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Rh peaceful little hamlet of houses, he groaned. “If the people who make these laws could only see this village, they would never turn us out, never! They can't know what is being done. I am sure they can't know.”

“What did I tell you?” cried Alessandro, galloping up on Benito, and reining him in so sharply he reared and plunged. “What did I tell you? I saw by your face, many paces back, that you had come as you went, or worse! I have been watching for you these two days. Another American has come in with Morong in the cañon; they are making corrals; they will keep stock. You will see how long we have any pasture-lands in that end of the valley. I drive all my stock to San Diego next week. I will sell it for what it will bring,—both the cattle and the sheep. It is no use. You will see.”

When Ysidro began to recount his interview with the land-office authorities, Alessandro broke in fiercely: “I wish to hear no more of it. Their names and their speech are like smoke in my eyes and my nose. I think I shall go mad, Ysidro. Go tell your story to the men who are waiting to hear it, and who yet believe that an American may speak truth!”

Alessandro was as good as his word. The very next week he drove all his cattle and sheep to San Diego, and sold them at great loss. “It is better than nothing,” he said. “They will not now be sold by the sheriff, like my father's in Temecula.” The money he got, he took to Father Gaspara. “Father,” he said huskily. “I have sold all my stock. I would not wait for the Americans to sell it for me, and take the money. I have not got much, but it is better than nothing. It will make that we do not starve for one year. Will you keep it for me, Father? I dare not have it in San