"What's the matter here?" he asked more sharply. McTurpin turned upon him fiercely. "Go to hell!" he cried. "I'm running this." Brannan's voice was quiet. "Put the pistol down!" he ordered. Deliberately McTurpin raised his weapon. "Damn you--" But he got no farther. Brannan's fist struck fairly on the chin. One could hear the impact of it like a hammer blow. There was a shot, a bullet spent against the rafters overhead. McTurpin sprawling on the sawdust-covered floor. * * * * * On Windham rancho the Senora Windham waited with a faith that knew no end for the coming of her husband. There had been vague reports from vaguer sources that he had been captured by the northern savages. Inez and Benito were forever at her side--save when the boy rode into town to cull news from arriving sailors. The Spanish rancheros had all withdrawn to the seclusion of their holdings and were on the verge of war against the new authorities of Yerba Buena. Washington Bartlett, recently elected Alcalde, had abused his office by repeated confiscations of fine horses from the camponeras of Spanish-Californians, seizing them by requisition of military authority and giving orders on the government in exchange. This the Spaniards had borne in silence. But abuses had become so flagrant as to pass all bounds. "We must arm and drive these robbers from our California," said Benito passionately. "Sanchez has, in secret, organized one hundred caballeros. Only wait. The day comes when we strike!" "Benito," said his mother, sadly, "there has been enough of war. We cannot struggle with these Yankees. They are strong and numerous. We must keep the peace and suffer until your father comes." "There is to be a grand ball at the casa of the Senor Leidesdorff," said Inez. "El Grande Commandante of the Yankee squadron comes amid great ceremony. I will gain his ear. Perchance he will undo the wrongs of this Bartlett, the despoiler." "Inez mia," said her brother, "do not go. No good will come of it. For they are all alike, these foreigners." "Ah!" she cried, reproachfully, "you say that of the Senor Brannan? Or of Don Nathan?" "They are good men," Benito answered, grudgingly. "Have it as you will." * * * * * Yerba Buena did honor to Commodore Stockton under Leidesdorff's ever-hospitable roof. Hundreds of candles burned in sconces and chandeliers, festoons of bunting and greenery gave the big room a carnival air; Indian servitors flitted silently about with trays of refreshments, and the gold lace and braid of America's navy mingled picturesquely with the almost spectacular garb of stately Spanish caballeros. The commodore, though undersized, was soldierly and very brisk of manner. Stockton seemed to Inez a gallant figure. While she danced with him, she found his brisk directness not unpleasing. He asked her of the rancheros and of reports that came to him of their dissatisfaction with American authority.