"We are in a deuce of a fix, between the devil and the deep sea, so to speak. On one hand, Barcelo, sulky and savage, and threatening to blow the British fleet off the map. On the other hand, Fairbanks so scrupulous he's ready to throw the gifts of the gods back into their arms, at the slightest excuse. When I left you yesterday at Miramonte's I hurried south to run down rumors. I've caught up with the rumors but haven't accomplished anything else. I have men watching Barcelo's movements. What else to do I don't know." "Well, Captain, let's do nothing for the present--since there's nothing to be done." "If this accursed fog would only lift." "Our standing here won't lift it. Come in and breakfast with us." "Thank you, but I want to go back to the hills to see if the sentinels have possibly caught sight of the fleet through some rift in the fog-banks." "The fleet is off the harbor all right, my friend. What matter whether you see it or not? You will do better for having had refreshment." "Not now. Perhaps I'll return later. I haven't yet inquired how you are. How is it with you?" "I am all right, thank you. I could ride to Alisal." "But you cannot be spared from here when the fog lifts. Talk about a California republic! Señora, you should be ruler of the Californias, including Texas and Oregon." "Captain! Captain!" her merry laugh sounding within the old castle. "Again, my friend, breakfast. Hot coffee will go well, I am sure." "You are very good, but I will decline for the present. Good-bye for a while. If anything comes up, I'll let you know. By the way, why not make Barcelo governor and general? Morando says he won't have the office, anyway, and it might save no end of confusion." "Don't think it. It would only add fuel to the flame. Crisostimo's pride would be seriously touched at being made second choice. Besides, he isn't the man for the place, and the home office would justly blame us. He has been a brave and efficient fighting soldier, but never could be executive or diplomatic." Rider and horse were soon lost to sight. The señora returned to her friends. Breakfast was served immediately. A table had been made ready in the old armory. Vacant musket racks and empty ammunition boxes were strange adornment for a breakfast, the room itself cobwebbed and dusty. Sperm-oil lanterns furnished needed light. Peons served coffee and tortillas, accompanied by sea-trout browned to a turn over charcoal. This was followed with a delicious dish made of chicken and green corn boiled together, and the inevitable frijoles. Strawberries, large and luscious, which had been soaked in Mission wine, were plentifully distributed at each plate, of which the breakfasters partook at intervals throughout the meal, eating the fruit from the stem. Fresh figs stewed in sherry completed the repast.