The fog had already closed in on Monterey, and was now rolling, a white, billowy sea above, that soon shut out the blue breakers below. Once or twice in descending the mountain Concho had overhung the cliff and looked down upon the curving horse-shoe of a bay below him,--distant yet many miles. Earlier in the afternoon he had seen the gilt cross on the white-faced Mission flare in the sunlight, but now all was gone. By the time he reached the highway of the town it was quite dark, and he plunged into the first fonda at the wayside, and endeavored to forget his woes and his weariness in aguardiente. But Concho's head ached, and his back ached, and he was so generally distressed that he bethought him of a medico,--an American doctor,--lately come into the town, who had once treated Concho and his mule with apparently the same medicine, and after the same heroic fashion. Concho reasoned, not illogically, that if he were to be physicked at all he ought to get the worth of his money. The grotesque extravagance of life, of fruit and vegetables, in California was inconsistent with infinitesimal doses. In Concho's previous illness the doctor had given him a dozen 4 grain quinine powders. The following day the grateful Mexican walked into the Doctor's office--cured. The Doctor was gratified until, on examination, it appeared that to save trouble, and because his memory was poor, Concho had taken all the powders in one dose. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders and--altered his practice. “Well,” said Dr. Guild, as Concho sank down exhaustedly in one of the Doctor's two chairs, “what now? Have you been sleeping again in the tule marshes, or are you upset with commissary whisky? Come, have it out.” But Concho declared that the devil was in his stomach, that Judas Iscariot had possessed himself of his spine, that imps were in his forehead, and that his feet had been scourged by Pontius Pilate. “That means 'blue mass,'” said the Doctor. And gave it to him,--a bolus as large as a musket ball, and as heavy. Concho took it on the spot, and turned to go. “I have no money, Senor Medico.” “Never mind. It's only a dollar, the price of the medicine.” Concho looked guilty at having gulped down so much cash. Then he said timidly: “I have no money, but I have got here what is fine and jolly. It is yours.” And he handed over the contents of the precious tin can he had brought with him. The Doctor took it, looked at the shivering volatile mass and said, “Why this is quicksilver!” Concho laughed, “Yes, very quick silver, so!” and he snapped his fingers to show its sprightliness. The Doctor's face grew earnest; “Where did you get this, Concho?” he finally asked. “It ran from the pot in the mountains beyond.” The Doctor looked incredulous. Then Concho related the whole story. “Could you find that spot again?” “Madre de Dios, yes,--I have a mule there; may the devil fly away with her!” “And you say your comrades saw this?” “Why not?”