"Do you threaten me, you she-devil?" snarls Hardin, alarmed at
+the settled, resolute face. "I have a little piece of news for
+you which will block your game, my lady. There is no proof of the
+legitimacy of the child, Isabel Valois. A claim has already been
+filed by a distant Mexican relative of the Peraltas. The suit will
+come up soon. If the girl is declared illegitimate, you can take
+her back to France, and keep her as a beggar. You are in my hands!"
+He chuckles softly.
+
+"Philip Hardin, you are a liar and a monster. This is your conspiracy.
+Now, show yourself a thief, also." Natalie retorts. The words cut
+the proud man like a lash.
+
+He seizes her jewelled wrist. He is beside himself.
+
+"Beware," she hisses. "By the God who made me, I'll strike you
+dead."
+
+He recoils.
+
+She is once more the queen of the El Dorado. Her ready knife is
+flashing before his eyes. "You have a fearful reckoning to answer.
+You will meet your match yet at the game of Life!" she cries.
+
+But, Natalie de Santos is stunned by his devilish plot to rob the
+despoiled orphan even of her name. He reads her face. "I will
+give you a day to think this over. I will come to-morrow." Hardin's
+voice rings with ill-concealed triumph.
+
+"Not ten minutes will you give me. I tell you now I will crush you
+in your hour of victory, if I die to do it. Once more, will you
+marry me and give your child a name?" She rises and paces room, a
+beautiful fury.
+
+"You have your answer," he coldly replies.
+
+"Then, may the plundered orphan's curse drag you down to the hell
+you merit," is Natalie's last word as she walks swiftly out of the
+door. She is gone.
+
+He is alone. Somethings rings with dull foreboding in his ears as
+his carriage rolls away. An orphan's curse! A cold clammy feeling
+gnaws at his heart. An orphan's curse!
+
+Ah! from the tomb of buried years the millionaire hears the voice
+of Maxime Valois and shudders:
+
+"May God deal with you as you deal with my child."
+
+At home, in his library, where the silken rustling of that woman's
+dress has thrilled him in bygone years, the old Judge drinks a
+glass of cognac and slowly recovers his mental balance.
+
+Through smoke-clouds he sees the marble chamber of the Senate of
+the Great Republic. He must move on to the marriage, he has deferred
+until the election. It is a pledge of twenty votes in joint ballot.
+
+As for the girl Isabel, why, there is no human power to prove her
+legitimacy now. That priest. Bah! Dead years ago. Silence has
+rolled the stone over his tomb.
+
+Hardin has foreseen for years this quarrel with Natalie de Santos.
+But she can prove absolutely nothing. He will face her boldly. She
+is ALONE in the world. He can tear the veil aside and blacken her
+name.
+
+And yet, as evening falls, his spirit sinks within him. He can
+not, will not, marry the woman who has defied him. What devil, what
+unseen enemy put her on his track again? If he had never trusted
+her. Ah, too late; too late!
+
+Secretly he had laid his well-devised mines. The judge in Mariposa
+is weighted down with a golden bribe. The court officials are under
+his orders. But who is the unknown foe counselling Natalie? He
+cannot fathom it. Blackmail! Yes, blackmail.
+
+In three days Hardin is at Sacramento. His satellites draw up their
+cohorts for the senatorial struggle. If the legislature names him
+senator, then his guardianship will be quickly settled before the
+Mariposa Court. There, the contest will be inaugurated, which will
+declare Isabel Valois a nameless child of poverty. This is the last
+golden lock to the millions of Lagunitas, The poor puppet he has
+set up to play the contestant is under his control. He had wished
+to see Natalie homeward bound before this denouement. It must be.
+He muses. Kill her! Ah, no; too dangerous. He must FOIL her.
+
+But her mad rage at his coming marriage. Well, he knew the ambitious
+and stately lady who aspired to share his honors would condone the
+story of his early "bonnes fortunes." What could lonely Natalie
+do at the trial? Nothing. He has the Court in his pocket. He will
+brave her rage.
+
+Hardin writes a final note, warning the woman he fears, to attend
+with the heiress on the day of the calling for his accounting.
+
+Marvels never cease. He tears open the answer, after two sleepless
+nights. She simply replies that the young Lady of Lagunitas will be
+delivered to him on the appointed day. He cannot read this riddle.
+Is it a surrender in hopes of golden terms? He knows not of Pere
+Francois' advice.
+
+He smiles in complacent glee. He has broken many a weak woman's
+nerve: she is only one more.
+
+While he ponders, waiting that reply, Natalie Santos, with heavy
+heart, tells the priest the story of her tryst with her old lover.
+
+Pere Francois smiles thoughtfully. He answers: "Be calm. You will
+be protected. Trust to me. I will confer with our advisers. Not
+a word to Isabel of impending trouble."
+
+The little court-house at Mariposa is not large enough for the
+crowd which pours in to see the Lady of Lagunitas when the fated
+day approaches. It is the largest estate in the country. A number
+of strangers have arrived. They are targets for wild rumors. Several
+grave-looking arrivals are evidently advocates. There is "law" in
+their very eyebrows.
+
+Raoul Dauvray escorts Madame de Santos and the girl whose rumored
+loveliness is famous already. Philip Hardin, with several noted
+counsel, is in readiness. Pere Francois is absent. There is an
+elderly invalid, with an Eastern party of strangers, who resembles
+him wonderfully.
+
+On the case being reached, there is a busy hum of preparation.
+One or two professional-looking men of mysterious identity quietly
+take their places at the bar. In the clerk's offices there is also
+a bevy of strangers. By a fortuitous chance, the stalwart form of
+Colonel Joe Woods illuminates the dingy court-room. His business
+is not on the calendar, He sits idly playing with a huge diamond
+ring until the "matter of the guardianship of Isabel Valois" is
+reached.
+
+Several lawyers spring to their feet at once. A queer gleam is
+in Joe Woods' eye as he nods carelessly to Hardin. They are both
+Knights of the Golden Circle.
+
+Judge Hardin's counsel opens the case, Hardin passes Natalie in
+the court-room, with one last look of warning and menace. There
+is no quiver to her eyelids. The graceful figure of a veiled young
+girl is beside her.
+
+When Hardin's advocate ceases, counsel rises to bring the contest
+for the heirship of Lagunitas to the judicial notice of the Court.
+
+The Judge is asked to stay the confirmation of the guardian's
+accounts and reports. His Honor blandly asks if the young lady is
+in court.
+
+"Let Isabel Valois take the stand," is the direction.
+
+Judge Hardin arises and passing to Natalie Santos, whose glittering
+eyes are steadily fixed on his, in an inscrutable gaze, leads the
+young lady beside her to the stand. Natalie has whispered a few
+words of cheer.
+
+All eyes are fixed upon the beautiful stranger, who is removing a
+veil from a face of the rarest loveliness. There is a sensation.
+
+Philip Hardin rises to his feet, ghastly pale, as Joseph Woods
+quietly leads up to the platform a slight, girlish form. It is
+another veiled woman, who quietly seats herself beside the claimant.
+
+There is amazement in the court-room, "His Honor," with a startled
+glance at Judge Hardin, who is gazing vacantly at the two figures
+before him, says, "Which of these young ladies is Miss Isabel
+Valois?"
+
+A voice is heard. It is one of the strange counselors speaking.
+
+Hardin hears the words, as if each stabbed him to the heart.
+
+"Your Honor, we are prepared to show that the last young lady who
+has taken the stand, is Miss Isabel Valois."
+
+There is consternation in the assembly. Hardin's veins are knotted
+on his forehead. He stares blankly at the two girls. His eyes turn
+to Natalie de Santos. She is gazing as if the grave had given up
+its dead. Her cheeks whiten to ashes. Pere Francois, Henry Peyton,
+and Armand Valois enter and seat themselves quietly by the side
+of the man who is speaking. What does this all mean? No one knows.
+The lawyer resumes.
+
+"We will show your Honor, by the evidence of the priest who baptized
+her, and by the records of the church, that this young lady is the
+lawful and only child of Maxime Valois and Dolores Peralta. We
+have abundant proof to explain the seeming paradox. We are in a
+position to positively identify the young lady, and to dispose of
+the contest raised here to-day, as to the marriage of the parents
+of the real heiress."
+
+Philip Hardin has sprung to his lawyers. They are amazed at the
+lovely apparition of another Isabel Valois. At the bidding of the
+Court, Louise Moreau's gentle face appears.
+
+"And who is the other young lady, according to your theory?" falters
+the astounded judge, who cannot on the bench receive the support
+of his Mephistopheles.
+
+"We will leave that to be proved, your Honor! We will prove OUR
+client to be Isabel Valois. We will prove the other lady not to
+be. It remains for the guardian, who produces her, to show who she
+may be." The lawyer quietly seats himself.
+
+There is a deadlock. There is confusion in court. Side by side
+are seated two dark-eyed girls, in the flush of a peerless young
+womanhood. Lovely and yet unlike in facial lines, they are both
+daughters of the South. Their deep melting eyes are gazing, in
+timid wonder, at each other. They are strangers.
+
+"What is the name of your witness?" the judge mechanically questions.
+The lawyer calmly answers, "Francois Ribaut (known in religion
+as 'Padre Francisco'), who married the father and mother of this
+young lady, and also baptized her."
+
+A faint sob from Natalie breaks the silence. Her eyes are filled
+with sudden tears. She knows the truth at last. The priest has
+risen. Hardin looks once more upon that pale countenance of the
+padre which has haunted his dreams so long. "Is it one from the
+dead?" he murmurs. But, with quick wit, his lawyer demands to place
+on the witness stand, the lady charged with the nurture of "Isabel
+Valois." Philip Hardin gazes wolfishly at the royal beauty who is
+sworn. A breathless silence wraps the room.
+
+The preliminary questions over, while Hardin's eyes rove wildly over
+the face of the woman he has cast off, the direct interrogatory is
+asked:
+
+"Do you know who this young lady is?" says the attorney, with
+a furtive prompting from Hardin. "I do!" answers the lady, with
+broken voice.
+
+Before another question can be asked, the colleagues of Hardin's
+leading lawyer hold a whispered colloquy with their chief.
+
+There is a breathless silence in the court. The principal attorney
+for the guardian asks the Court for a postponement of two weeks.
+
+"We were prepared to meet an inquiry into the legitimacy of the
+ward of our client. This production of another claimant to the
+same name, is a surprise to us. On account of the gravity of this
+matter, we ask for a stay."
+
+No objection is heard. His Honor, anxious himself to have time
+to confer with the would-be senator, adjourns the hearing for two
+weeks.
+
+Before Hardin could extricate himself from the circle of his
+advisers, the long-expected girl he has seen for the first time
+has disappeared with Madame de Santos. He has no control over her
+now. Too late!
+
+His blood is bounding through his veins. He has been juggled with.
+By whom? Natalie, that handsome fiend. And yet, she was paralyzed
+at the apparition of the second beauty, who has also vanished.
+
+He must see Natalie at once before she can frame a new set of lies.
+After all, the MINE is safe.
+
+As he strides swiftly across the plaza, the thought of the senatorial
+election, and the lady whom he has to placate, presses on his mind.
+
+As for the election, he will secure that. If Natalie attempts
+exposure, he will claim it to be a blackmail invention of political
+enemies. Ha! Money! Yes, the golden arguments of concrete power.
+He will use it in floods of double eagles.
+
+He will see Natalie on her way to Paris before the second hearing.
+Yes, and send some one out of the State to watch her as far as New
+York. He must buy her off.
+
+A part of the money in hand; the rest payable at Paris to her own
+order. She must be out of the way.
+
+Mariposa boasts two hotels. The avoidance of Hardin's friends brings
+all the strangers, perforce, together in the other. They have been
+strangely private in their habits.
+
+Philip Hardin's brow is set. It is no time for trifling. He sends
+his name up to Madame de Santos. She begs to be excused. "Would
+Judge Hardin kindly call in the evening?"
+
+This would be after a council of war of his enemies. It must be
+prevented. He pens a few words on a scrap of paper, and waits with
+throbbing pulses,
+
+"Madame will receive him." As he walks upstairs, he realizes he has
+to face a reckoning with Joe Woods. He will make that clumsy-headed
+Croesus rue the day. And yet Woods is in the State Senate, and may
+oppose his election.
+
+With his eyes fixed on the doors of Natalie's apartment, he does
+not notice Woods gazing at him, from the end of the hall, in the
+open door of the portico.
+
+Natalie motions him to a seat as he enters. He looks at her in
+amazement. She is not the same woman who entered that court-house.
+He speaks. The sound of his own voice makes him start.
+
+"What is all this devil's tomfoolery? Explain it to me. Are you
+mad?" His suppressed feelings overmaster him. He gives way to an
+imprudent rage.
+
+"Are you ready to marry me? Are you ready to keep the oath you
+swore to stand by me?" Her dark eyes burn into his heart. She is
+calm, but intense in her demand.
+
+"Tell me the truth or I'll choke it out of you," he hisses, grasping
+her rudely.
+
+His rashness breaks the last bond between them. A shriek from the
+struggling woman echoes through the room.
+
+The door flies open.
+
+Hardin is hurled to the wall, reeling blindly.
+
+The energetic voice of Joe Woods breaks the silence. "You are a
+mean dog, but, by God, I did not think you'd strangle a woman."
+
+Hardin has struggled to his feet. In his hand, flashes a pistol.
+
+Joe Woods smiles.
+
+"Trying the old El Dorado dodge, Judge, won't work. Sit down now.
+Listen to me. Put up that shooting iron, or I'll nail you to the
+wall."
+
+His bowie knife presses a keen point to Hardin's breast. It is
+checkmate.
+
+Natalie Santos is buried in the cushions of her chair. She is sobbing
+wildly. Shuffling feet are at the door. The fracas has been overheard.
+
+Joe Woods quietly opens it. He speaks calmly. "The lady has fainted.
+It's all right. Go away."
+
+Through the door a girl's lovely face is seen, in frightened shyness.
+"I'll send for you, miss, soon," Colonel Joe remarks, with awkward
+sympathy.
+
+He seats himself nonchalantly.
+
+"Now, Hardin, I've got a little account to settle with you. I'll
+give you all the time you want. But I'll say right here before this
+lady, I know you are under an obligation to treat her decently.
+
+"I remember her at the El Dorado!"
+
+Hardin springs to his feet. Natalie raises her tearful eyes.
+
+"Keep cool, Judge," continues the speaker. "You used to take care
+of her. Now I'm a-going to advise her in her little private affairs.
+I want you to let her severely alone. I want you to treat her as she
+deserves; like a woman, not a beast. You can finish this interview
+with her. I'm a-going out. If you approach her after this, without
+my presence or until she sends for you, I'll scatter your brains
+with my old six-shooter. I shall see she gets a square deal. She's
+not going to leave California till this whole business is cleared
+up. You hear me." Joe's mood is dangerous.
+
+"Now go ahead with your palaver, madame. I'm not going to leave
+the house. I know my business, and I'll stand by you as long as my
+name is Joe Woods. When you're done I want you to see me, and see
+my lawyer."
+
+There is silence. Natalie's eyes give the stalwart miner a glance
+of unutterable thankfulness.
+
+She has met a man at last.
+
+Her bosom heaves with pride, her eyes beam on rough old Joe. Woods
+has taken out an unusually long cigar. He lights it at the door,
+and leisurely proceeds to smoke it on the upper veranda.
+
+When his foot-fall dies away, Hardin essays to speak. His lips
+are strangely dry. He mutters something, and the words fail him.
+Natalie interrupts, with scorn: "Curse you and your money, you
+cowardly thief. You have met your match at last. I trusted to your
+honor. Your hands were on my throat just now. I have but one word
+to say to you now. Go, face that man out there!" Hardin is in a
+blind rage.
+
+His legal vocabulary finds no ready phrase of adieu. His foot is
+on the top stair. Joe Woods says carelessly:
+
+"Judge, you and I had better have a little talk to-night." Ah,
+his enemy! He knows him at last. Hardin hoarsely mutters: "Where?
+when?"
+
+"When you please," says Woods.
+
+"Ten, to-night; your room. I'll bring a friend with me." Hardin
+nods, and passes on, crossing the square to his hotel. He must have
+time for thought; for new plans; for revenge; yes, bloody revenge.
+
+Colonel Joseph Woods spends an hour in conference with Peyton and
+Father Francois. Their plans are all finished.
+
+Judge Davis, who is paralyzed by the vehemence of California
+character, caresses his educated whiskers. He pets his eye-glasses,
+while the three gentlemen confer. He is essentially a man of peace.
+He fears he may become merely a "piece of man" in case the appeal
+to revolvers, or mob law, is brought into this case. They do things
+differently in New York.
+
+While the two lovely girls are using every soothing art of womanly
+sympathy to care for Natalie, it begins to dawn upon each of them
+that their futures are strangely interlinked. The presence of Madame
+de Santos seals their lips. They long for the hour when they can
+converse in private. They know now that the redoubtable Joe Woods
+has TWO fatherless girls to protect instead of ONE.
+
+Natalie Santos, lying on her couch, watches these young beauties
+flitting about her room. "Does the heiress, challenged in her
+right, dream of her real parentage?" A gleam of light breaks in on
+the darkness of her sufferings. Why not peace and the oblivion of
+retirement for her, if her child's future is assured in any way?
+Why not?
+
+Looking forward hopefully to a conference with Colonel Joe, she
+fears only the clear eyes of old Padre Francisco. "Shall she tell
+him all?" In these misgivings and vain rackings of the mind, she
+passes the afternoon. She yields to her better angel, and gives
+the story of her life to the patient priest.
+
+Armand Valois and Raoul Dauvray have a blessed new bond of brotherhood.
+They are both lovers. With Padre Francisco, they are a guard of
+honor, watching night and day the two heiresses.
+
+They share the secret consciousness of Natalie de Santos that Joe
+Woods has in store some great stroke.
+
+Judge Davis, Peyton, and the resolute Joe are the only calm ones in
+the settlement. For, far and wide the news runs of racy developments.
+In store, saloon, and billiard lounging-place, on the corners, and
+around the deserted court-room, knots of cigar-smoking scandal-mongers
+assuage their inward cravings by frequent resort to the never-failing
+panacea--whiskey. Wild romances are current, in which two great
+millionaires, two sets of lawyers, duplicate heiresses, two foreign
+dukes, the old padre and the queenly madame are the star actors in
+a thrilling local drama, which is so far unpunctuated by the crack
+of the revolver.
+
+It is a struggle for millions, and the clash of arms will surely
+come.
+
+There has been no great issue ever resolved in Mariposa before the
+legal tribunal, which has not added its corpses to the mortuary
+selections lying in queer assortment on the red clay hillsides.
+
+"Justice nods in California while the pistols are being drawn."
+
+Hardin, closeted with his lawyers, suspends their eager plotting,
+to furtively confer in private with the judge.
+
+When the first stars sweep into the blue mountain skies, and
+a silver moon rises slowly over the pine-clad hills, Joseph Woods
+summons all his latent fascinations to appease Madame Natalie de
+Santos. The sturdy Missourian has had his contretemps with Sioux
+and Pawnee. He has faced prairie fires, stampeded buffalo herds,
+and met dangers by flood and field. Little personal discussions
+with horse thieves, some border frays, and even a chance encounter
+on a narrow trail with a giant grizzly, have tried his nerve. But
+he braces with a good stiff draught of cognac now. He fears the
+wily and fascinating Natalie. He is at heart a would-be lady's
+man. Roughness is foreign to his nature, but he will walk the grim
+path of duty.
+
+When he thinks of flinching, there rises on his memory the lonely
+grave where Peyton laid Maxime Valois to rest on the bloody field
+of Peachtree Creek, with the stars and bars lying lightly on his
+gallant breast. And he calmly enters the presence of the once famous
+siren.
+
+There is a mute entreaty in her eyes, as she motions him to a seat.
+
+Joseph toys nervously with the huge diamond, which is a badge "de
+rigueur" of his rank and grade as a bonanza king.
+
+"I do not wish to agitate or distress you, madame," begins Joe,
+and his voice is very kind.
+
+"I broke out a little on Hardin; all bluff, you know. Just to show
+him a card. Now will you trust and let me help you? I mean to bring
+you out all right. I can't tell you all I know. I am going to fight
+Hardin on another quarrel. It will be to the death. I can just as
+well square your little account too, if you will trust me. Will
+you let me handle your movements, up to the legal issue. After that
+you are free. I'll give you the word of an honest man, you shall
+not suffer. Will you trust me?"
+
+Joe's big eyes are looking very appealingly in hers.
+
+Without a word, she places her hand in his. "I am yours until that
+time, but spare me as much as you can--the old histories, you know,"
+her voice falters. She is a woman, after all.
+
+"Now see here, madame! I swear to you I am the only private man in
+California who knows your secret, except Hardin, now. I got it in
+the days long past. No one shall know your identity." He fixes a
+keen glance on her: "Is there anyone else you wish to spare?" he
+softly says.
+
+"Yes." She is sobbing now. "It is my child. Don't let her know
+that awful past."
+
+Joseph's eyes are filled with manly sorrow. He whispers with
+eagerness:
+
+"Her father is"--
+
+"Philip Hardin," falters the woman, whose stately head is now bowed
+in her hands.
+
+"I'll protect that child. She shall never want a friend, if you do
+one thing," Joe falters.
+
+Natalie raises a white face to his.
+
+"What is it?" she huskily whispers.
+
+"Will you swear, in open court, which of these two girls is your
+own child, if I ask you to?" He is eager and pleading.
+
+She reads his very soul. She hesitates. "And you will protect the
+innocent girl, against his wrath?" There is all a mother's love in
+her appeal.
+
+"Both of you. I swear it. You shall not want for money or protection,"
+Joe solemnly says.
+
+"Then, I will!" Natalie firmly answers.
+
+He springs to her side.
+
+"Does Hardin know which girl is his daughter?"
+
+"He does not!" Natalie says slowly.
+
+There is a silence; Joe can hear his own heart beat. Victory at
+last.
+
+"I have nothing to ask you, except to see no one but myself, Padre
+Francisco, or my lawyer. If Hardin wants to see you, I'll be present.
+Now I am going to see him to-night. You will be watched over night
+and day. I am going to have every precaution taken. I shall be near
+you always. Rest in safety. I think I can save you any opening up
+of the old days.
+
+"I will see you early."
+
+Her hands clasp his warmly! She says: "Colonel, send Pere Francois
+to me. I will tell him all you need to know. He will know what to
+keep back."
+
+"That's right," cries Joseph, warmly. "I know how to handle Hardin
+now. You can bank on the padre. He's dead game."
+
+"And your reward?" Natalie whispers, with bowed head.
+
+A wild thought makes the blood surge to Joe's brain. He slowly
+stammers, "My reward?" His eyes tell him he must make no mistake.
+A flash of genius.
+
+"You will square my account, madame, if you make no objection to
+the immediate marriage of your daughter to Dauvray. He's a fine
+fellow for a Frenchman, and she shall never know this story. She'll
+have money enough. I'll see to that." Joe's voice is earnest.
+
+Natalie's arms are stretched to him in thanks. "In God's name, be
+it, my noble friend."
+
+Joe dares not trust himself longer.
+
+He retires, leaving Natalie standing, a splendid statue, with
+shining, hopeful eyes. Her blessing follows him; sin-shadowed though
+she be, it reaches the Court of Heaven.
+
+Natalie, in silent sorrow, sees her labor of years brushed away.
+Her child can never be the heiress of Lagunitas. Fate has brought
+the gentle Louise Moreau to the very threshold of her old home.
+It is Providence. Destiny. The all-knowing Pere Francois reveals
+to her how strangely the life-path of the heiress has been guarded.
+"My daughter," the priest solemnly says, "be comforted. Right shall
+prevail. Trust me, trust Colonel Woods. Your child may fall heir
+yet to a name and to her own inheritance. The ways of Him who
+pardons are mysterious." He leaves her comforted and yet not daring
+to break the seal of silence to the lovely claimants.
+
+While Pere Francois confers with Natalie, as the moon sails high
+in heaven over the fragrant pines, Woods and Peyton exchange a few
+quiet words over their cigars.
+
+By the repeater which Joe consults it is now a quarter of ten. The
+two gentlemen stroll over the grassy plaza. By a singular provincial
+custom each carries a neat navy revolver, where a hand could drop
+easily on it. Joe also caresses his favorite knife in his overcoat
+pocket.
+
+In five minutes they are seated with Philip Hardin in his room. There
+is an air of gloomy readiness in Hardin which shows the unbending
+nature of the man. He is alone. Woods frankly says: "Judge Hardin,
+I wish you to know my friend, Mr. Henry Peyton. If anything should
+happen to me, he knows all my views. He will represent me. As you
+are alone, I will ask Mr. Peyton to wait for me below."
+
+Henry Peyton bows and passes downstairs, where he is regarded as
+an archangel of the enemy. For the Hardin headquarters are loyal to
+their great chief. The man who controls the millions of Lagunitas
+is surrounded by his loyal body-guard at Mariposa.
+
+When the two men are alone, Woods waits for Hardin to speak. He is
+silent. There is a gulf between them which never can be bridged.
+Joseph feels he is no match for Hardin in chicanery, but he has
+his little surprise in store for the lawyer. It is an armed truce.
+
+"Hardin, I've come over to-night to talk a little politics with
+you," begins Joseph. His eye is glued on the Judge's, who steadily
+returns the glance.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+JUDGE HARDIN MEETS HIS MATCH.--A SENATORIAL ELECTION.--IN A MARIPOSA
+COURT-ROOM.--THE TRUST FULFILLED AT LAGUNITAS.
+
+
+
+
+
+"You need not trouble yourself about my political aspirations,
+sir," haughtily remarks Hardin, glaring at the stolid visitor,
+who calmly continues.
+
+"I don't allow no trouble, Jedge," Woods drawls. "I'll play
+my cards open. I run this here joint convention, which makes or
+breaks you. I'm dead-flat plain in my meaning. I can burst up your
+election as United States Senator, unless you and me can make 'a
+deal.'"
+
+"Your terms?" sneers Hardin, with a glance at Joe's hand in his
+pocket, "Toujours pret" is Joseph's motto.
+
+"Oh, my terms! I'll be open, Jedge. I leave this here lawsuit between
+us, to our lawyers. I will fight you fair in that. You will find
+me on the square."
+
+"Do you threaten me, sir?" demands Hardin.
+
+"Now, make your own game." Joe's brow darkens. "Hardin, I want
+you to hear me out; you can take it then, in any shape you want
+to. Fight or trade." Woods' old Missouri grit is aroused.
+
+"Go on," says Hardin, with a rising gorge.
+
+"You're talking marriage." Joe's sneer maddens Hardin." I tell you
+now to settle old scores with the lady whom I found in your hands
+to-night. If you don't, you're not going to the Senate."
+
+Hardin gathers himself. Ah, that hand in the pocket!
+
+"Don't make a mistake, Jedge," coldly interjects Woods. "Drop that
+gun. We're no bravos."
+
+"I positively decline to have any bargain with you on my private
+matters. After you leave this room, you can look out for yourself,
+if you cross my path," hisses the Judge, his face pale and ghastly.
+
+"Now, Jedge," Joe snaps out, "watch your own scalp. Hardin, I'll
+not dodge you. You are going on the wrong road. We split company
+here. But there's room enough in California for you and me. As for
+any 'shooting talk,' it's all bosh. You will get in a hot corner,
+unless you hear me out. I tell you now, to acknowledge your child
+by that woman. Save your election; save yourself, old man.
+
+"She'll go off to France, but you've got to give her child a square
+name and a set-out."
+
+"Never!" yells Hardin, forgetting himself, as with blind rage he
+points to the door.
+
+"All right," says Joseph, coolly. "You'll never be senator till
+you send for me. You have fair warning. My cards are face-up on
+the table." Hardin, speechless with rage, sees him disappear.
+
+Peyton and Joe Woods walk over the silent plaza, with the twinkling
+stars sweeping overhead. They exchange but few words. They seek
+the rest of their pillows. Joe's prayers consist of reloading his
+revolvers.
+
+The last watcher in Mariposa is Hardin, the hate of hell in
+his heart. A glass of neat brandy is tossed off. He throws himself
+heavily on the bed. The world is a torment to him now. "On to
+Sacramento" is his last thought. Money, in hoards and heaps, will
+drown this rich booby's vain interference. For, legislatures sell
+senatorial honors in California openly like cabbage in a huckster's
+wagon, only at higher prices.
+
+Before the gray squirrels are leaping on the madronas and nutty oaks
+next dawn of day, Hardin is miles away towards the State capital.
+His legal forces remain. He takes one trusty agent, to distribute
+his golden arguments.
+
+When Woods leisurely finishes his breakfast he strolls under the
+pines with Pere Francois. There are also two youthful couples.
+They are reading lessons, not of law, but of love, in each other's
+shining eyes as they wander in the lonely forest paths.
+
+Seated by a dashing mountain brook which runs past the town, Pere
+Francois gravely informs Joe that Natalie de Santos has given him
+the dark history of her chequered life. Though the seal of the
+confessional protects it, he has her consent to supply Woods and
+Judge Davis with certain facts. Her sworn statements will verify
+these if needed.
+
+After a long interview with Madame de Santos, Colonel Joseph follows
+Hardin to Sacramento. He has one or two resolute friends with him
+as a guard against the coarse Western expedient of assassination.
+He knows Hardin's deft touches of old.
+
+As the stage rattles around dizzy heights, below massy cliffs,
+swinging under the forest arches, the Missouri champion reasons out
+that Hardin's hands are tied personally as regards a bloody public
+quarrel, by the coming senatorial fight. To pluck the honors of the
+Senate at last from a divided State, is a testimony to the lawyer's
+great abilities. Joe thinks, with a sigh of regret, that some mere
+animated money-bag may sit under the white dome, and misrepresent
+the sovereign State of California. "Well, if Hardin won't bend,
+he's got to break." The miner puffs his cigar in search of wisdom.
+
+Single-minded and unswerving, Woods goes directly to his splendid
+rooms at the "Golden Eagle," on reaching Sacramento.
+
+The capital city of the State is crowded with legislators and attaches.
+The lobby banditti, free lances, and camp followers of the annual
+raid upon the pockets of the people are on guard. While his meal is
+being served in his parlor, he indites a note to Hardin's political
+Mark Antony. It will rest with him to crown a triumph or deliver
+his unheard oration over the body of a politically dead Caesar.
+The billet reads:
+
+"I want you instantly, on a matter deciding Hardin's election. You
+can show him this."
+
+In half an hour, over burgundy and the ever-flowing champagne,
+Woods, feeling his visitor in good humor, fires his first gun. He
+begins with half-shut eyes, in a genial tone:
+
+"Harris, I have sent for you to tell you Hardin and me have locked
+horns over some property. Now I won't vote for him, but I'll hold
+off my dogs. I won't work against him if he signs a sealed paper
+I'm goin' to give you. If he don't, I'll open out, and tell an old
+yarn to our secret nominating caucus. I am solidly responsible for
+the oration. He will be laid out. It rests only with his friends
+then, to spread this scandal. He has time to square this. It does
+not hang on party interests. I am a man of my word, you know.
+Now, I leave it to you to consider if he has any right to ask his
+friends to back him in certain defeat. See him quick. If he tells
+you to hear the story from me, I will tell you all. If he flies
+the track, I am silent until the caucus. THEN, I will speak, if
+I'm alive. If I am dead, my pard will speak for me. My death would
+seal his utter ruin. I can stand the consequences. He has got to
+come up to the captain's office and settle." The astounded Harris
+gloomily muses while Woods quietly inscribes a few lines on a sheet
+of paper. He seals the envelop, and hands it to Senator Harris.
+
+"I won't leave this camp, Harris, till I get your answer," calmly
+remarks Joseph. He refuses to waste more words in explanation.
+"See Hardin," is his only phrase. "It's open war then between him
+and me."
+
+Harris, with a very grave face, enters the private rooms of Judge
+Hardin at the Orleans Hotel.
+
+Hardin listens, with scowling brow as black as night. He tears open
+the envelop! His faithful henchman wonders what can bring night's
+blackness to Judge Hardin's face.
+
+The lines are a careful acknowledgment of the paternity of the girl
+child of "Natalie de Santos," born at San Francisco and now about
+eighteen years of age. It closes with a statement of her right to
+inherit as a lawful heiress from him.
+
+"I will shoot that dog on sight, if he carries out this threat,"
+deliberately says Hardin.
+
+"Judge," coldly replies his lieutenant, "does this note refer to
+public affairs, or to party interests?"
+
+"Private matters!" replies Hardin, his eyes flashing.
+
+"Then, let me say, I will keep silent in this matter. I shall
+ask you to name some other man to handle your candidacy before the
+Legislature. Joe Woods is honest, and absolutely of iron nerve.
+You can send for any of your other friends, and choose a man to
+take my place. I won't fight Joe. Woods never lied in his life.
+
+"If you will state that you have adjusted this difference with him,
+I am at your service. Let me know your decision soon. He waits for
+me. In all else, I am yours, as a friend, but I will not embroil
+the State now for a mere private feud. Send for me, Judge, when
+you have decided."
+
+In the long and heated conferences of the night, before the
+sun again pours its shimmering golden waves on the parched plains
+of Sacramento, Hardin finds no one who will face the mysterious
+situation.
+
+Harris finds the patient Joe playing seven-up with a couple of
+friends, and his pistols on the table.
+
+"All right, Harris; let him think it over." Joe nods, and continues
+his game.
+
+Calmly expectant, when Harris sends his name up next morning,
+Joe Woods is in very good humor. The gathering forces are anxious
+for the hour when a solemn secret party caucus shall name the man
+to be officially balloted in as Senator of the United States for
+six years. The term is not to begin for three months, but great
+corporations, the banks, with their heaped millions, and all the
+mighty high-priests of the dollar-god, need that sense of security
+which Hardin's ability will give to their different schemes. Their
+plans can be safely laid out then.
+
+In simple straightforwardness, Harris hands Woods a sealed envelop,
+without a word.
+
+In the vigils of one awful night, Philip Hardin knows that he must
+fence off the maddened woman who seems to have a mysterious hold
+upon his destiny at this crisis. What force impels her?
+
+Hardin has enjoined Harris to have Woods repeat his pledge of
+"non-opposition."
+
+"Did you see the Jedge sign this here paper?" says Woods dryly, as
+he inspects the signature. His face is solemn.
+
+"I did," Harris answers.
+
+"Then just write your name here as witness," Joseph briskly says,
+handing him a pen, and covering the few lines of the document,
+leaving only Philip Hardin's well-known signature visible.
+
+Harris hesitates. Joe's eyes are blazing; no foolery now! Harris
+quietly signs. The name of Joseph Woods is added, at once, with
+the date.
+
+"Harris," says Joseph, "you're a man of honor. I pledge you now I
+will not make public the nature of this document. Hardin can grab
+for the Senate now, if you boys can elect him. I'll not fight him."
+
+Harris retires in silence. The day is saved. Though the election is
+within three days, Joseph Woods finds private business so pressing
+that his seat is vacant, when Philip Hardin is declared Senator-elect.
+The pledge has been kept. Not a rumor of the secret incident reaches
+the public. The cautious Joseph is grateful for not being obliged
+to shorten Hardin's life.
+
+Fly as fast as Hardin may to Mariposa, Joe Woods is there before
+him. The telegraph bears to every hamlet of the Golden State the
+news of the senatorial choice.
+
+Philip Hardin, seated on the porch of the old mansion at Lagunitas,
+reads the eulogies crowding the columns of fifty journals.
+
+From San Diego to Siskiyou one general voice hails the new-made
+member of that august body, who are now so rapidly giving America
+"Roman liberties."
+
+The friend of Mammon, nurtured in conspiracy, skilled in deceit,
+Hardin, the hidden Mokanna, grins behind his silver veil.
+
+His deep-laid plans seem all safe now. The local meshes of his golden
+net hold the District Judge firmly. It will be easy to postpone, to
+weary out, to harass this strange faction. He has stores of coin
+ready. They are the heaped-up reserves of his "senatorial ammunition."
+And yet Joe Woods, that burly meddling fool. To placate Natalie!
+To induce her to leave at once for Paris! How shall this be done?
+Ha! The marriage is her dream in life! He is elected now. He fears
+not her Southern rival. The ambitious political lady aspirant! He
+can explain to her now in private, To give Natalie an acknowledgment
+of a private marriage will content her. Then his bought Judge can
+quietly grant a separation for desertion, after Natalie has returned
+to France. She will care nothing for the squabble over the acres
+of Lagunitas, if well paid. As for the priest, he may swear as
+strongly as he likes. The girl will surely be declared illegitimate.
+He has destroyed all the papers. Valois' will is never to see the
+light. If deception has been practiced he cares not. Senatorial
+privilege raises him too high for the voice of slander.
+
+He has the golden heart of these hills now to himself.
+
+Yes, he will fool the priest and divide his enemies. The money
+for Natalie will be deposited in Paris banks. The principal to be
+paid her in one year, on condition of never again coming to the
+United States. Long before that time he will be legally free and
+remarried. Hardin rubs his hands in glee. Neither reporter nor
+the public will ever see the divorce proceedings. That is easily
+handled in Mariposa.
+
+In his local legal experience, he has many times seen wilder schemes
+succeed. Spanish grants have been shifted leagues to suit the occasion.
+Boundaries are removed bodily. Witnesses are manufactured under
+golden pressure. The eyes of Justice are blinded with opaque weights
+of the yellow treasure.
+
+But he must work rapidly. It is now only a short week to the trial.
+The court-house and records are regularly watched. Not a move
+indicates any prying into the matter beyond the mere identity of
+the heiress. But who has set up the other claimant?
+
+It would be madness for Natalie to raise this quarrel! Some schemers
+have imposed a strange girl on the other party. Hardin recalls
+Natalie's wild astonishment at the apparition of another "Isabel
+Valois."
+
+And the second girl did not even know who Natalie was. What devil's
+work is this?
+
+Hardin decides to "burn his ships." Alone in the home of the
+Peraltas, he prepares for a campaign "a l'outrance." That crafty
+priest might know too much. The evening before his departure he
+burns up every paper at the ranch which would cause any remark, even
+in case of his death. Next morning, as he rides out of Lagunitas,
+he gazes on the fair domain. The last thing he sees is the chapel
+cross. A chill suddenly strikes him. He gallops on. Rapidly
+journeying to Mariposa, he installs himself in the headquarters
+of his friends. His ablest counsel has provided the bought Judge,
+with full secret instructions to meet every contingency.
+
+Sober and serious in final judgment, Philip Hardin quickly summons
+a discreet friend. He requests a last personal interview with
+Natalie de Santos. The ambassador is received by good-humored Joe
+Woods. He declines an interview, by the lady's orders, unless its
+object is stated.
+
+Hardin requests that some friend other than the Missouri miner,
+may be named to represent Natalie.
+
+His eyes gleam when the selection is made of Pere Francois. Just
+what he would wish.
+
+It lacks now but three days of the final hearing. An hour after the
+message, Hardin and the priest are seated, in quiet commune. There
+are no papers. There is no time lost, none to lose. No witnesses,
+no interlopers.
+
+Hardin opens his proposals. The priest seems tractable. "I do not
+wish to refer to any present legal matters. I speak only of the
+past. I will refer only to the future of 'Madame de Santos.' You
+may say to her that if she will grant me a brief interview, I feel
+I can make her a proposition she will accept, as very advantageous.
+In justice to her, I cannot communicate its details, even to you.
+But if she wishes to advise with you, I have no objection to giving
+you the guarantees of my provision for her future. You shall know
+as much of our whole arrangement as she wishes you to. She can
+have you or other friends, in an adjoining room. You can be called
+in to witness the papers, and examine the details."
+
+The grave priest returns in half an hour. Hardin ponders uneasily.
+The priest plays an unimpassioned part. "Madame de Santos will
+receive Judge Hardin on his terms, with the condition, that if there
+is any exciting difference, Judge Hardin will retire at once, and
+not renew his proposals." Hardin accepts. Now for work.
+
+Side by side, the new-made senator and the old priest walk across
+the plaza. Success smiles on Hardin.
+
+Local quid-nuncs mutter "Compromise," as they seek the spiritual
+consolation of the Magnolia Saloon and Palace Varieties. Is there
+to be no pistol practice after all?
+
+Alas, these degenerate days! The camp has lost its glory. Betting
+has been two to one that Colonel Joe Woods riddles the Judge before
+the trial is over.
+
+Now these bets will be off. A fraud on the innocent public. The
+decadence of Mariposa.
+
+Yet, Hardin is not easy. In the first struggle of his life with a
+priest, Hardin feels himself no match for his passionless antagonist.
+The waxen mask of the Church hides the inner soul of the man.
+
+Only when Pere Francois turns his searching gaze on the Judge,
+parrying every move, does the lawyer feel how the immobility of
+the clergyman is proof against his wiles and professional ambushes.
+
+Pere Francois conducts Hardin into the room whence Natalie dismissed
+him, in her roused but sadly wounded spirit. She is there, waiting.
+Her face is marble in pallor.
+
+With a grave bow, the old ecclesiastic retires to an adjoining room
+and leaves them alone. There is a writing table.
+
+"Madame, to spare you discussion," Hardin remarks seriously, "I
+will write on two sheets of paper what I ask and what I offer. You
+may confer with your adviser. I will retire. You can add to either
+anything you propose. We can then, at once, observe if we can
+approach each other."
+
+Natalie's stately head bows assent in silence. In five minutes
+Hardin hands her the two sheets.
+
+Natalie's face puzzles him. Calm and unmoved, she looks him quietly
+in the eyes, as if in a mute farewell. She has simply uttered
+monosyllables, in answer to his few explanations.
+
+Hardin walks up and down upon the veranda, while Natalie, the priest,
+and Colonel Joe scan the two sheets. His heart beats quickly while
+the trio read his proposals.
+
+They are simple enough. What he gets and what he gives. Madame de
+Santos is to absent herself from the trial. She is to leave Isabel
+Valois, her charge, with the priest. She is to be silent as to the
+entire past.
+
+Hardin's lawyers are to stipulate, in case of Isabel Valois being
+defeated in any of her rights, she shall be free to receive a fund
+equal to that settled on the absent child of Natalie. Her freedom
+comes with her majority in any case.
+
+Judge Hardin offers, on the other hand:
+
+To give a written recognition of the private marriage, and to
+fully legalize the absent Irene.
+
+To admit her to his succession, and to surrender all control to
+the mother.
+
+On condition of Natalie de Santos ceasing all marital claims
+and disappearing at once, she is to receive five hundred thousand
+dollars, in bankers' drafts to her order in Paris, six months after
+the legal separation.
+
+Hardin's tread re-echoes on the porch. His mind is busied. Is he
+to have a closing career of unsullied honor in the Senate? He is
+yet in a firm, if frosty age. A dignified halo will surround his
+second marriage. It is better thus. Peace and silence at any cost.
+And Lagunitas' millions to come. The mine--his dear-bought treasure.
+It is coming, Philip Hardin. Peace and rest? it will be peace and
+silence. He starts! The black-robed priest is at the door. Father
+Francois has now resumed his soutane.
+
+"Will you kindly enter?" he says.
+
+Hardin, with unmoved face, seats himself opposite Natalie. Pere
+Francois remains.
+
+"I will accept your terms, Judge Hardin," she steadily says,
+"with the addition that the advice of Judge Davis be at my service
+regarding the papers, and that I leave to-morrow for San Francisco.
+
+"You are to send an agent, also. The money to be transferred by
+telegraph, payable absolutely to me at Paris, by my bankers, at
+the appointed time. Your agent may accompany me to the frontier
+of the State. I will leave as soon as the bankers acknowledge the
+transfer.
+
+"In case of any failure on your part, the obligation to keep silent
+ceases. I retain the marriage papers."
+
+Hardin bows his head. The priest is silent. In a few moments, the
+senator-elect says:
+
+"I agree to all." His senatorial debut pictures itself in his mind.
+
+Madame de Santos rises, "I authorize Pere Francois to remain with
+you, on my behalf. Let the papers be at once prepared. I am ready
+to leave to-morrow morning. I only insist the two papers which would
+affect my child, be duplicated, and both witnessed by our lawyers."
+
+Hardin bows assent. Natalie de Santos walks toward the door of her
+rooms. Her last words fall on his ear: "Pere Francois will represent
+me in all." She is going. Hardin springs to the door: "And I shall
+see you again?" His voice quivers slightly. Old days throng back
+to his memory. "Is it for ever?" His iron heart softens a moment.
+
+"I pray God, never! Philip Hardin, you are dead to me. The past is
+dead. I can only think of you with your cruel grasp on my throat!"
+She is gone.
+
+As the door closes, Hardin buries his face in his hands. Thoughts
+of other days are rending his heart-strings.
+
+Before three hours, the papers are all executed. The morning stage
+takes Natalie de Santos, with the priest, and guarded by Armand
+Valois, away from the scene of the coming legal battle.
+
+In the early gray of the dawn, Philip Hardin only catches a glimpse
+of a muffled form in a coach. He will see the mother of his child
+no more. With a wild dash, the stage sweeps away. It is all over.
+
+His agent, in a special conveyance, is already on the road. He has
+orders to telegraph the completion of the transfer. He is to verify
+the departure for New York, of the ex-queen of the El Dorado.
+
+On the day of the hearing, the court-house is crowded. Pere Francois
+and Armand Valois have not yet returned. Both sides have received,
+by telegraph, the news of the completion of the work. By stipulation,
+the newly-acknowledged marriage is not to be made public.
+
+Hardin, pale and thoughtful, enters the court with his supporters.
+There is but one young lady present. With her, Peyton, Judge Davis,
+and Joseph Woods are seated. Raoul Dauvray seats himself quietly
+between the two parties.
+
+When the case is reached, there is the repression of a deathly
+silence. Hardin, by the advice of his lawyers, will stand strictly
+on the defensive. He has decided to acknowledge his entire readiness
+to close his guardianship. He will leave the heirship to be finally
+adjusted by the Court. The Court is under his thumb.
+
+His senatorial duties call for this relief. It will take public
+attention from the unpleasant matter. Rid of the burden of the
+ranch, still the "bonanza of Lagunitas" will be his, as always.
+
+The great lawyer he relies on states plausibly this entire
+willingness to such a relief, and requests the Court to appoint a
+successor to the distinguished trustee. Hardin feels that he has
+now covered his past with a solid barrier. Safe at last. No living
+man can roll away the huge rock from the "tomb of the dead past."
+It would need a voice from the grave. He can defy the whole world.
+No thought of his dead friend haunts him.
+
+When the advocate ceases speaking, while the Judge ponders over
+the disputed heirship, and the contest as to the legitimacy of
+Maxime Valois' child, when clearly identified, Judge Davis rises
+quietly to address the Court. Philip Hardin feels a slight chill
+icing down his veins, as he notes the gravity of the Eastern
+lawyer's manner. Is there a masked battery?
+
+"Your Honor," begins Davis, "we oppose any action tending to
+discharge or relieve the present guardian of Isabel Valois.
+
+"A most important discovery of new matters in the affairs of this
+estate, makes it my duty to lay some startling facts before your
+Honor."
+
+There is a pause. Hardin's heart flutters madly. He sees a stony
+look gather on Joe Woods' face. There is a peculiar grimness also
+in the visage of the watchful Peyton. Everyone in the room is on
+the alert. Crowding to the front, Hardin is elbowed by a man who
+seats himself in a chair reserved by Judge Davis.
+
+His eyes are blinded for a moment. Great Heavens! It is his old
+law-clerk. The wily and once hilarious Jaggers.
+
+He is here for some purpose. That devil Woods' work.
+
+Hardin's hand clutches a revolver in his pocket. He glares uneasily
+at Joe Woods, at Peyton, at the ex-clerk. He breathlessly waits
+for the solemn voice of Davis:
+
+"We propose, your Honor, to introduce evidence that the late Maxime
+Valois left a will. We propose to prove that the estate has been
+maladministered. We will prove to your Honor that a gigantic fraud
+has been perpetrated during the minority of the child of Colonel
+Valois. The most valuable element of the estate, the Lagunitas
+mine, has been fraudulently enjoyed by the administrator."
+
+Hardin springs to his feet. He is forced into his chair by his
+counsel. There is the paleness of death on his face, but murder
+lurks in his heart. Away with patience now. A hundred eyes are
+gazing in his direction. The Judge is anchored, in amazement, on
+the bench. Woods and Peyton are facing Hardin, with steady defiance.
+
+As he struggles to rise, he feels his blood boiling like molten
+iron.
+
+He has been trapped by this devil, Woods. Davis resumes: "I shall
+show your Honor, by the man who held Colonel Valois in his arms on
+the battlefield as he lay dying, that a will was duly forwarded
+to the guardian and administrator, who concealed it. I will also
+prove, your Honor, that Colonel Valois repeated that will in a
+document taken from his dead body, in which he acknowledged his
+marriage, and the legitimacy of his true child. I will file these
+papers, and prove them by testimony of the gallant officer who
+buried him, and who succeeded to his regiment."
+
+A deep growl from Hardin is heard. He knows now who Peyton is. What
+avenging fiends are on his track? But the mine, the mine is safe.
+Always the mine, The deeds will hold. Davis resumes, his voice
+ringing cold and clear:
+
+"I shall also prove by documents, concealed by the administrator,
+that Maxime Valois never parted with the title to the Lagunitas
+mine; that the millions have been stolen, which it has yielded.
+I will bring in the evidence of the clerk who received these last
+letters from the absent owner in the field, that they are genuine.
+They state his utter inability to sell the mine, as the whole
+property belonged to his wife."
+
+There is a blood-red film before Hardin's eyes now. Prudence flies
+after patience. It is his Waterloo. All is lost, even honor.
+
+"I venture to remind your Honor, that even if the daughter, whom
+I produce here, is proved illegitimate, that she takes the whole
+property, including the mine, as the legal heir of her mother,
+under the laws of California." A murmur is suppressed by the clerk's
+hammer.
+
+There is an awful silence as Judge Davis adds: "I will further
+produce before your Honor, Armand Valois, the only other heir of
+the decedent, to whom the succession would fall by law. He is named
+in the will I will establish, made twelve hours before the writer
+was killed at the battle of Peachtree Creek.
+
+"I am aware," Judge Davis concludes, "that some one has forged
+the titles to the Lagunitas mine. I will prove the forgery to have
+been executed in the interest of Philip Hardin, the administrator,
+whom I now formally ask you to remove pending this trial, as a
+man false to his trust. He has robbed the orphan daughter of his
+friend. He deceived the man who laid his life down for the cause
+of the South, while he plotted in the safe security of distant
+California homes. Colonel Valois was robbed by his trusted friend."
+
+A mighty shudder shakes the crowd. Men gaze at each other, wildly.
+The blinking Judge is dazed on the bench he pollutes. Before any
+one can draw a breath in relief, Hardin, bending himself below the
+restraining arms, springs to his feet and levels a pistol full at
+Joe Woods' breast.
+
+"You hound!" he yells. His arm is struck up; Raoul Dauvray has
+edged every moment nearer the disgraced millionaire. The explosion
+of the heavy pistol deafens those near. When the smoke floats away,
+a gaping wound tells where its ball crashed through Hardin's brain.
+Slain by his own hand. Dead and disgraced. The senatorial laurels
+never touch his brow!
+
+In five minutes the court is cleared. An adjournment to the next
+day is forced by the sudden tragedy. The wild mob are thronging
+the plaza.
+
+Silent in death lies the man who realized at last how the awful
+voice of the dead Confederate called down the vengeance of God on
+the despoiler of the orphan.
+
+The telegraph, lightning-winged, bears the news far and wide. By
+the evening Pere Francois and Armand Valois return. In a few hours
+Natalie de Santos turns backward. The swift wheels speeding down the
+Truckee are slower than the electric spark bearing to the ex-queen
+of the El Dorado, the wife of a day, the news of her legal widowhood.
+
+Henry Peyton brings back the traveller, whose presence is now
+absolutely needed.
+
+A lonely grave on the red hillside claims the last remains of the
+dark Chief of the Golden Circle. Few stand by its yawning mouth,
+to see the last of the man whose name has been just hailed everywhere
+with wild enthusiasm.
+
+Unloved, unhonored, unregretted, unshriven, with all his imperfections
+on his head, he waits the last trump. Alone in death, as in life.
+
+In the brief and formal verification of all these facts, the Court
+finds an opportunity to at once establish the identity of the
+heiress of Lagunitas. For, there is no contest now.
+
+In formal devotion to the profession, Hardin's lawyer represents
+the estate of the dark schemer.
+
+The legal tangles yield to final proofs.
+
+There is a family party at Lagunitas once more. Judge Davis and Peyton
+guard the interests of the girl who has only lost the millions of
+Lagunitas to inherit a fortune from the father who scorned to even
+gaze upon her face. Joseph Woods joyfully guides the beautiful
+heiress of the domain, who kneels besides the grave of Dolores
+Peralta, her unknown mother, with her lover by her side. The last
+of the Valois stand there, hand in hand. She is Louise Moreau no
+more.
+
+Pere Francois is again in his old home by the little chapel, where
+twenty years ago he raised his voice in the daily supplication for
+God's sinful children.
+
+While Raoul Dauvray and Armand ride in voyages of discovery over
+the great domain, the two heiresses are happy with each other.
+There is no question between them. They are innocent of each other's
+sorrows. They now know much of the shadowy past with its chequered
+romance. The transfer of all the mine and its profits to the young
+girl, who finds the domain in the hills a fairyland, is accomplished.
+
+Judge Davis hies himself away to the splendid excitement of his
+Eastern metropolitan practise. His "honorarium" causes him to
+have an added and tender feeling for the all-conquering Joe Woods.
+Henry Peyton is charged with the general supervision of the Lagunitas
+estate. He is aided by a mine superintendent selected by that wary
+old Argonaut, Joe.
+
+Natalie de Santos leaves the refuge of lovely Lagunitas in a few
+weeks. There is a shadow resting on her heart which will never
+be lifted. In vain, beside the old chapel, seated under the giant
+rose-vines, Pere Francois urges her to witness the marriage of
+her daughter. Under the care of Joseph Woods, she leaves for San
+Francisco. Her daughter, who is soon to take a rightful name, learns
+from Pere Francois the agreed-on reasons of her absence. Natalie
+will not make a dark background to the happiness to come. Silence
+and expiation await her beyond the surges of the Atlantic.
+
+Joseph Woods and Pere Francois have buried all awkward references
+to past history. Irene Dauvray will never know the story of the
+lovely "Queen of the El Dorado."
+
+There are no joy bells at Lagunitas on the day when the old priest
+unites Armand and Isabel Valois in marriage. The same solemn
+consecration gives gallant Raoul Dauvray, the woman he adores. It
+is a sacrament of future promise. Peyton and Joe Woods are the men
+who stand in place of the fathers of these two dark-eyed brides.
+It is a solemn and tender righting of the old wrongs. A funeral of
+the past--a birth of a brighter day, for all.
+
+The load of care and strife has been taken from the shoulders of
+the three elders, who gravely watch the four glowing and enraptured
+lovers.
+
+In a few weeks, Raoul Dauvray and his bride leave for San Francisco.
+Fittingly they choose France for their home. In San Francisco,
+Joseph Woods leads the young bride through the silent halls of the
+old house on the hill. The Missourian gravely bids the young wife
+remember that it was here her feet wandered over the now neglected
+paths.
+
+Joseph Woods convoys the departing voyagers to the border of the
+State. The ample fortune secured to them, will engage his occasional
+leisure in advice as to its local management.
+
+Natalie de Santos goes forth with them. Her home in Paris awaits
+her. The Golden State knows her no more. Her feet will never wander
+back to the shores where her stormy youth was passed.
+
+A lover's pilgrimage to beloved Paris and the old castle by the
+blue waters of Lake Geneva claims the Lord and Lady of Lagunitas.
+For, they will return to dwell in the mountains of Mariposa. Before
+they cross the broad Atlantic, they have a sacred duty to perform.
+It is to visit the grave of the soldier of the Lost Cause and lay
+their wreaths upon the turf which covers his gallant breast.
+
+The old padre sits on the porch of his house at Lagunitas. He
+waits only for the last solemn act. Henry Peyton is to follow the
+travellers East, and remove the soldier of the gray to the little
+chapel grounds of Lagunitas.
+
+When Padre Francisco has seen the master come home, and raised his
+weakening voice in requiem over the friend of his youth, he will
+seek once more his dear Paris, and find again his cloistered home
+near Notre Dame.
+
+He has, as a memorial of mother and daughter, a deed of the old home
+of Philip Hardin. It is given to the Church for a hospital. It is
+well so. None of the living ever wish to pass again its shadowed
+portals.
+
+While waiting the time for their departure, the priest and Henry
+Peyton watch the splendid beauties of Lagunitas, in peaceful
+brotherhood. The man of war and the servant of peace are drawn
+towards each other strangely.
+
+The Virginian often gazes on the sword of Maxime Valois, hanging now
+over the hearthplace he left in his devotion to the Lost Cause. He
+thanks God that the children of the old blood are in the enjoyment
+of their birthright.
+
+Padre Francisco, telling his beads, or whiling an hour away with
+his breviary, begins to nod easily as the lovely summer days deepen
+in splendor. He is an old man now, yet his heart is touched with
+the knowledge of God's infinite mercy as he looks over the low wall
+to where the roses bloom around: the grave of Dolores Valois.
+
+He hopes to live yet to know, that gallant father and patient
+mother will live over again in the happy faces of the children of
+their orphaned child.
+
+In the United States of America, at this particular juncture,
+no happier man than Colonel and State Senator Joseph Woods can be
+found. His mines are unfailing in their yield; his bachelor bungalow,
+in its splendor, will extinguish certain ambitious rivals, and he
+is freed from the nightmare of investigating the tangled web of the
+mysterious struggle for the millions of Lagunitas. He is confirmed
+in his resolve to remain a bachelor.
+
+"I have two home camps now, one in Paris and one in California,
+where I am a sort of a brevet father. I won't be lonely," Joe
+merrily says.
+
+Joseph's cheery path in life is illuminated by his gorgeous diamonds,
+and roped in with his massive watch-chains. More precious than the
+gold and gems is the rough and ready manhood of the old Argonaut.
+He seriously thinks of eschewing the carrying of weapons, and
+abandoning social adventures, becoming staid and serene like Father
+Francois.
+
+He often consoles himself in his loneliness by the thought that
+Henry Peyton is also a man without family. "I will capture Peyton
+when he gets the young people in good shape, and they are tired
+of Paris style," Joe muses. "He's a man and a brother, and we will
+spend our old days in peace together."
+
+One haunting, sad regret touches Colonel Joe's heart. He learns
+of the intention of Natalie to spend her days in retirement and in
+helping others.
+
+Thinking of her splendid beauty, her daring struggle for her
+friendless child's rights, and all that is good of the only woman
+he ever could have desperately loved, he guards her secret in his
+breast. He dare not confess to his own heart that if there had
+been an honorable way, he would fain have laid his fortune at the
+feet of the peerless "Queen of the El Dorado."
+
+Francois Ribaut, walking the deck of the steamer, gazes on the
+great white stars above him. The old man is peaceful, and calmly
+thankful. The night breezes moan over the lonely Atlantic! As the
+steamer bravely dashes the spray aside, his heart bounds with a
+new happiness. Every hour brings the beloved France nearer to him.
+Looking back at the life and land he leaves behind him, the old
+priest marvels at the utter uselessness of Philip Hardin's life.
+Apples of Sodom were all his treasures. His wasted gifts, his dark
+schemes, his sly plans, all gone for naught. Blindly driven along
+in the darkness of evil, his own hand pulled down his palace of sin
+on his head. And even "French Charlie" was avenged by the murderer's
+self-executed sentence. "Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord; I will
+repay." The innocent and helpless have wandered past each dark
+pitfall dug by the wily Hardin, and enjoy their own. Pere Francois,
+with his eyes cast backward on his own life path, feels that he
+has not fought the good fight in vain. His gentle heart throbs in
+sympathy, filled with an infinite compassion for the lonely Natalie
+de Santos. Sinned against and sinning. A free lance, with only
+her love for her child to hallow and redeem her. Her own plans,
+founded in guile, have all miscarried. Blood stains the gold bestowed
+on her by Philip Hardin's death. Her life has been a stormy sea.
+Yet, to her innocent child, a name and fortune have been given by
+the hand of Providence. In turning away her face from the vain and
+glittering world she has adorned, the chase and plaything of men,
+one pure white flower will bloom from the red ashes of her dead
+life. The unshaken affection of the child for whom she struggled,
+who can always, in ignorance of the dark past, lift happy eyes to
+hers and call her in love, by the holy name of mother. With bowed
+head and thankful heart, Padre Francisco's thoughts linger around
+beautiful Lagunitas. Its groves and forest arches, its mirrored
+lake, its smiling beauties and fruitful fields, return to him. The
+old priest murmurs: "God made Lagunitas; but man made California
+what it has been."
+
+A land of wild adventure, of unrighted wrongs. A land of sad
+histories, of many shattered hopes. Fierce waves of adventurers
+swept away the simple early folk. Lawless license, flaunting vice,
+and social disorganization made its early life as a State, one mad
+chaos.
+
+The Indians have perished, rudely despoiled. The old Dons have
+faded into the gray mists of a dead past. The early Argonauts have
+lived out the fierce fever of their wild lives. To the old individual
+freebooters, a new order of great corporate monopolies and gigantic
+rough-hewn millionaires succeeds. There is always some hand on the
+people's throat in California. Yet the star of hope glitters.
+
+Slowly, through all the foamy restless waves of transient adventurers
+the work of the homebuilders is showing the dry land decked with
+the olive branches of peace.
+
+The native sons and daughters of the Golden West, bright, strong,
+self-reliant and full of promise, are the glittering-eyed young
+guardians of the Golden Gate. Born of the soil, with life's battle
+to fight on their native hills, may they build around the slopes
+of the Pacific, a State great in its hearths and homes. The future
+shines out. The gloomy past recedes. The sunlight of freedom
+sparkles on the dreamy lake of Lagunitas!
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE LITTLE LADY OF LAGUNITAS ***
+
+This file should be named 7lady10.txt or 7lady10.zip
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