Clouds had drifted along the mountains each night for a week, and never the ranges a bit the better for it, until the cavalcade of Dona Luisa had started north from San Diego; and then--well, it was not what you would call a rain, it was a torrent came down. The skies had opened, and a deluge followed. Then, after leaving San Luis Rey, a carriage-pole must break in an attempt at a runaway, and two horses were lost over that, to say nothing of the off leader, whose "sire had been the devil, and whose dam had been a witch thrice accursed in the foaling!" Their joint offspring had demonstrated his infernal lineage by breaking his own leg as well as the carriage-pole, and another untamed beast had to be roped on the range--hog-tied, and blindfolded to get the harness on him; and because of him Pedro's throat was fairly blistered with curses. As the wheels sank into the sands or plunged from one ravine into another, Dona Luisa prayed and trusted to the saints that she might see her own valley again, and her companion, Dona Jacoba, protested, and forgetting to pray, waxed argumentative. "Raquel was right, Luisa," she repeated for the twentieth time between her groans; "we had been wise to wait at San Diego for Rafael. She has an old head on her shoulders--you will have a wise daughter when the day comes." "Wise! Yes--yes!" moaned Dona Luisa, shaking her head. "I thank the Virgin for that, every day, for Rafael is young, Jacoba; a baby of a wife would be his ruin. Yet--a baby might love him!" "Our boys get love enough!" grunted Jacoba, thinking of her own sons, and her own troubles. "They need wives with sense; and our girls all go wild these days about the Americanos, so--" [Illustration: RAQUEL ESTEVAN] "The girls, too!" and Dona Luisa's tones were strident with censure. "It is bad enough when men must buy and sell with the Americanos in the markets; but the girls,--the women of California,--it is in their hands to shut the door when the Americano knocks--is it not so?" "Oh, yes, of course--yes--it is as you say," agreed Jacoba, weakly, as she thought of the many girls of their relationship, who had opened doors very wide indeed for the Americanos, and of not a few who were to open also the door of the Church. But who could tell Dona Luisa that? "Rafael is all I have left, now that Miguel is killed," continued the mother. "My only grandchildren are half-breeds, and only Rafael is left. Ai! it is hard to grow old,--to let go all lines. But you know what makes me happy, Jacoba? No? It is this one big thing. Raquel will be what I was. She may suffer, but she will stand square on her feet; and she will fight as her father fought--and it will be for California." "You think so?" asked Jacoba, doubtfully. "It may be so, but--do you expect strong fights from a girl who was half a nun? I say she knows too little of the world to fight it."