Despite the general departure of live stock the late spring saw wondrous commotion about the watering troughs of Señor Mendoza. Cattle from the hills, from the marshes of the bay, from no one knew where, scented water and rushed in thirst-madness to the Mission of San José; bellowing, leaping, rolling over and over in their frenzy to reach the water! All day long did the vaqueros rush into the surging tumult, springing with the swiftness of the cat from back to back of cattle or horse in the plunging mass, separating the press here to save the weaker animals from suffocation, opening lanes there to allow ingress to the troughs. Bellowing of cattle mingled with neighing of horses in wildest confusion. Famine showed feverlike in their eyes and echoed madly in their cries. During the day the battle raged, but at night they drew away to the hills looking for the lower tree-foliage and the scanty leaf-forage. Then came other animals to the water. Thirst drew them from the mountains and drove away their fear of man. The gaunt bear lapped from the trough, and though the bow of the hunter was bent and the arrow aimed to slay, pity withheld the arrow. The timid deer stood unafraid at the side of its ancient enemies, man and bear. The scream of the mountain lion mingled with the howl of the wolf, as they ran about among men, looking for food after they had quenched their thirst at the watering place. Some strange chivalry, deep residing in the beasts of prey, held the weaker denizens of the wildwood in safety from claw and fang. In their dire adversity came a literal fulfillment of the old prophecy that the lion and the lamb should lie down together. Señor Mendoza and his friends faced bravely the difficult situation. "Our Indian brother shows now his likeness of spirit to the four-footed dwellers of the wood. Famine madness possesses both. Together do they roam by day and weirdly cry by night," said Mendoza in the council of his neighbors. "The Indians lack not food or water," said some one. "What need of such strange actions?" "The savage is close to the surface in every nature," replied Mendoza. "Among our Indian friends the outcropping is more easily apparent." Several began speaking at the same time, an unusual thing in that placid assembly. Like a murmur it began, but rose to distinct word and ordered expression. "Our wives, our children, our lives, are in danger from these mad wards the province has given us." "Our soldiers are at the pueblo," said one. "They number less than fifty. The Indians have strength and to spare to drive our few troopers into the San Francisco bay," said Zelaya. "Why were so many aborigines trained in the use of the musket and lance?" from some one else. "They have fought our battles against their untamed brethren for a generation," replied Mendoza. As usual this meeting was in Mendoza's house. Directly across the road was the Mission church.