At the touch of his son’s lips a chill struck the old man’s heart. It tortured him to think how little the boy guessed of the recent history of the man he was bending over with loving concern; how little he divined of the revelation that must presently be made to him. For a moment the dying man felt that, after all, perhaps it were better to renounce his vengeance, for it had been suddenly borne in upon him that the boy might suffer acutely in the life that he intended him to live; but in another moment he had taken himself to task for a weakness that he considered must have been induced by his dying condition, and he sternly banished the thought from his mind. “My lad,” he began, “you promise to carry out my wishes after I am gone?” “Ay, father, you know that I will. What do you wish me to do?” The old man pointed to the crucifix. “You swear it?” “I swear it.” No sooner had the son uttered the wished-for words than his father fell back on the couch and closed his eyes. The effort and excitement left him as white as a sheet. It seemed to the boy as if his father might be sinking into the last stupor, but after a while he opened his eyes and called for a glass of _aguardiente_. With difficulty he gulped it down; then he said feebly: “My boy, the only American that ever was good was your mother. She was an angel. All the rest of these cursed gringos are pigs;” and his voice growing stronger, he repeated: “Ay, pigs, hogs, swine!” The son made no reply; his father went on: “What have not these devils done to our country ever since they came here? At first we received them most hospitably; everything they wanted was gladly supplied to them. And what did they do in return for our kindness? Where now are our extensive ranchos--our large herds of cattle? They have managed to rob us of our lands through clever laws that we of California cannot understand; they have stolen from our people thousands and thousands of cattle! There is no infamy that--” The young man hastened to interrupt him. “You must not excite yourself, father,” he said with solicitude. “They are unscrupulous--many of them, but all are not so.” “Bah!” ejaculated the old man; “the gringos are all alike. I hate them all, I--” The old man was unable to finish. He gasped for breath. But despite his son’s entreaties to be calm, he presently cried out: “Do you know who you are?” And not waiting for a reply he went on with: “Our name is one of the proudest in Spain--none better! The curse of a long line of ancestors will be upon you if you tamely submit--not make these Americans suffer for their seizure of this, our rightful land--our beautiful California!” More anxiously than ever now the son regarded his father. His inspection left no doubt in his mind that the end could not be far off. With great earnestness he implored him to lie down; but the dying man shook his head and continued to grow more and more excited.