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Updated: May 2, 2025
With the skill of the old scout of the plains, he brings his little squad up to the shoulder of the ridge to the south of the rancho. Dismounting, Indian-like, he crawls up to the summit, from which the beautiful panorama of glittering Lagunitas lies before him. By his side is a tried friend. A life and death supporter. Lagunitas again!
From session to session, the volatile heart of San Francisco throbs responsive to the sliding values of these paper "stock certificates." Woods has departed for a fortnight, to look at a new ranch in San Joaquin. He does not tell Peyton that he lingers around Lagunitas. He knows Hardin is at San Francisco. A few hours at the county seat.
Fandango and feast, "baile" and rejoicings, have made the woodland echoes ring. The growing Dolores mopes in the lonely mansion. She demands her absent father daily. Before the troopers of Lagunitas return with their humbled chieftain, a squad of mounted American volunteers ride up and take possession.
It is to visit the grave of the soldier of the Lost Cause and lay their wreaths upon the turf which covers his gallant breast. The old padre sits on the porch of his house at Lagunitas. He waits only for the last solemn act. Henry Peyton is to follow the travellers East, and remove the soldier of the gray to the little chapel grounds of Lagunitas.
This nameless waif, in her delirium, is faltering words of the cradle hymns, the baby lispings of the heiress of Lagunitas. A light from heaven shines upon the old priest's brow. Is it, indeed, the heiress! He can hear his own heart beat. The wearied, hunted priest feels the breezes from the singing pines once more on his fevered brow.
Hardin gambles for pleasure, for vanity, and for excitement. Led on by his desire to stand out from the mass of men, he throws his fortune, mixed with the funds of Lagunitas, into the maelstrom of California Street. Success and defeat alternate. It is a transition time.
He will join the Southern defence. For it is defence not invasion now. Directing Hardin to select a subordinate in his place, Valois returns to Lagunitas. He must say farewell to loving wife and prattling child. Too well known to be allowed to follow Showalter, Terry, and their fellows over the Colorado desert, he must go to Guaymas in Mexico. He can thus reach the Confederates at El Paso.
Judge Davis and Peyton guard the interests of the girl who has only lost the millions of Lagunitas to inherit a fortune from the father who scorned to even gaze upon her face. Joseph Woods joyfully guides the beautiful heiress of the domain, who kneels besides the grave of Dolores Peralta, her unknown mother, with her lover by her side. The last of the Valois stand there, hand in hand.
The little Spanish girl, from whose baby arm he extracted a giant poisonous thorn, bore a mark like this, a record of his own surgery. At far Lagunitas, he had said, playfully to Dolores Valois: "Your little one will never forget the cross; she will bear it forever." For the incision left a deep mark on baby Isabel Valois' arm. The old priest is strangely stirred.
Judge Davis shall now run my whole game. I don't ask you who killed that woman, padre, but I will bet the de Santos knows the hand which struck the blow. "By leaving you, Vimont, to watch her, you may be yet able to catch our man. We'll let her bring forward the heiress of Lagunitas, whom she stowed away in the convent. Don't spare the cash, padre. You can use what you want from my bankers.
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