leaping with a
kind of joy. 'No trick pistols this time,' I cried. And I spat in
his face.

"But another's ball came to his rescue. I felt it, cold as ice and hot
as fire in my lung. I made a wild slash at him as I fell; saw him wince,
but ride away.... So, now I lie in a camp hospital. It has seemed a long
time. But it is the fortune of war. Perhaps I shall see you soon."

"It isn't signed," Benito seemed a trifle puzzled. Then he found, in
back of Waters' lines, a final sheet in a strange handwriting. Hurriedly
he rose, walked to the open door. Below, upon the bay, storm was
brewing; it seemed mirrored in his eyes.

"What is it, dear?" asked Alice following. He handed her the single
sheet of paper.

"Dead!" her tone was stunned, incredulous.

Benito's arm around her, dumbly, they went out together. Rain was
beginning to fall, but neither knew it.

* * * * *

Several years of war made little change in San Francisco. The city
furnished more than its quota of troops. The California Hundred, trained
fighters and good horsemen, went to Massachusetts in 1862 and were
assigned to the Second Cavalry. Later the California Battalion joined
them. Both saw terrific fighting.

But California furnished better than "man-power" to the struggle. Money,
that all-important war-essential, streamed uninterruptedly from the
coast-state mines to Washington. More than a hundred millions had
already been sent--a sum which, in Confederate hands, might have turned
the destiny of battle. California was loyal politically as well. Though
badly treated by a remote, often unsympathetic government, she had
scorned the plot to set up a "Pacific Republic" as the South had planned
and hoped.

Her secret service men were busy and astute, preventing filibustering
plots and mail robberies. There was a constant feeling of uneasiness.
San Francisco still housed too many Southern folk.

Benito and Alice were dining with the Stanleys. Francisco and Robert
were squatted on the hearth, poring over an illustrated book that had
come from New York. It showed the uniforms of United States soldiers,
the latest additions to the navy.

"See," said Francisco, "here are pictures of Admiral Farragut and
General Sherman." He was fifteen now and well above his father's
shoulders. Robert, three years younger, looked up to admire his cousin.
A smaller, more intellectual type of boy was Robert, with his mother's
quiet sweetness and