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There was a Presidio with the flag of Spain flying from its battlements; there was a grand Mission-house of the Jesuit padres; and dwellings of rich miners and `hacendados' studded the valley far above and below. A busy populace moved upon the scene; and all the passions of love and hate, ambition, avarice, and revenge, have had existence there.
The children of the Presidio school smirched their copybooks under the awful supervision, and poor Paquita, the prize pupil, failed utterly in that marvelous upstroke when her patron stood beside her. Gradually distrust, suspicion, self-accusation, and timidity took the place of trust, confidence, and security throughout San Carlos.
The presidio was a relic of Spanish dominion and its founders had built it well, copying, with such materials as they could get, stately models the Moors had left in the distant Peninsula. A part had fallen and blocks of sun-baked mud lay about in piles, but the long, white front, with its battlemented top and narrow, barred windows stood firm.
The cavalcade was descending the sand hills on the left, Rezanov in full uniform between the Commandante and Luis Arguello and followed by a picked escort of officers from Presidio and Fort. The Californians wore full-dress uniform of white and scarlet, Don Jose a blue velvet serape, embroidered in gold with the arms of Spain.
He would, therefore, not have long to wait before the new sentries should present themselves in his cell. One thought troubled him. Would they keep him in the Calabozo that night, or take him back to the Presidio for better security? If the latter, his only chance would be as she had suggested to make a desperate effort, and escape on the route.
He entered the low gateway of the Presidio unchallenged, and even traversed the courtyard without meeting a soul. The guard and sentries had evidently withdrawn to their habitual peaceful vocations, and the former mediaeval repose of the venerable building had returned.
A bullet zipped the stone flags under his feet; another smacked solidly into the corner of an adobe house. The alarm had been given. Two gayly uniformed officers ran into the street from the direction of the presidio. They were trying to head the Texan off, attempting to get between him and his horse. But Blizzard was coming at too hot a pace.
When Carlos reached the edge of the chapparal, his pursuers were still only parting from the walls of the Presidio. Of course none followed him on foot, and it had taken the men some time to get their arms and horses ready. So far as he was concerned, he no longer feared pursuit, and would have scorned to take a circuitous path.
Great was the excitement at the presidio when Pomponio's escape was discovered. The soldiers, on going past the place on their morning rounds, saw the bloody tracks of the prisoner's descent on the wall under the window. An instant investigation was made, and the truth of the awful manner in which Pomponio had accomplished his evasion disclosed.
A pile of copy-books, the work of the presidio school, lay on the table. As he turned over the leaves with a paternal interest, and surveyed the fair round Scripture text, the first pious pothooks of the pupils of San Carlos, an audible commentary fell from his lips: "'Abimelech took her from Abraham' ah, little one, excellent!
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