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That horse will never fail you. It is the pride of the Lagunitas herds." Maxime promises to aid in any future juncture. He rides out from lonely Lagunitas, near which tradition to-day locates those fabulous deposits, the vanished treasures of Joaquin, the mountain robber. A generation glides away. The riches, long sought for, are never found.
He determines to throw his own command over the valley towards the unvisited Lagunitas rancho. Padre Francisco will be there, a good adviser. Valois, the rich and successful lawyer, is another man from the penniless prisoner of seven years before. Knowing the hatred of Don Miguel for the Americans, he has never revisited the place. Still he would like to meet the beloved padre again.
He will not uselessly enrage the gloomy lord of Lagunitas. Don Miguel is a hermit now. Three days' march, skilfully concealed, brings him to the notched pass, where Lagunitas lies under its sentinel mountains. Brooding over the past, thinking of the great untravelled regions behind the grant, stories from the early life of Don Miguel haunt the sleepless hours of the anxious young Southern leader.
Lines are examined, witnesses probed, defensive measures taken. Maxime sits; catechizes the Don, the anxious Donna Juanita, and the padre. Wandering by the shores of Lagunitas, Valois notes the lovely reflection of the sweet-faced Dolores in the crystal waters. The girl is fair and modest. Francois Ribaut often wonders if the young man sees the rare beauty of the Spanish maiden.
They will shine on Lagunitas, smiling, fringed with its primeval pines. In her sleep, perhaps his little girl calls for him in vain. He is doomed not to hear that childish voice again. A bundle of letters, carelessly tossed down at head-quarters, have been carried in his bosom during the day's scattering fight.
Jaggers becomes dignified and cool. "Is there money in it, Colonel?" he says, with a gleam of his ferret eyes. "Big money," decisively says Woods. "I'm very busy now," objects Jaggers. He thinks of his ten-cent ante in that pedro game. "I want you to give me your idea of the title to the Lagunitas mine. I am thinking of buying in," continues Joe.
Not a word to Isabel of impending trouble." The little court-house at Mariposa is not large enough for the crowd which pours in to see the Lady of Lagunitas when the fated day approaches. It is the largest estate in the country. A number of strangers have arrived. They are targets for wild rumors. Several grave-looking arrivals are evidently advocates. There is "law" in their very eyebrows.
Securing from the papers of the old mansion house, materials, old in appearance, he quietly writes up a bill of sale of the quartz lead known as the Lagunitas mine, to secure the forty thousand dollars advanced by him to Maxime Valois, dated back to 1861. Days of practice enable him to imitate the signature of Valois. He appends the manual witness of "Kaintuck" and "Padre Francisco."
When the crash came, when the Southern flags were furled in the awful silence of defeat and despair, the wily lawyer, safe in Lagunitas, was crowning his golden fortunes. Penniless, broken in pride and war-worn, the survivors of the men whom he urged into the toils of secession, returned sadly home, scattering aimlessly over the West. Fools of fortune.
It is only vaguely understood by the simple Californian lady. Her merry child is rapidly forgetting the self-exiled father. Under the bowers of Lagunitas she romps in leafy alley and shady bower. Judge Hardin, grave-faced, cautious, frugal of speech, visits the domain several times. In conference with Padre Francisco and the vigilant "Kaintuck," he adjusts the accumulating business affairs.
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