present I am contented with my books and to ride about the country
on a wild horse; but perhaps--I do not know--I may not always be
contented with that. Sometimes when reading Shakespeare I have
imagined myself each of those women in turn. But generally, of course,
I have thought little of being any one but myself. What else could I
be here?"

"Nothing; excepting a Joan of Arc when the Americans sweep down upon
us. But that would be only for a day; we should be such easy prey.
If I could put you to sleep and awaken you fifty years hence, when
California was a modern civilization! God speed the Americans: Therein
lies our only chance."

"What!" she cried. "You--you would have the Americans? You--a
Californian! But you are an Estenega; that explains everything."

"I am a Californian," he said, ignoring the scorn of the last words,
"but I hope I have acquired some common-sense in roving about the
world. The women of California are admirable in every way,--chaste,
strong of character, industrious, devoted wives and mothers, born
with sufficient capacity for small pleasures. But what are our men?
Idle, thriftless, unambitious, too lazy to walk across the street, but
with a horse for every step, sleeping all day in a hammock, gambling
and drinking all night. They are the natural followers of a race of
men who came here to force fortune out of an unbroken country with
little to help them but brains and will. The great effort produced
great results; therefore there is nothing for their sons to do, and
they luxuriously do nothing. What will the next generation be? Our
women will marry Americans,--respect for men who are men will overcome
prejudice,--the crossed blood will fight for a generation or two, then