"We'll soon see," replied the other, in English. Then in Spanish: "We are lost here in the forest. Can you tell us where we can find food and shelter for the night?" "Of a surety, señor, of a surety," the stranger replied. "I am major-domo of Señor Miramonte's hacienda. This is his property here. The señor and his lady are out, but wayfarer guests are none the less welcome. I saw your fire and thought some vagrant peons had built it. We greatly dread forest and pasture fires this time of year. Come, señors, come with me." "He offers us the hospitality of a rancho house." "I'll be deuced glad for shelter anywhere," the injured man replied, both speaking in English. "I'm at home on a ship, but riding a stiff-backed horse with wooden legs is too much for me. Ugh! I'm sore as if I'd been put in a sack and beaten with clubs. Besides, I'm actually seasick. Commodore, think of that! Sea-sick! All for riding a jointless, iron-jawed broncho." The man addressed as "Commodore" laughed. "Maybe riding your horse over that twenty-foot precipice is a contributary cause to your soreness, Captain." The horseman had dismounted and was carefully extinguishing the fire, treading on each separate ember until it was out. "Gentlemen, will you come with me?" he asked, finally. "I'll bring you to your own." "What does he say?" asked the one who had been called "Captain." "He is offering a house after the Spanish custom." "Well, indeed! One of the first things I do when I get on shipboard will be to learn Spanish." The one riding moved away from the wide-branching oak, where the fire had been, out toward the open. It was bright starlight. "Let the injured one ride my horse. I will show the path on foot. Come. It is not far to Señor Miramonte's house." The Commodore interpreted this to his companion. "If it isn't far I'd rather crawl than ride," the Captain replied. "Where in the world is the path? It's light enough, but I surely do not see any. Say, is that fellow an agent for a bandit or something like that? The pay of an American naval captain is such, you know----" "Never fear, Hamilton," laughed the Commodore. "Your pay and mine combined, for a year, would be hardly more than a bagatelle for one of these land-and-cattle barons, such as is Miramonte, I believe." "You've been here before?" "Yes, ten or a dozen years ago. Rode from Yerba Buena to San José along a road which I trust must be near here, though I couldn't find it to-day. Went from San José back to San Francisco harbor along the eastern side of the valley. Remember, Hamilton, what your name is for the present?" "Certainly, I'm plain Smith." "And I'm plain Jones."