s, convinced that you admire his wall and fruit trees, not because they make a picture, but because they are his wall and fruit trees.
A saintly and a regal city, says Don Mariano with a flush of pride; San Carlos is our patron saint, Don Carlos is our founder king.
A regal name is Monterey; rey de los montes-king of the mountains.
Dons and caballeros sneer at San Francisco as an upstart city, built by nobody, not even by a viceroy, and peopled by the scum of New York, Sydney, and Hong-Kong.
At Monterey they have a line of governors, and a second line of bishops, with the ruins of a castle and a gaudy Mexican church, as visible evidence of their temporal and spiritual sway.
At Monterey, too, a gentleman has rights; not only those of a Spanish knight, but those of an Indian chief.
He may be sharp of tongue and light of love.
Nobody thinks of counting the number of his squaws, or asking him whether those dames are red or white.
Living near savages, he has caught, as stron
ays Red Dog, evading a direct reply to my enquiry.
Encouraged by the sound of friendly voices, the younger wife, a pretty Indian girl, peeps through her lashes, while the elder wife stares boldly up into your face, and begs.
Both women have a strange resemblance to the nomads seen about a Tartar steppe; just as their sisters on Tule River bear a strange resemblance to the Chinese females in San Francisco.
But these savage damsels bring their owner a lower price than their sisters from Hong Kong. Two hundred dollars are supposed to be the value of a comely Chinese girl.
This Pai-Ute bought his squaw for twenty dollars. Her friends, it seems, were out of luck; the snow is getting deep; elk and antelope are scarce; and they have sold her to a stranger, as they might have sold him a pony or a dog. The money paid for her will be spent in drink.
By law, no whisky can be sold to Indians; but up in these snow-deserts, where is the magistrate to enforce the law?
Are you taking her