"I shall not be here long, Se¤or Abogado," he says; "I wish you and the padre to watch over my wife and child. YOU are a 'caballero' and 'buen Cristiano.'" Padre Francisco has proved that the young leader is a true child of the Church. The finest horse on the rancho is led to the door. It is trapped with Don Miguel's state equipment. With a wave of the hand, he says: "Se¤or, vayase V. con Dios. That horse will never fail you. It is the pride of the Lagunitas herds." Maxime promises to aid in any future juncture. He rides out from lonely Lagunitas, near which tradition to-day locates those fabulous deposits, the vanished treasures of Joaquin, the mountain robber. A generation glides away. The riches, long sought for, are never found. This blood-stained gold may lie hidden beneath the soil of Mariposa, but it is beyond human ken. There are wild rejoicings at Stockton. Harry Love, splendid in gayest trappings, is the hero of the hour. The dead mountain tiger was the last leader of resistance to the Americans. The humbled Mexicans sink into the condition of wandering helots. The only possession left is their unconquerable pride, and the sadness which wraps them in a gloomy mantle. CHAPTER IX. THE STRANGER'S FOOT AT LAGUNITAS. VALOIS' SPANISH BRIDE. Through the mines runs a paean of rejoicing. The roads are free; Joaquin is slain at last. Butcher bravos tire of revenging past deeds of blood. They slay the helpless Indians, or assassinate the frightened native Californians. This rude revenge element, stirred up by Harry Love's exploit, reaches from Klamath to the Colorado. Yet the unsettled interior is destined to keep up the sporadic banditti of the valleys for years. Every glen offers an easy ambush. In the far future only, the telegraph and railway will finally cut up the great State into localized areas of civilization. All the whiskey-drinking and revolver-carrying bravos must be swept into obscure graves before crime can cease. It becomes, however, occasional only. While bloody hands are ready, the plotting brain of Joaquin Murieta never is equalled by any future bandit. Coming years bring Francisco Garcia, Sebastian Flores, and the "Los Manilas" gang, whose seventeen years of bloodshed end finally at the gallows of Los Angeles. Varrella and Soto, Tiburcio Vasquez, Santos Lotello, Chavez, and their wild Mexican brothers, are all destined to die by shot or rope. "Tom Bell," "Jack Powers," and other American recruits in the army of villany, have only changed sides in their crimes. All these wretches merit the deaths awaiting them. The last purely international element of discord vanishes from the records of crime. Wandering Americans aptly learn stage-robbing. They are heirs of the old riders. The glories of "Black Bart," the lone highwayman of eighty stage-robberies, and the "train robbers," are reserved for the future. But Black Bart never takes life. He robs only the rich.