that it was his. Father Gaspara had gone with Ysidro to a lawyer
in San Diego, and had shown to his lawyer Ysidro's paper,--the old one
from the Mexican Governor of California, establishing the pueblo of San
Pasquale, and saying how many leagues of land the Indians were to have;
but the lawyer had only laughed at Father Gaspara for believing that
such a paper as that was good for anything. He said that was all very
well when the country belonged to Mexico, but it was no good now; that
the Americans owned it now; and everything was done by the American law
now, not by the Mexican law any more.

"Then we do not own any land in San Pasquale at all," said Ysidro. "Is
that what it means?"

And the lawyer had said, he did not know how it would be with the
cultivated land, and the village where the houses were,--he could
not tell about that; but he thought it all belonged to the men at
Washington.

Father Gaspara was in such rage, Ysidro said, that he tore open his gown
on his breast, and he smote himself, and he said he wished he were a
soldier, and no priest, that he might fight this accursed United States
Government; and the lawyer laughed at him, and told him to look after
souls,--that was his business,--and let the Indian beggars alone! "Yes,
that was what he said,--'the Indian beggars!' and so they would be all
beggars, presently."

Alessandro told this by gasps, as it were; at long intervals. His voice
was choked; his whole frame shook. He was nearly beside himself with
rage and despair.

"You see, it is as I said, Majella. There is no place safe. We can do
nothing! We might better be dead!"

"It is a long way off, that canon Doctor Morong had," said Ramona,
piteously. "It wouldn't do any harm, his living there, if no more came."

"Majella talks like a dove, and not like a woman," said Alessandro,
fiercely. "Will there be one to come, and not two? It is the beginning.
To-morrow may come ten more, with papers to show that the land is
theirs. We can do nothing, any more than the wild beasts. They are
better than we."

From this day Alessandro was a changed man. Hope had died in his bosom.
In all the village councils,--and they were many and long now, for the
little community had been plunged into great anxiety and distress
by this Doctor Morong's affair,--Alessandro sat dumb and gloomy. To
whatever was proposed, he had but one reply: "It is of no use. We can do
nothing."

"Eat your dinners to-day, to-morrow we