"
"Then what is that?" pointing to the shore.
Almost at their feet nestled a cluster of houses, at the head of an
_arroyo_ reaching up from the beach. They looked down upon the smoke of
a manufactory chimney, upon strange heaps of material and curious
engines scattered along the sands, with here and there moving specks of
human figures. In a little bay a schooner swung at her cables.
The _vaquero_ crossed himself in stupefied alarm. "I know not, your
reverence; it is only two years ago, before the _rodeo_, that I was
here for strayed colts, and I swear by the blessed bones of San Antonio
that it was as I said."
"Ah! it is like these Americanos," responded the muleteer. "I have it
from my brother Diego that he went from San Jose to Pescadero two
months ago across the plains, with never a hut nor _fonda_ to halt at
all the way. He returned in seven days, and in the midst of the plain
there were three houses and a mill and many people. And why was it? Ah!
Mother of God! one had picked up in the creek where he drank that much
of gold;" and the muleteer tapped one of the silver coins that fringed
his jacket sleeves in place of buttons.
Pages:
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396