"I remember fully now. These Southerners express unequivocally their desire to make California a British province. They assure us they will spare no pains to bring about this consummation." "But, señora, pardon: would I presume should I ask further enlightenment?" Again she smiled. "Señor, your Excellency, you do not presume. These communications from Señors Carillo and the Pico brothers were merely little private scribbles, from one sojourner to another, so to speak, and in which there happened to be mention of the political unrest now occupying the minds of the sterner sex." Her smile broadened. Colonel Barcelo had been looking through the cards of the last hand at cribbage, hoping to come across errors in his opponent's play. He found none. "This question should have been settled long ago," he said, testily. "Let the British admiral bring his fleet into Monterey Harbor. Down comes the Mexican flag and up goes the Union Jack. Mexico cannot resist, having no ships. I wonder I did not think of having this done before." He took his seat, and again looked through the cards. Renewed enthusiasm now possessed the company. They applauded and shouted; and cheered Señora Valentino and Colonel Barcelo. When quiet came a committee was chosen to acquaint the English representative at Monterey of California's wish. "Come, Moraga," challenged Colonel Barcelo, "let us play again." "Colonel, you would pass a province from hand to hand as unconcernedly as you do these pasteboards," uttered Moraga, taking his place at the card table. "Certainly! Certainly! This change has really been in my mind some time. Just crept in, so I hardly noticed it." The Colonel and the land baron were soon engrossed with the game. The other guests sauntered away. A few moments later Carmelita chanced to see Tomaso, captain of her father's fighting peons, riding away on Mercurio, the wheel horse in the merienda race. Following, on a reata, was the big bay leader of the Mendoza team. The Indian had stripped to the waist, and wore only the leathern knee breeches of the peon jockey. A handkerchief was tied tightly around the head to keep in place his long hair. Neither horse was saddled, having only a surcingle about its body. The rattle of hoofs on the hard road sounded loud in the night, then died out. The girl knew that Tomaso was bent on some errand of great interest to her father. The two swift horses, prepared as they were, meant that the Indian would, if necessary, ride one to exhaustion, then use the other to complete his journey. The night waned. Noises of early morning began to echo in the hills. The dance and merriment went on. Faint tracings of dawn came across the eastern horizon. The Mendoza ball was drawing to its close. Light came on wings of morning.