"Señor Billings, not one chance in ten of such an outcome," exclaimed Fulgencio Higuera. "Geographically we belong to the United States. In politics we are one with you. Give us time to think and all of us will say aye to this." Diego Valencia and others seconded him. "I voted in haste for English rule," said Luis Castro. "My preference is for your country, Señor Commodore." "And I! And I!" from a dozen others. Billings shrugged. "Your California Baja is solid for England." "I have letters here from Señor Carillo, the Picos, and others prominent there, stating that these men will accept what is wisest for the province," replied Mendoza. "Well said! Well said!" broke in the heavy voice of O'Donnell. Billings looked around the room from one face to another. Finally, his eyes rested on Mendoza. "But there is a possibility if I take your capital that I may be asked to give it over to the English admiral. Is that not true? Your people, after all, may vote to become a British dependency," giving the table beside him a resounding blow with his clenched hand. "A bare possibility--nothing more," said Mendoza, quietly. "In which case I should have my trouble for my pains," asserted the American. "You would, then, have aided a sovereign people to exercise their right of franchise. Surely, your government would uphold you in that. Besides, the chance is ten to one--yes, a hundred to one--that your flag will continue flying over the province," argued the Administrator. Billings's heavy mustachios raised along his face in a peculiar smile. His bushy eyebrows were elevated. In a moment his features fell into their usual mold. "If I do not take Monterey, what then?" "Then comes England," replied Mendoza, his voice low and even, "and at the present--the present, mind you, I say--an apparent majority of our people would welcome her coming. If she comes, she will stay." He looked steadily at the other. "Señor the Commodore, it may be now or never for the Americans." There was a rush of feet in the corridor, a clatter of excited native voices, angry expostulations, and then there burst into the room a figure which startled the grave assemblage nearly out of its senses. A man naked to the waist, his feet cut and bleeding, his face streaked with dust and perspiration. He was scarcely able to stand. "Dios!" exclaimed Mendoza. "It's Señor Zelaya. What has happened?" The perspiring, fainting man partially steadied himself. "The English fleet sailed--this morning--at daybreak--toward the south--decks cleared for action----" He collapsed and would have fallen had not Mendoza caught him. Zelaya soon recovered. Quickly he told his story. "By thunder! The English fleet stripped for battle! Hurrying to Monterey! I'll shoot their infernal rudders off!" cried the Commodore. Hamilton, unsheathing his sword, bounded to the side of his superior. Billings's blade gave answering flash. Excited voices hushed under the swish of steel.