Eight delicious weeks passed—the most delightful that Clarence and Mercedes had ever lived. The first of September had dawned, and on the 16th they would be married. With the first rays of the coming morn, Clarence arose and went to the west window of his chamber, which looked towards the Alamar House. As he peeped through the closed shutters, thinking it would seem foolish to open them so early, he saw the shutters of one window—in that well known row where Mercedes' room was located, and which looked to the east—pushed open, and a white hand and part of a white arm came out and fastened it back. His heart told him whose white arm that was, and of course he could not think of going back to bed. He began to dress himself, deliberating whether he should or not go to town that day and telegraph to Hubert to do as he thought best about selling another cargo of ores, or say to wait for him, that he would be at San Francisco on the 20th. When he was dressed, he sat by the west window and tried to read, but that white arm would come across the page and that white hand would cover the letters, so that he threw the book down and began to walk, trying to think about that business of selling the ore to the Austrian house, of which Hubert had been writing to him. Yes, he thought, the best thing would be to go to town that same day and ask Hubert couldn't the matter wait until the 20th. But should Hubert be coming, or should it be necessary to wait for telegrams, he might not be back until the following day in the evening. He would go immediately after breakfast to tell Mercedes that he could not see her that evening.

Mercedes and DoÑa Josefa were on the front piazza when he arrived, and Gabriel was talking to George in quite an excited manner, for him, as he was always so calm and self-contained. As soon as Clarence came up the piazza steps, George began to tell him that some of the last lot of cattle which had been sent off to the mountains, had got away from the herders and returned to the rancho on the previous day, and that morning a couple of cows of a very choice breed were found shot through the body, in a dying condition. The poor brutes had to be shot dead by Gabriel himself, to save them from further suffering. No one knew who had fired on the poor dumb animals, but circumstantial evidence clearly pointed to Old Mathews.

Clarence was very angry, of course. He reflected in silence for a few moments, then said to Gabriel:

“I think if Don Mariano would make now, to-day, a deed of sale of all his cattle and horses to me, they would have a better chance of being spared. Not that Mathews, or Gasbang, or Miller like me any better, but they are not so anxious to annoy me.”

“I think Clarence's idea is a good one,” George said.

“I think so, too, and have thought so for some time,” Gabriel replied. “We are going to drive off the last lot to-day. Father and Tano are down in the valley. I'll tell him what you say as soon as I go down. I think we will return by to-morrow night, and he can draw up the deed then.”

“Tell him that I shall consider that the cattle are mine now, and will let our friends, the settlers, know it, so that they can have the satisfaction of killing my cattle.”

“Do you really mean it?” DoÑa Josefa asked.

“Certainly. Don Mariano can buy all the cattle he wants to restock his rancho after he gets rid of the two-legged animals,” Clarence replied.

“That is, if he wants to restock it. He was talking with George and me last night, and he said if the Texas Pacific is built, he will have all his land surveyed to sell it in farming lots, and will not put cattle in it. But if the railroad is not built, then the best use he can make of the rancho will be to make it a cattle rancho again, after the squatters go away,” Gabriel said, adding that he must be going to join his father. He then went into the hall to go to the court-yard, where his saddled horse and his vaquero waited for him. Clarence and George followed to bid him good-by. Clarence said:

“I wrote to Hubert about procuring for you a place at a bank, to get broken into the banking business, and he replied that he can, and will get you a place. Would you like to try it, now that you will have less to do here, when there will be no cattle at the rancho? I am going to write and telegraph to Hubert to-day—or he might be down in to-morrow's steamer—so that I can tell him about what time you might go up.”

“I think you had better go about the time Clarence and Mercedes get married, as they will immediately go to their house in San Francisco,” George suggested.

“Yes, I think that will be the best time,” Gabriel said.

“Very well; I'll write to Hubert that we will be up by the 20th of this month,” Clarence said.

“Gabriel can take his place on the 1st of October. That will do splendidly, as Lizzie and Mercedes will be together,” George said.

“But we must live in the hope that we will all come down to make our homes here,” Gabriel added.

“Of course. That is understood,” Clarence replied.

“Though at times I feel discouraged, still, I can't well see how the Texas Pacific is to be defeated permanently. That would be too outrageous. Let us hope that by next year our banking scheme will be carried out,” George said.

“I hope so, and as I have made more money than I had when we first talked about it we can put in more capital. We can, if you advise it, put in a whole million now,” Clarence said.

“So much the better,” George said, and both shook hands with Gabriel, who quickly jumped on his horse and was off at a gallop, followed by his vaquero.

It was the hour when the babies got their morning bath. George had great pleasure in seeing his boy enjoy the sensation of floating in the water; so he let Clarence return to the porch where Mercedes was now alone, and he went to watch the bathing of his boy.

Clarence sat close to Mercedes and said: “Does the sweetest thing that God created realize that this day is the first day of September?”

“If you mean me, though you make me feel very foolish with your exaggerated praise, I must say that I do realize that to-day is the first of September,” she replied, smiling.

“And does the loveliest rosebud and the prettiest hummingbird remember that in two weeks more she is to be mine, mine forever?”

“Hush, Clarence, some one might hear you,” she said, putting her hand over his lips, blushing and looking around, alarmed. He took that hand and kissed the palm of it, then turned it over and kissed the back of it most ardently, and held it in his own, saying:

“I have a piece of information that is going to make your dear heart glad. What will you give for it?”

“What is it? Do tell me. Is it about papa?”

“No, but it is about Gabriel and Lizzie.”

“What?”

“That Gabriel will get a place at a San Francisco bank to learn the banking business, and they will live with us, so you and Lizzie will be together.”

“Oh! Clarence, is that so? Oh! you make me so glad! How can I ever thank you?”

“Haven't you said that you love me? Haven't you promised to marry me, and thus make me the happiest man upon the entire face of all this earth? That is enough for thanks. But for telling you the news I want to be paid extra.”

Mercedes blushed crimson.

“I am going to town now, to be away a long time; won't you give me one single kiss to say good-by?”

“Must you go? Why don't you write your letters or telegrams and send them from here?”

“Because I may have to answer some dispatches immediately. Or it is possible that Hubert might have run down to see me for a few hours. To-morrow is steamer day.”

“Then this will be a good chance to send up your photograph I want to have enlarged and painted.”

“Yes; give it to me; I'll send it up.”

“I'll bring it,” she said, going to the parlor. He followed her. He closed the door, saying:

“Now, one sweet kiss to give me good luck and bring me back all safe. P-l-e-a-s-e don't refuse it.”

“Oh, Clarence! Mamma don't approve of such things, and I don't either. You are not my husband yet,” she pleaded, but in vain, for he had put his arm around her and was holding her close to his heart.

“I am not your husband yet? Yes I am. In intention I have been ever since January, 1872. More than two years, and, in fact, I shall be in two weeks. So you see how cruel it is to be so distant.”

“Do you call this distant, holding me so close?” For sole answer he looked into her eyes, kissed her forehead and blushing cheeks, then he kissed the heavily fringed eyelids, kept partly closed, afraid to meet the radiant gaze of his expressive eyes. Then he put his lips to hers and held them there in a long kiss of the purest, truest love. “My darling! My wife! My own for ever! The sweetest, loveliest angel of my soul!”

No doubt he would have been willing to hold her thus close to his heart for hours, but she disengaged herself from his embrace with gentle firmness. Such warm caresses she intuitively felt must be improper in the highest degree, even on the eve of marriage. No lady could allow them without surrendering her dignity. That was the effect of DoÑa Josefa's doctrines, which she had carefully inculcated into the minds of her daughters.

“Well, I hope that at last you have kissed me enough,” said Mercedes, rather resentfully.

“Never enough, but I hope sufficiently to give me good luck,” answered the happy Clarence.

“Oh, Clarence, that reminds me of my horrible dream of last night. I dreamed that papa went to look for you in the midst of a snow storm and never came back. You returned, but he never did.”

“You must not believe in dreams, dearest.”

“I do not, but this seemed prophetic to me.”

“Prophetic of a snow storm in San Diego?”

“The snow was symbolic of bereavement, perhaps.”

She rested her head on his shoulder and seemed lost in thought, and he held the little hand, so soft and white and well shaped, and thought of her beauty and lovely qualities and his coming happiness. He was thinking that he would have been content to pass the day thus, when she raised her eyes to his, saying:

“I must not keep you if you must go. Remember how superstitious my dream has made me. I wish you could wait until to-morrow.”

“I would, but Hubert might come to-morrow.”

“I had forgotten that.” One more long kiss and they parted, her heart sinking under a load of undefined terrors.

From the seventh heaven Clarence had to come down again to prosaic earth; and after bidding adieu to Mercedes, he drove back home to speak to his father. The old man was sitting in his easy chair on the porch, smoking his pipe, alone, behind the curtain of honeysuckle, white jasmine and roses, so carefully trained over the porch by Mrs. Darrell and Alice. Seeing his son driving back towards the front steps, he walked down to meet him. Clarence was glad that he seemed in a better humor. He at once said:

“Father, I came back to ask a favor of you.”

“A favor? You alarm me. You never did that in all your life,” he said, smiling.

“You mean I never did anything else. I know it. But this is a very especial one, and a business favor.”

“Let us hear it. Of course I'll do anything I can for you or any other of my children.”

“Thanks, father. The favor is this. That in talking with the settlers—especially those who have been most ready to shoot the Don's cattle—that you tell them I have bought all his stock and all will be driven to the Colorado river just as soon as cold weather sets in. I don't think many of the settlers like me any better than they like the Don, but if they think they might displease you by killing your son's cattle they might spare the poor animals.”

“I'll do it. I expect Mathews and Miller now. They sent me word they are coming to bring me some special news as soon as Gasbang returns from town. But have you really and truly bought the stock? or is it only to—”

“I have made a bona fide purchase; five hundred head are already at the mine, and as soon as the hot weather is over, the others will follow. I must buy cattle somewhere, for we have to feed five hundred men now at work, and as the Don is losing his all the time, I proposed to him to sell all to me.”

“But what is he to do with his land? Queer that he should sell his cattle when he gets his land. Doesn't he believe he'll get rid of us—the squatters?”

“O yes, but he figures thus: If the Texas Pacific is built, it will pay better to sell his land in farming lots; if not, he can restock it when he gets rid of his troublesome neighbors.”

“He has more sense than I gave him credit for. I guess you put him up to that dodge.”

“No indeed. He thought it himself, but it seems that Gabriel and George thought the same thing at the same time, and as I was thinking where I could get cattle for my mines, it struck me I might buy his and suit us both.”

“All right. I'll speak to the settlers, but of course I cannot promise that they will do what I ask.”

“I understand that. Many thanks. Good-by.”

“When will you return?”

“To-morrow,” and he was off at a tearing speed for his horses were tired of waiting, and longed to be on the road.

There was a little arroyo which passed about 500 yards on the west of Don Mariano's house and marked the west line of Darrell's land; as Clarence approached this dried brook, he saw Gasbang and Roper coming down from the opposite hill, evidently unable to check their horses. Roper was so intoxicated that he could with difficulty keep his seat, and as Gasbang seemed much frightened, Clarence took his phÆton well off the road and waited so as to lend his assistance, if it should be required. But “the kind Providence which takes care of drunken sailors, children and the United States,” was watchful of Roper, and though he swayed and swung beyond possible equilibrium, he stuck to his seat with drunken gravity.

“Going to invest in more real estate?” Gasbang shouted as soon as he felt reassured by passing the great danger of sand and pebbles which his cowardice had magnified to him into a precipice. Roper laughed heartily, but Clarence, not understanding the allusion, made no answer and drove on without looking at them. If a kind fairy could have whispered to him what was the errand of these two men, he most assuredly would have turned back. There being no fairy but the blue-eyed one who had already told her dreams and fears, which he had not believed, he went on to town, and Gasbang took Roper to his house, carefully putting him to bed to take a nap that would sober him before he spoke with Darrell; for it was to speak with Darrell that he came.

While Roper slept, Gasbang went to see Mathews, Miller and Hughes, and together they held a consultation, at the end of which it was decided that, as Roper was too intoxicated yet, and Darrell disliked drunkards, they would go and have a preliminary talk with him themselves, and Roper would be pressed into service, if advisable, in the morning, when he would be sober.

Darrell had got tired of waiting for Mathews; so, after thinking of what Clarence had said, he decided that it would be better to have a talk with Hancock and Pitikin, who were about the most reliable of all the settlers. They perhaps knew what it was that Mathews had to say. He told Webster to saddle a horse and bring it around; he would go on horseback, as the wagon road to Hancock's was very long, around the fields.

But now when Webster had brought the saddled horse to the front steps, Darrell saw Mathews, Gasbang, Miller and Hughes coming in a two-seated wagon, and all seemed to be talking very excitedly.

“Tie the horse there. I'll wait for those men,” said Darrell, sitting down again. Webster did as he was told, and then walked straight up-stairs to his mother's room. Everett and Alice were with her.

“Mother, if I were you, I would go and sit in the parlor and do my sewing there by the windows on the piazza, while those bad men are talking to father,” Webster said.

“Why, Webster, go and listen unseen!” Mrs. Darrell exclaimed.

“Certainly, and do it quickly, for those old imps mean mischief to Clarence.”

“To Clarence!” exclaimed Alice and her mother at the same time.

“Yes, mother, Web. might be right. You might just be in time to unmask some lie against Clary,” Everett suggested.

“One thing is sure, that those men already have too much influence over father, and we have done nothing to oppose it,” Alice said. Mrs. Darrell was silent, then, looking at her children, said:

“You might be right, my children, but that would not justify my listening at the keyhole.” Everett shrugged his shoulders, saying:

“All right, mother. Come on, Web.” And both boys left the room. When they were out, Everett said: “Web, get a horse saddled and tie him at the back porch for me. I am going to listen from Jane's room; one of her windows is right over those men. If what I hear makes it necessary for me to see Clarence, I shall go to town. Get a horse saddled immediately and come to me.”