hundred hard-working, industrious people, in danger of being turned out of house and home. But they were very busy; they had to say curtly, and in few words, all there was to be said: the San Pasquale district was certainly the property of the United States Government, and the lands were in market, to be filed on, and bought, according to the homestead laws, These officials had neither authority nor option in the matter. They were there simply to carry out instructions, and obey orders. Ysidro understood the substance of all this, though the details were beyond his comprehension. But he did not regret having taken the journey; he had now made his last effort for his people. The Los Angeles priest had promised that he would himself write a letter to Washington, to lay the case before the head man there, and perhaps something would be done for their relief. It seemed incredible to Ysidro, as, riding along day after day, on his sad homeward journey, he reflected on the subject,—it seemed incredible to him that the Government would permit such a village as theirs to be destroyed. He reached home just at sunset; and looking down, as Alessandro and Ramona had done on the morning of their arrival, from the hillcrests at the west end of the valley, seeing the broad belt of cultivated fields and orchards, the peaceful little hamlet of houses, he groaned. 'If the people who make these laws could only see this village, they would never turn us out, never! They can't know what is being done. I am sure they can't know.' 'What did I tell you?' cried Alessandro, galloping up on Benito, and reining him in so sharply he reared and plunged. 'What did I tell you? I saw by your face, many paces back, that you had come as you went, or worse! I have been watching for you these two days. Another American has come in with Morong in the canon; they are making corrals; they will keep stock. You will see how long we have any pasture-lands in that end of the valley. I drive all my stock to San Diego next week. I will sell it for what it will bring,—both the cattle and the sheep. It is no use. You will see.' When Ysidro began to recount his interview with the land-office authorities, Alessandro broke in fiercely: 'I wish to hear no more of it. Their names and their speech are like smoke in my eyes and my nose. I think I shall go mad, Ysidro. Go tell your story to the men who are waiting to hear it, and who yet believe that an American may speak truth!' Alessandro was as good as his word. The very next week he drove all his cattle and sheep to San Diego, and sold them at great loss. 'It is better than nothing,' he said. 'They will not now be sold by the sheriff, like my father's in Temecula.' The money he got, he took to Father Gaspara. 'Father,' he said huskily. 'I have sold all my stock. I would not wait for the Americans to sell it for me, and take the money. I have not got much, but it is better than nothing. It will make that we do not starve for one year. Will you keep it for me, Father? I dare not have it in San Pasquale. San Pasquale will be like Temecula,—it may be to-morrow.' To the Father's suggestion that he should put the money in a bank in San Diego, Alessandro cried: 'Sooner would I throw it in the sea yonder! I trust no man, henceforth; only the Church I will trust. Keep it for me, Father, I pray you,' and the Father could not refuse his imploring tone. 'What are your plans now?' he asked. 'Plans!' repeated Alessandro,—'plans, Father! Why should I make plans? I will stay in my house so long as the Americans will let me. You saw our little house, Father!' His voice broke as he said this. 'I have large wheat-fields; if I can get one more crop off them, it will be something; but my land is of the richest in the valley, and as soon as the Americans see it, they will want it. Farewell, Father. I thank you for keeping my money, and for all you said to the thief Morong. Ysidro told me. Farewell.' And he was gone, and out of sight on the swift galloping Benito, before Father Gaspara bethought himself. 'And I remembered not to ask who his wife was. I will look back at the record,' said the Father. Taking down the old volume, he ran his eye back over the year. Marriages were not so many in Father Gaspara's parish, that the list took long to read. The entry of Alessandro's marriage was blotted. The Father had been in haste that night. 'Alessandro Assis. Majella Fa—' No more could be read. The name meant nothing to Father Gaspara. 'Clearly an Indian name,' he said to himself; 'yet she seemed superior in every way. I wonder where she got it.' The winter wore along quietly in San Pasquale. The delicious soft rains set in early, promising a good grain year. It seemed a pity not to get in as much wheat as possible; and all the San Pasquale people went early to ploughing new fields,—all but Alessandro. 'If I reap all I have, I will thank the saints,' he said. 'I will plough no more land for the robbers.' But after his fields were all planted, and the beneficent rains still kept on, and the hills all along the valley wall began to turn green earlier than ever before was known, he said to Ramona one morning, 'I think I will make one more field of wheat. There will be a great yield this year. Maybe we will be left unmolested till the harvest is over.' 'Oh, yes, and for many more harvests, dear Alessandro!' said Ramona, cheerily. 'You are always looking on the black side.' 'There is no other but the black side, Majella,' he replied. 'Strain my eyes as I may, on all sides all is black. You will see. Never any more harvests in San Pasquale for us, after this. If we get this, we are lucky. I have seen the white men riding up and down in the valley, and I found some of their cursed bits of wood with figures on them set up on my land the other day; and I pulled them up and burned them to ashes. But I will plough one more field this week; though, I know not why it is, my thoughts go against it even now. But I will do it; and I will not come home till night, Majella, for the field is too far to go and come twice. I shall be the whole day ploughing.' So saying, he stooped and kissed the baby, and then kissing Ramona, went out. Ramona stood at the door and watched him as he harnessed Benito and Baba to the plough. He did not once look back at her; his face seemed full of thought, his hands acting as it were mechanically. After he had gone a few rods from the house, he stopped, stood still for some minutes meditatingly, then went on irresolutely, halted again, but finally went on, and disappeared from sight among the low foothills to the east. Sighing deeply, Ramona turned back to her work. But her heart was too disquieted. She could not keep back the tears. 'How changed is Alessandro!' she thought. 'It terrifies me to see him thus. I will tell the Blessed Virgin about it;' and kneeling before the shrine, she prayed fervently and long. She rose comforted, and drawing the baby's cradle out into the veranda, seated herself at her embroidery. Her skill with her needle had proved a not inconsiderable source of income, her fine lace-work being always taken by San Diego merchants, and at fairly good prices. It seemed to her only a short time that she had been sitting thus, when, glancing up at the sun, she saw it was near noon; at the same moment she saw Alessandro approaching, with the horses. In dismay, she thought, 'There is no dinner! He said he would not come!' and springing up, was about to run to meet him, when she observed that he was not alone. A short, thick-set man was walking by his side; they were talking earnestly. It was a white man. What did it bode? Presently they stopped. She saw Alessandro lift his hand and point to the house, then to the tule sheds in the rear. He seemed to be talking excitedly; the white man also; they were both speaking at once. Ramona shivered with fear. Motionless she stood, straining eye and ear; she could hear nothing, but the gestures told much. Had it come,—the thing Alessandro had said would come? Were they to be driven out,—driven out this very day, when the Virgin had only just now seemed to promise her help and protection? The baby stirred, waked, began to cry. Catching the child up to her breast, she stilled her by convulsive caresses. Clasping her tight in her arms, she walked a few steps towards Alessandro, who, seeing her, made an imperative gesture to her to return. Sick at heart, she went back to the veranda and sat down to wait. In a few moments she saw the white man counting out money into Alessandro's hand; then he turned and walked away, Alessandro still standing as if rooted to the spot, gazing into the palm of his hand, Benito and Baba slowly walking away from him unnoticed; at last he seemed to rouse himself as from a trance, and picking up the horses' reins, came slowly toward her. Again she started to meet him; again he made the same authoritative gesture to her to return; and again she seated herself, trembling in every nerve of her body. Ramona was now sometimes afraid of Alessandro. When these fierce
