‘But he is not forgotten. Stories are still told of his wonderful deeds, and people still go in search of money that he is supposed to have hidden in his cave. The Mexican women who tell _suertes_, or fortunes, describe the location of the money; but, as soon as any one reaches the cave, he is warned away by a little old man who stands in the door and protects the buried treasure. An Indian lad, who was riding over the hills one day with his horse and his dogs, dismounted to search for his moccasin, when he suddenly noticed that the dogs had chased something into a cave in the rocks. He followed, and, peering into the darkness, saw two gleaming eyes. He thrust his knife between them, but struck the air; and, though he had been standing directly in front of the opening, so that nothing could have passed him, yet he heard the clatter of hoofs and the tinkle of spurs, and, turning, saw a mysterious horseman, whose pale face and streaming hair melted into the mountain mist, as it floated down from the purple Santa Ynez peaks into the lap of the vine-covered foot-hills below.’ CHAPTER X MORE CAMP-FIRE STORIES ‘And still they watched the flickering of the blaze, And talked together of the good old days.’ ‘BRAVA!’ ‘Bravissima!’ ‘Splendid, Polly!’ exclaimed the boys. ‘Bell, you’re a great author!’ ‘Couldn’t have done better myself—give you my word!’ cried Jack, bowing profoundly to Bell and Polly in turn, and presenting them with bouquets of faded leaves hastily gathered from the ground. ‘Polly covered herself with glory,’ said the doctor; ‘and I am very proud of your part in it, too, my little daughter. I have some knowledge of Pancho’s capabilities as a narrator, and I think the “Story of Valerio” owes a good deal to you. Now, who comes next? Margery?’ ‘No, please,’ said Margery, ‘for I have another story. Take one of the boys, and let’s have more facts.’ ‘Yes, something historic and profound, out of the encyclopædia, from Jack,’ said Polly, saucily. ‘Thanks, Miss Oliver. With you for an audience any man might be inspired; but—’ ‘But not a _boy_?’ ‘Mother, dear, remove that child from my sight, or I shall certainly shake her! Phil, go on, just to keep Polly quiet.’ ‘Very well. Being the oldest Californian present, I—’ ‘What about Dr. Paul?’ asked the irrepressible Polly. ‘He wasn’t born here,’ responded Philip, dryly, ‘and I was.’ ‘I think that’s a quibble,’ interrupted Bell. ‘Papa was here twenty years before you were.’ ‘It’s not my fault that he came first,’ answered Philip. ‘Margery and I are not only the oldest Californians present, but the only ones. Isn’t that so, sir?’ ‘Quite correct.’