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was soon a master of his craft, a favourite of his chief.
With Capitan Soto, he was taken prisoner, and got five years in San Quentin.
With Capitan Soto, he broke prison, but in three weeks he was again in jail.
Six years of San Quentin failed to cool his blood.
When he came out of jail, his cousin Leiva, and some other lads about Los Felix, preferring theft to labour, gathered at his heels and made him captain of their gang.
Hating the whites as only the sons of white men and dark women do, these youngsters called themselves patriots, and talked of making California too hot for such “pale devils” to endure.
They stopped a mail and stripped the passengers of watches, rings, and coin.
A something new to the settlers in the method of this robbery made the name of Vasquez known in every ranch and mine in California.
Dashing at the stage, he bade the passengers alight, sit down in a row some feet apart, and cross their feet and wrists.
One fellow made a noise.
“I shot him in the leg,” says Vasquez, “not to hurt him, but to keep up discipline.”
Taking from his belts some leather thongs, Vasquez tied each pair of feet and wrists, and having
1875.
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