its willows. In the middle of the valley stood the impressive yellow
church, with its Roman tower and rose-window; about it were the
crumbling brown hovels of the deserted Mission. Once as they rode
Estenega thought he heard voices, but could not be sure, so loud was
the clatter of the horses' hoofs. As they reached the square they drew
rein swiftly, the horses standing upright at the sudden halt. Then
strange sounds came to them through the open doors of the church:
ribald shouts and loud laughter, curses and noise of smashing glass,
such songs as never were sung in Carmelo before; an infernal clash of
sound which mingled incongruously with the solemn mass of the surf.
Chonita's eyes flashed. Even Estenega's face darkened: the traditions
planted in plastic youth arose and rebelled at the desecration.

"Some drunken sailors," he said. "There--do you see that?" A craft
rounded Point Lobos. "Pirates!"

"Holy Mary!" exclaimed Chonita.

"Let down your hair," he said, peremptorily; "and follow all that I
suggest. We will drive them out."

She obeyed him without question, excited and interested. Then they
rode to the doors and threw them wide.

The upper end of the long church was swarming with pirates; there was
no mistaking those bold, cruel faces, blackened by sun and wind, half
covered with ragged hair. They stood on the benches, they bestrode
the railing, they swarmed over the altar, shouting and carousing in
riotous wassail. Their coarse red shirts were flung back from hairy
chests, their faces were distorted with rum and sacrilegious delight.