“All aboard for San Diego!” shouted a voice from a wagon, as it rumbled past Darrell, who walked leisurely with a satchel in his hand, swinging it unconsciously, lost in thought. He looked up and saw that the wagon whence the voice came carried ten or twelve men, sitting on trunks and packages and carpet-bags. These men Mathews and Gasbang had presented to him, saying that they were settlers already residing at the Alamar rancho, and others who were going down to take up claims, at the same time that he would locate his. Darrell looked at his future neighbors with feelings of anything but pleasure. The broad, vulgar face of Gasbang, with its square jaws, gray beard, closely clipped, but never shaved, his compressed, thin, bloodless lips, his small, pale, restless eyes and flat nose, Darrell soon recognized, though the wagon was going rapidly. Mathews' visage was equally noticeable for its ugliness, though of a different type; for his face was long and shaved; his nose was pinched and peaked and red; his cheeks were flabby; and his long, oily, dusty, hair dragged over his neck in matted, meshy locks, while a constant frown settled on his brow. As he was broad-shouldered and rather tall, his face seemed made for some other man much weaker than himself. His face looked mean and discontented, while his body seemed strong and self-reliant.

The wagon had arrived and gone away, and the men had walked aboard the boat, when Darrell, still swinging his satchel abstractedly, stood on the wharf looking at the steamer as if not quite resolved to go. He felt no sympathy, no liking, for any of those men with whom he was now associated.

It was different to have Gasbang as his hired man, as before, but now he was not under orders, and was much older. Years, moreover, had not improved his low nature. Darrell had no higher opinion of the others. He was sure these were not the sort of people whom his wife would like to have for neighbors. He felt self-accused and irresolute. A shout from Gasbang, who was observing him from the steamer's deck, made Darrell look up quickly, ashamed of having betrayed his irresolution. “I can return immediately, if things don't suit me,” he thought, walking towards the gang-plank.

“Come on. Your luggage is all aboard, I took care of it,” Gasbang said, coming to meet him. He snatched Darrell's satchel, in friendly obsequiousness, to carry it for him. “Come along; you'll be left,” said he, and Darrell followed him, half-disgusted at his vulgar officiousness. “I got your berth for you. The steamer is so crowded, that men have to be crammed into rooms by the bunch, so you and I and Mathews must room together.”

“That is all right,” said Darrell, with a shiver of disgust, and went to take a seat on deck where he could be alone.

The bustle and hurry of getting off was over at last, and the steamer was furrowing her way through the spacious bay of San Francisco towards the Golden Gate. Groups of passengers stood here and there, admiring the beautiful harbor and its surrounding country. Darrell sat alone, fixing his gaze upon the receding verdure of Alameda County. Above that green, undulating line of diminishing hills, which seemed to fly from him, Darrell could see plainly one face, one form, beautiful to him as none other could be, the face and form of his wife, his beloved Mary. This was the first time he had ever left her for any longer time than a two days' absence, since they were married. Now he might be absent several months, for if he decided to locate in San Diego County, he would first build a house before he sent for his family. He would first send for Clarence—his eldest son—and then, when a comfortable home was prepared, the family would come.

The voyage down the coast was made safely. Darrell had managed to keep away from his fellow-travelers, to think of home unmolested.

It was a bright morning of January, 1872, when he stood far forward, watching the course of the steamer Orizaba, as she made her way around Point Loma, then between Ballast Point and the sandy peninsula, and passing by La Playa, came in sight of San Diego city.

“Here we are,” said John Gasbang; “how do you like the looks of our little city, Mr. Darrell?”

“Very well; it is larger than I supposed, and the site of it seems very pleasant.”

“Pleasant! I should say it was. A perfect slope, sir, as gentle and regular as if made to order. The best drained city in the world, sir, when we put in sewers. Too poor for that, yet, sir, but we are coming to it, sir, growing, growing, sir.”

“When we get the railroad,” added Mathews, with a mouth full of tobacco, spitting profusely on the deck.

“Exactly, and we'll soon have that. Our news from Washington is very encouraging. Tom Scott will visit us this summer,” Gasbang said.

“I like a town with plenty of trees,” said Darrell, with his gaze fixed on the approaching panorama, thinking that his wife would be pleased with the place, she being so fond of trees. “I had no idea you had so many trees about you. Many are small, yet, but all seem healthy.”

“And health-giving trees, they are, too. Most of them are eucalyptus and pepper trees, the healthiest in the world. You never hear of any malarial fevers in San Diego, sir, never. Our perfect climate, the fine sloping ground of our town site, our eucalyptus trees, sea breezes and mountain air, make San Diego a most healthy little city,” said Gasbang.

“That is an excellent recommendation, as life is not worth having without health,” Darrell observed.

“We have it here,” Hughes said. “A man has to be very imprudent not to keep well in our climate, sir. All we want now is a little stimulus of business prosperity, and the railroad is sure to bring us that. Then San Diego will be the best place on the coast for a residence.”

The loud report of a cannon, close by, made Darrell jump and look around quickly, not knowing what that explosion could mean.

“That is our visiting card to the people of San Diego, to announce our coming,” said the captain, laughingly. “I am sorry it startled you.”

“That is nothing. I didn't know I had nerves. I believe that is what women call it. I was not expecting such a military salute,” Darrell said.

“O yes, we always give it. The San Diego people are very military. At least, I should say the settlers on SeÑor Alamar's rancho are, as I hear they practice rifle shooting there all the time,” the captain said, looking at Mathews and Gasbang.

“That is a shot at us,” Gasbang answered, laughing.

“But it is a blank cartridge, meant not to hurt,” the captain replied.

“The rifle practice is in dark nights,” said a young Spaniard, who had been listening at what was said by the others.

“Or in the daytime, if the cattle deserve it,” Mathews said.

“That is very creditable and brave, to shoot tame cows,” the Spaniard rejoined.

“Perhaps you had better come and try it,” Mathews returned.

“Thank you. It is the mischievous brutes I would like to shoot, not the good, useful cattle;” so saying, the Spaniard walked away, followed by the scowls of the settlers.

“That is impudence for you,” Gasbang exclaimed.

“Those greasers ain't half crushed yet. We have to tame them like they do their mustangs, or shoot them, as we shoot their cattle,” said Mathews.

“O, no. No such violent means are necessary. All we have to do is to take their lands, and finish their cattle,” said Hughes, sneeringly, looking at Darrell for approval. But he did not get it. Darrell did not care for the Spanish population of California, but he did not approve of shooting cattle in the way which the foregoing conversation indicated. To do this, was useless cruelty and useless waste of valuable property, no matter to whom it might belong. To destroy it was a loss to the State. It was folly.

“Why must cattle be shot? Can't they be kept off, away from your crops without shooting them?” he asked.

“Not always. At first, that is, for the first three years after we located our claims,” Gasbang said; “we had to shoot them all the time. Now the Don has sold a good many, or sent them to the mountains, so that few have been killed.”

“I suppose fencing would be too expensive.”

“Phew! It would be ruinous, impossible,” Mathews said.

“Mr. Mechlin is the only one who has attempted to put up any fences,” Romeo said, who had been listening in silence.

“He did so, because he is an old hypocrite,” Mathews said.

“Because his daughter Lizzie is going to marry Gabriel Alamar, and of course, they have to be on friendly terms,” said Hughes.

“That ain't the reason. He fenced a hundred acres the first year, and he never sows outside, so that he's not at all troubled by the Don's cattle,” said Romeo.

“But Gabriel is going to marry Lizzie all the same, and the two families are as thick as can be. Old Mechlin has gone back on us. I wish he would go away,” Mathews said.

“Why should he go? He paid a very good price for his farm, and has made many improvements,” said Romeo.

“Who did he buy from?” asked Darrell.

“From me. I sold him that claim, and took up another a mile up the valley,” said Mathews.

“And a good bargain it was, too,” Romeo observed.

Mathews gave him a black look, but made no answer.

The steamer had now reached the wharf. The deck was filled with passengers and their baggage ready for shore. Pittikin, with wife and daughters blonde and freckled, and Hughes, with his wife and daughters dark and gypsy-looking, were all there, ready for their drive to Alamar.

There were several wagons, light and heavy, waiting to convey the newly-arrived and their luggage to the Alamar rancho. Darrell, having his choice of conveyances, preferred to go in a light wagon with Romeo Hancock, but Gasbang and Mathews joined him. Miller and Hager had come to meet their prodigal sons, who had been in San Francisco for several months, when they had permission to remain only a few weeks. But they had fallen into Peter Roper's company, and that individual had represented the fascinations of whiskey most alluringly to them, advising them to have a good time now that they had the opportunity. They yielded to the tempter, and now had returned home like repentant prodigals.

In a few hours Darrell was driving by Don Mariano Alamar's house, a one-story mansion on a low hill, with a broad piazza in front, and in the interior a court formed by two wings, and a row of rooms variously occupied at its back. That the house was commodious, Darrell could see. There was a flower garden in front. At the back there were several “corrales” for cattle and horses. At the foot of the hill, on the left, there was an orchard, and some grain fields enclosed with good fences.

Darrell took notice of all these particulars. He also noticed that there were females on the front piazza. He was taken to see the best unoccupied lands to make his selection. He ran his practiced eye over the valley from the highest point on the hill. He then came to the next bench; he stopped there, also, and finally came to the broad slope of the foothills.

“I think I'll locate here,” said he, “if no one else has already filed a claim to this land.”

This he said to his fellow-settlers, all being present, addressing all.

“I am sure I have no objection,” said Hughes.

“Nor I, neither,” said Gasbang. “What do you say, Pittikin and Mathews? Do you know if this land is located, or who done it?”

Mathews shook his head in the negative, and kept on chewing his tobacco in silence.

Pittikin said, “I reckon nobody is located here, and if they done it, why don't they leave stakes? They leave no stakes, no notice to settlers; they can't make any row if somebody else takes the land.”

“Well, I want to respect everybody's right; so I want you all to bear witness, that I found no stakes or notices of anybody. I don't want to jump anybody's claim; I want a fair deal. I shall locate two claims here—one in my own name and one for my oldest son, Clarence,” said Darrell.

“You'll take 320 acres?” asked Hughes.

“Yes, 320 acres,—according to law,” replied Darrell.

“All right. Let us measure them now,” said Gasbang. “We have time to mark the limits and put the corner stakes. I have a cord here in my wagon, which is a chain's length. That will do the business.”

“That will do temporarily, I suppose; but I'll have the two claims properly surveyed afterwards according to law,” Darrell said.

“Of course, you will. We all know you will do the fair thing by everybody, and follow the law strictly,” said Hughes. In which opinion all concurred.

“Have you all made your selections?” Darrell asked Hughes.

“Yes; Pittikin and I will locate near Hancock. We like that valley; it is further off, but better soil,” said Hughes. “My oldest boy will put a claim near me, and Miller's two boys have staked theirs also. I think we'll like that location better.”

“I am glad you like it. I think this is good enough soil for me,” Darrell said.

“It is good enough for anybody. The whole rancho is all good soil. Let us put the stakes now,” said Gasbang; and assisted by Mathews, Romeo Hancock and Sumner Pittikin, Darrell proceeded by making a rough guess to measure 320 acres (more or less), and put the corner stakes.

“This is what I call business,” said Gasbang, carrying cheerfully one end of the rope used for measurement; “and all inside of the law. That is the beauty of it—all perfectly lawful.”

And so it was.

The stakes having been placed, Darrell felt satisfied. Next day he would have the claim properly filed, and in due time a surveyor would measure them. All would be done “according to law,” and in this easy way more land was taken from its legitimate owner.

This certainly was a more simple way of appropriating the property of “the conquered” than in the days of Alaric or Hannibal.

There would have been bloodshed then. Now tears only flowed; silent tears of helpless discouragement; of a presentiment of impending desolation.

Sadly DoÑa Josefa and her daughters had witnessed from the half-closed shutters of their bedroom windows Mr. Darrell's performance, and fully anticipated serious trouble therefrom.

Don Mariano Alamar, Gabriel and Victoriano—his two sons—had also silently witnessed Mr. Darrell's lawful appropriation of their own property. Gabriel was pale and calm. Victoriano was biting his lips, and his face was flushed.

“The government has for sale hundreds of millions of acres, but yet these men must come and take my land, as if there was no other,” said Don Mariano, sadly.

“And as we pay the taxes on the land that they will cultivate, our taxes will double next year,” Gabriel added.

“Undoubtedly. That climax to injustice has been the most fatal of all the hardships imposed upon us. George could not believe me when I told him that we (the land-owners) have to pay the taxes on the land cultivated by the pre-emptors, and upon all the improvements they make and enjoy. When he at last understood that such unfair laws did exist, he was amazed, but understood then why the settlers wished to prolong litigation, since it is ‘the natives’ who must bear the burden of taxation, while the titles are in the courts, and thus the pre-emptors hold the land free.”

“I wish we were squatters,” Victoriano remarked.

“During litigation, yes; but there have been cases where honest men have, in good faith, taken lands as squatters, and after all, had to give them up. No, I don't blame the squatters; they are at times like ourselves, victims of a wrong legislation, which unintentionally cuts both ways. They were set loose upon us, but a law without equity recoils upon them more cruelly. Then we are all sufferers, all victims of a defective legislation and subverted moral principles.”