would not be content to be as
other men. And, ay! Eustaquia, to think that it was opposite our own
dear home, our favourite home, that the American flag should first have
been raised! Opposite the home of Jose Castro!"

"To perdition with Fremont! Why did he, of all places, select San Juan
Bautista in which to hang up his American rag?"

"We never can live there again. The Gabilan Mountains would shut out the
very face of the sun from my husband."

"Do not weep, my Modeste; remember thy other beautiful ranchos. Dios de
mi alma!" she added with a flash of humour, "I revere San Juan Bautista
for your husband's sake, but I weep not that I shall visit you there no
more. Every day I think to hear that the shaking earth of that beautiful
valley has opened its jaws and swallowed every hill and adobe. God grant
that Fremont's hair stood up more than once. But go to bed, my friend.
Look, I will put you there." As if Dona Modeste were an infant, she
undressed and laid her between the linen sheets with their elaborate
drawn work, then made her drink a glass of angelica, folded and laid
away the satin coverlet, and left the house.

She walked up the plaza slowly, holding her head high. Monterey at that
time was infested by dogs, some of them very savage. Dona Eustaquia's
strong soul had little acquaintance with fear, and on her way to General
Castro's house she had paid no attention to the snarling muzzles thrust
against her gown. But suddenly a cadaverous creature sprang upon her
with a savage yelp and would have caught her by the throat had not a
heavy stick cracked its skull. A tall officer in the uniform of the
United States navy raised his cap from iron-gray hair and looked at her
with blue eyes as piercing as her own.

"You will pardon me, madam," he said, "if I insist upon attending you to
your door. It is not safe for a woman to walk alone in the streets of
Monterey at night."

Dona Eustaquia bent her head somewhat haughtily. "I thank you much,
senor, for your kind rescue. I would not like, at all, to be eaten by
the dogs. But I not like to trouble you to walk with me. I go only to
the house of the Senor Larkin. It is there, at the end of the little
street beyond the plaza."

"My dear madam, you must not deprive the United States of the pleasure
of protecting California. Pray grant my humble request to walk behind
you and keep off the dogs."

Her lips pressed each other, but pride put down the bitter retort.

"W