Hardin sets his house in order. The establishment is reduced. He has, now, peace for his schemes. No petticoat rule now. No prying eyes. As the winter rain howls among his trees, he realizes that the crash of the Confederacy will bring back clouds of stragglers from the ruin yet to come. He must take legal possession of Lagunitas. He has a good reason. Its hidden gold will give him power. His public life is only cut off for a time. Gold is potent; yes, omnipotent! He can bide his time. He must find that mine. He has now two points to carry in his game. To rid himself of the padre is easy, in time. To disembarrass himself of old "Kaintuck" is another thing. His face grows bitter as he thinks of the boundless wealth to be reached in Lagunitas's glittering quartz beds. The property must remain in his care. If the heiress were to die, the public administrator might take it. He knows he is not popular. His disloyalty is too well known. Besides, Valois' death is not yet officially proven. He has kept his counsel. No one has seen the will. But the returning wave of Confederates may bring news. The dead colonel was of too great local fame to drop unheeded into his grave. His carefully prepared papers make him the representative of Colonel Valois. He is legal guardian of the child. He will try and induce "Kaintuck" to quit the rancho. Then he will be able to open the mines. If the Confederacy totters to its fall, with the control of that wealth he may yet hold the highest place on the coast. Dreaming over his cigar, he knows that legislatures can be bought, governors approached, and high positions gained, by the adroit use of gold. Bribery is of all times and places. Telegraphing to "Kaintuck" to meet him near Stockton, at the station, with a travelling carriage, the Judge revolves plans to rid himself of this relic of the Valois r‚gime. His stay at Lagunitas will be for some weeks. He has now several agents ready to open up the mines. A liberal use of the income of Lagunitas has buoyed up his sinking credit. But his stock-gambling has been desperately unlucky. Hardin revolves in his mind the displacement of old "Kaintuck." The stage sweeps down the San Joaquin to the station, where his team awaits him. An unwonted commotion greets him there. His arrival is opportune. In the room which is the office, bar, and billiard-room of the little hostelry, poor old "Kaintuck" lies dying, when the Judge dismounts. It is the hand of fate. During the hours of waiting, a certain freedom, induced by copious draughts of fiery Bourbon, caused the old foreman to injudiciously "Hurrah for Jeff Davis." He gave free vent to his peculiar Southern opinions. A sudden quarrel with a stranger results in a quick resort to weapons. Benumbed with age and whiskey, the old trapper is shot while tugging at his heavy "Colt."