ile. Fondly, yet with something anxious in her glance, his
mother watched the boy as he sprang nimbly to the saddle of his favorite
horse. He was like her husband, strong and self-reliant. Yet,--she
sighed involuntarily with the thought,--he had much of the manner of her
handsome and ill-fated brother, Don Diego, victim of a duel that had
followed cards and wine.

"Why so troubled, madre mia?" The little hand of Inez stole into her
mother's reassuringly. "Is it that you fear for our Benito when he rides
among the Gringos of the puebla?"

Her dark crowned and exquisite head rose proudly and her eyes flashed as
she watched her brother riding with the grace of splendid horsemanship
toward the distant town of Yerba Buena. "He can take care of himself,"
she ended with, a toss of her head.

"To be sure, my little one," the Dona Windham answered smiling. No doubt
it was a foolish apprehension she decided. If only the Dona Briones who
lived on a ranchita near the bay-shore did not gossip so of the
Americano games of chance. And if only she might know what took Benito
there so frequently.

* * * * *

Benito spurred his horse toward the puebla. A well-filled purse jingled
in his pocket and now and then he tossed a silver coin to some
importuning Indian along the road. As he passed the little ranch-house
of Dona Briones he waved his hat gaily in answer to her invitation to
stop. Benito called her Tia Juana. Large and motherly she was, a woman
of untiring energy who, all alone cultivated the ranchito which supplied
milk, butter, eggs and vegetables to ships which anchored in the cove of
Yerba Buena. She was the friend of all sick and unfortunate beings, the
secret ally of deserting sailors whom she often hid from searching
parties. Benito was her special favorite and now she sighed and shook
her head as he rode on. She had heard of his losses at the gringo game
called "pokkere." She mistrusted it together with all other alien
machinations.

Benito reached the little hamlet dreaming in the sun, a welter of
scrambled habitations. There was the little ship's cabin, called Kent
Hall, where dwelt that genial spirit, Nathan Spear, his father's friend.
Nearby was the dwelling, carpenter and blacksmith shop of Calvert Davis;
the homes of Victor Pruden, French savant and secretary to Governor
Alvarado; Thompson the hide trader who married Concepcion Avila,
reigning beauty of her day; Stephen Smith, pion