"So, the English ships have sailed southward, with decks cleared for action!" he thought. "Word must be given to Mendoza and the American commodore at once." Then with an oath: "What misfortune this strong wind was blowing on this of all mornings! Well, I'll get to Mission San José with the news if my horse holds out! or," he half laughed, "if he fails, I'll lasso a bull and press him into service." The horseman slipped down the steep grades, passed the rancho of his neighbor, Señor Peralta; rode through the foothills comprising part of the grant of Don Luis Castro, and into the confines of his own property, the Rancho Arroyo San Lorenzo. Here he reined in for a moment, and allowed the animal to lope, an easy canter much affected in early-California days. "Now, for Arroyo Seco, Mendoza's outpost! I'll find a fresh horse there in his corrals." He spurred his horse which dashed along the foothills toward Mission San José. The bellowing of the returning cattle became plainer and plainer. The vanguard of the herds was already dotting the higher levels above him. "Caramba! I'm none too far away, if I wish to avoid being caught in the press." With word and quirt and spur he urged his horse forward. Mile after mile sped past. "You, poor fellow, are pretty well done," to his animal as it labored along. "Well, I see Mendoza's corrals ahead. I'll leave you there in good hands, and get my saddle on another racer." Many cattle and horses in the marshes adjacent on the bay had not been rounded up in the spring when the droves had been formed for the San Joaquin. They had swum across the intervening sloughs to the salt-grass pastures where fodder was more plentiful. After the rains had come these animals had returned to the valley lands and had grown fat. Each stallion is a general having under him his lieutenants who, with him, form a guard for the protection of the mothers and foals of the family. As it is with the horse so is it with the cattle. The cows and calves follow the mighty leaders that afford them safety. Thus, from the valley came hundreds of horses and cattle to meet the homecomers. They had scented their fellows from afar, and flew madly to the foothills, to do them battle. The vaqueros were miles away, in the rear of the swarming, home-coming herds. In time they would make peace by clubbing the fighting leaders over nose or horn with their heavy whip-stocks. Zelaya was within half a mile of the Mendoza corral when a drove of fifty or more horses, led by a splendid dapple-gray stallion, came thundering from a deep hollow directly in front of him. The leader disdained battle with a single stranger and rushed by like the wind. Don Pedro turned rein and ran with the drove for safety. Little by little he lessened speed; then, as the way opened, he left the company forced on him and again turned toward the Mendoza corrals.