engeance upon him,
by taking his life. If any of us fail in this oath, may we be accursed
ever after. Amen_!"

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

THE "BONANZA."

The infamous ceremony duly ratified, a drink of the fiery spirit of the
_mescal_ plant--a fit finale--is quaffed. Then they take up their
stilettos, replace them in their sheaths, and again sitting down, listen
to De Lara, to learn from him the nature of that deed, for doing which
they have so solemnly compacted.

In a short time he makes it known, the disclosure calling for but a few
words. It is after all but a common affair, though one that needs skill
and courage. Simply a "bit of burglary," but a big thing of its kind.
He tells them of three hundred thousand dollars' worth of gold-dust
lying in a lone country-house, with no other protection than that of its
owner, with some half-dozen Indian domestics.

There are but two of them to whom this is news--Diaz and Calderon.
Rocas smiles while the revelation is being made; for he has been the
original discoverer of the so-called "bonanza." It was that he
communicated to De Lara, when, on the day before, he stopped him and
Calderon at the _tinacal_ of Dolores.

It is not the first time for the seal-hunter to do business of a similar
kind in conjunction with the gambler; who, like himself, has been
accustomed to vary his professional pursuits. But, as now, he has
always acted under De Lara--whose clear, cool head and daring hand
assure him leadership in any scheme requiring superior courage, with
intelligence for its execution.

"How soon?" asks Diaz, after all has been declared. "I should say the
sooner the better."

"You're right about that, Don Manuel," rejoins Rocas.

"True," assents De Lara. "At the same time caution must not be lost
sight of. There's two of you aware of what danger we'd be in, if just
now we went near the town, or anywhere outside this snug little asylum
of Senor Rocas--whose hospitality we may have to trench upon for some
time. I don't know, Don Rafael, whether friend Diaz has told you of
what happened last night?"

"He's given me a hint of it," replies the smuggler.

"Oh, yes," puts in Diaz; "I thought he might as well know."

"Of course," agrees De Lara. "In that case, then, I've only to add,
that there will be no safety for us in San Francisco, so long as the
English man-o'-war stays in port. He who broke our bank is rich enough
to buy law, and can set its hounds afte