The Little Lady of Lagunitas. Richard Savage

hand in fond adieu as the schooner glides across to Alameda. Here Commandante Miguel has a report of the arrival of his trains.

      From the Castros' home, Juanita rides out toward the San Joaquin. Great commotion enlivens the hacienda. Pack-trains are laden with every requisite—tents, hammocks, attendants, waiting-women and retainers are provided.

      Winding out of the meadows of the Alameda, eastwardly over the Coast Range defiles, the train advances. Even here "los ladrones" (thieves of animals) are the forerunners of foreign robbers. Guards watch the bride's slumbers.

      Star-lit nights make the journey easy. It is the rainless summer time; no sound save the congress of the coyotes, or the notes of the mountain owl, disturbs the dreams of the campers.

      Don Miguel, in happiest mood, canters beside his wife. The party has its scouts far in advance. Resting places in fragrant woods, with pure brooks and tender grass, mark the care of the outriders.

      Over the Coast Range Juanita finds a land of delightful promise. Far away the rich valley of the San Joaquin sweeps. Rolling hills lie on either side, golden tinted with the ripening wild oats. Messengers join the party with auspicious reports.

      Down the San Joaquin plains the train winds. Here Senora Peralta is in merry mood; hundreds of stately elk swing tossing antlers, dashing away to the willows. Gray deer spring over brook and fallen tree, led by some giant leader. Pigeons, grouse, doves, and quail cleave the air with sudden alarm. Gorgeous in his painted plumage, the wood duck whirrs away over the slow gliding San Joaquin. Swan and wild geese cover the little islands.

      There are morning vocal concerts of a feathered orchestra. They wake the slumbering bride long before Don Miguel calls his swarthy retainers to the day's march.

      By night, in the valley, the sentinels watch for the yellow California lions, who delight to prey on the animals of the train. Wild-cats, lynx, the beaver and raccoon scuttle away surprised by this invasion of Nature's own game preserves.

      It is with some terror that the young wife sees a display of native horsemanship. Lumbering across the pathway of the train a huge grizzly bear attracts the dare-devils. Bruin rises on his haunches; he snorts in disdain. A quickly cast lariat encircles one paw. He throws himself down. Another lasso catches his leg. As he rolls and tugs, other fatal loops drop, as skilfully aimed as if he were only a helpless bullock. Growling, rolling, biting, and tearing, he cannot break or loosen the rawhide ropes. When he madly tries to pull in one, the agile horses strain upon the others. He is firmly entangled. The giant bear is tightly bound.

      Donna Juanita, her lord by her side, laughs at the dreaded "oso." She enjoys the antics of the horsemen. They sport with their enemy. After the fun ends, Bruin receives a gunshot. Choice cuts are added to the camp menu.

      The bear, panther, and rattlesnake are the only dangers of the Californian woods.

      Days of travel bring the hills of Mariposa into view. Here the monarchs of the forest rise in air; their wild harps are swept by the cool breezes of the Sierras. Tall, stately redwoods, swathed in rich, soft, fibrous bark, tower to the skies. Brave oaks spread their arms to shelter the doe and her fawns. The madrona, with greenest leaf and pungent berry, stands here. Hazels, willows, and cottonwoods follow the water. Bald knolls are studded with manzanita, its red berry in harvest now. Sturdy groves of wild plum adorn the hillsides. Grouse and squirrel enjoy their annual feast.

      The journey is over. When the train winds around a sweeping range, Don Miguel nears his wife. The San Joaquin is studded with graceful clumps of evergreen. In its bosom a lake shines like a diamond. The Don uncovers smilingly. "Mi querida, there lies your home, Lagunitas," he murmurs.

      Sweet Juanita's eyes beam on her husband. She says softly, "How beautiful!"

      It is truly a royal domain. From the lake the ten leagues square of the Commandante's land are a panorama of varying beauties. Stretching back into the pathless forests, game, timber, wood, and building stones are at hand; a never-failing water supply for thousands of cattle is here. To the front, right, and left, hill pastures and broad fields give every variety of acreage.

      Blithely the young wife spurs her favorite steed over the turf. She nears the quarters. The old sergeant is the seneschal of this domain. He greets the new arrivals.

      With stately courtesy the Commandante lifts his bride from her charger. The hegira is over. The occupation of arranging abodes for all is the first task. Already the cattle, sheep, and horses are fattening on the prairie grasses. Peons are sawing lumber. A detachment is making bricks for the houses. These are one-storied mansions with wide porches, beloved by the Californians; to-day the most comfortable homes in the West. Quaintly superstitious, the natives build so for fear of earthquakes. Corrals, pens, and sheds have been first labors of the advance guard. The stores and supplies are all housed.

      Don Miguel left the choice of the mansion site to his Juanita. Together they visit the different points of vantage. Soon the hacienda rises in solid, fort-like simplicity.

      The bride at Lagunitas strives to aid her companion. She shyly expresses her preferences. All is at her bidding.

      Don Miguel erects his ranch establishment in a military style. It is at once a square stronghold and mansion shaded with ample porches. Corrals for horses, pens for sheep, make up his constructions for the first year. Already the herds are increasing under the eyes of his retainers.

      The Commandante has learned that no manual work can be expected of his Californian followers, except equestrian duties of guarding and riding.

      A flash of mother-wit leads him to bring a hundred mission Indians from the bay. They bear the brunt of mechanical toil.

      Autumn finds Lagunitas Rancho in bloom. Mild weather favors all. Stores and supplies are brought from San Francisco Bay.

      Don Miguel establishes picket stations reaching to the Castro Rancho.

      Save that Juanita Peralta sees no more the glories of the Golden Gate, her life is changed only by her new, married relation. A few treasures of her girlhood are the sole reminders of her uneventful springtime.

      Rides through the forests, and canters over the grassy meadows with her beloved Miguel, are her chiefest pleasures. Some little trading brings in the Indians of the Sierras. It amuses the young Donna to see the bartering of game, furs, forest nuts, wild fruits and fish for the simple stores of the rancho. No warlike cavaliers of the plains are these, with Tartar blood in their veins, from Alaskan migration or old colonization. They have not the skill and mysterious arts of the Aztecs.

      These Piute Indians are the lowest order of indigenous tree dwellers. They live by the chase. Without manufactures, with no language, no arts, no agriculture, no flocks or herds, these wretches, clad in the skins of the minor animals, are God's meanest creatures. They live on manzanita berry meal, pine-nuts, and grasshoppers. Bows and flint-headed arrows are their only weapons. They snare the smaller animals. The defenceless deer yield to their stealthy tracking. The giant grizzly and panther affright them. They cannot battle with "Ursus ferox."

      Unable to cope with the Mexican intruders, these degraded tribes are also an easy prey to disease. They live without general intercourse, and lurk in the foothills, or hide in the ca¤ons.

      Juanita finds the Indian women peaceable, absolutely ignorant, and yet tender to their offspring. The babes are carried in wicker baskets on their backs. A little weaving and basket-making comprise all their feminine arts. Rudest skin clothing covers their stunted forms.

      Don Miguel encourages the visits of these wild tribes. He intends to use them as a fringe of faithful retainers between him and the Americans. They will warn him of any approach through the Sierras of the accursed Yankee.

      The Commandante, reared in a land without manufactures or artisans, regarding only his flocks and herds, cherishes his military pride in firmly holding the San Joaquin for the authorities. He never turns aside to examine the resources of his domain. The degraded character of the Indians near him prevents any knowledge of the great interior. They do not speak the language of his semi-civilized mission laborers from the Coast Range. They