Before the smoke cleared away the stranger was far away. Dashing off, he spurred his horse at full speed into the chaparral. No one dared, no one cared, to follow a desperate man riding for his life. Hardin orders every attention to the sufferer. Old "Kaintuck" is going out alone on the dark river. Hardin, steeled to scenes like this, by an exciting life, blesses this opportune relief. "Kaintuck" is off his hands forever. Before the Judge leaves, a rude examination by a justice precedes the simple obsequies of the dead ranger. One more red mound by the wayside. A few pencilled words on a shingle mark the grave, soon to be trampled down by the feet of cattle and horses. So, one by one, many of the old pioneers leave the theatre of their aimless lives. The Judge, happy at heart, bears a grave face. He drives into Lagunitas. Its fields looked never so fair. Seated in the mansion house, with every luxury spread out before him, his delighted eye rests on the diamond lake gleaming in the bosom of the fair landscape. It already seems his own. He settles in his easy-chair with an air of conscious lordship. Padre Francisco, studiously polite, answers every deft question. He bears himself with the self-possession of a man merely doing his duty. Does the priest know of the hidden gold mines? No. A few desultory questions prove this. "Kaintuck's" lips are sealed forever in death. The secret is safe. Padre Francisco does not delay his request to be allowed to depart. As he sips his ripe Mission claret, he tells Judge Hardin of the desire of years to return to France. There are now no duties here to hold him longer. He desires to give the Judge such family papers as are yet in his charge. He would like practical advice as to his departure. For he has grown into his quiet retreat and fears the outer world. With due gravity the lawyer agrees in the change. He requests the padre to permit him to write his San Francisco agent of the arrival of the retiring missionary. "If you will allow me," he says, "my agent shall furnish your passage to Paris and arrange for all your wants." Padre Francisco bows. It is, after all, only his due. "When will you wish to leave?" queries Hardin. "To-morrow, Judge. My little affairs are in readiness." During the evening the light of the good priest glimmers late in the lonely little sacristy. The chapel bell tolls the last vespers, for long years, at Lagunitas. All the precious family papers are accepted by the Judge when the padre makes ready for his departure. The priest, with faltering voice, says early mass, with a few attendants. Delivering up the keys of the sacristy, chapel, and his home to the Judge, he quietly shares the noonday meal. If there is sadness in his heart his placid face shows it not. He sits in the lonely room replete with memories of the past.