egment of a circle, until after passing
through the prevailing north-easterly trades, we attained a latitude of
thirty-six, and then being met by the west winds, we turned to the
coast, and began sailing swiftly towards our destination.

The twenty-fifth day from Mazatlan saw us in sight of the red woods
that fringe the Santa Cruz mountains, and that night as the moon sank
glimmering down, we let run the cables in the bay of Monterey.

CHAPTER XVI.

Being charged with dispatches for San Francisco, an early breakfast and
hasty preparations soon placed me astride a dragoon's saddle. Attended
by an artillery soldier and six horses for escort and cavallada, I drove
a sombrero hard on my head, the spur yet harder in the ribs of my
cavallo, and away we sallied en route. The sun had passed the meridian
when we reached the Salinas plains, and we stopped to change horses at
the Molino--a simple performance for one who can swing the lasso at any
time, but for those unacquainted with the mode, it is requisite to drive
the beasts into the corral, near every rancho, and catch one at leisure.
I found my friend Anderson as hospitable and convivial as ever, and,
after a mutual exchange of greetings and drinks, we galloped off across
the plains. Instead of the smiling grassy deserts, gaudy flowers, and
narrow canals of spring, I beheld parched earth, large patches of wild
mustard, and miles of wild oats. Before accomplishing many leagues, one
of the best little beasts of the cavallada eluded the vigilance of my
body-guard, and we were compelled to abandon him. However, I made a
forcible loan of a black mare brousing by the road-side--according to
the custom of the country--and which, indeed, proved an admirable ally
towards the close of our journey. Before entering the gorge that leads
over the mountains on the opposite side of the Salinas, we halted at a
rancho--and peeping in at the door of an outbuilding, I discovered two
industrious persons playing cards with much interest and
deliberation--there was no cash up, but they assured me that each bean
before them, which marked the game, was a transferable I O U for a
bullock. One of the party was brother to the last Mexican governor of
the territory--who absconded to Mazatlan, after showing a feeble and
futile resistance to Commodore Stockton. He appeared somewhat pleased by
the information I was able to communicate from his relative, Don Jose
Castro, but not sufficiently so to