There were two ways to avoid conscription. One was to marry--Roldan sniffed audibly; the other lay in flight and eluding the men until their round was over for the year. Roldan did not like the idea of running away from anything; he and several of his father's vaqueros had once made an assault upon a band of cattle thieves and hunted them into the mountains: that was much more to his taste. Nevertheless there was one thing he liked less than showing his heels, and that was giving up his liberty. Not to gallop at will over the rancho, or sleep in a hammock, to coliar the bulls and shout with the vaqueros at rodeo, to be the first at the games and the races, to wear his silken clothes and lace ruffles, and eat the delightful dishes his mother's cooks prepared! And then he was a very high-spirited young gentleman. Although the same obedience, almost reverence, was exacted of him by his parents that was a part of the household religion in California, yet as the youngest child, who had been delicate during his first five years, he had managed to get very badly spoiled. He did not relish the idea of leading a life of monotony and discipline, of performing hourly duties which did not suit his taste, above all of being ordered to leave his father's house as if he were a mere Indian. No, he decided, he would not go into the army--not this year nor any other year. He would defy the governor and all his men. When Roldan made up his mind he acted promptly. No time was to be lost in this case. Now was the hour of siesta; he could have no better time to get away. A note would relieve his parents of a certain amount of anxiety; and if they did not know where he was they could not be held accountable. His blood tingled at the presentiment of the adventures he should have in that perilous journey through a country of which he knew nothing beyond his father's and the adjoining rancho. And as adventures would be but half spiced if experienced alone, he determined--and not from selfish motives only--to save his best beloved friend, Adan Pardo, from the grasp of the law likewise. He went within and slung about himself two pistols and a dagger. After he had made a small bundle of linen and raided the pantry, he went out to the corral, saddled his horse and packed the saddle bags, wound his lariat securely about the pommel, then galloped away on a series of adventures memorable in the annals of California. II Roldan's way lay over his father's leagues until two hours after nightfall. As he passed, every now and again, a herd of cattle, lounging vaqueros called to him: "Ay, Don Roldan, where do you go?" or, "The little senor chooses a hot day for his ride." But he excited no curiosity. Like all Californians he half lived in the saddle; and he was often seen riding in the direction of Don Esteban Pardo's rancho, to spend a few days with his chosen friend.