"They let their religion get on top of them, and they took all the joy
out of life. My Catalonian ancestors, on the other hand, while taking
their religion seriously, never permitted it to interfere with a
_fiesta_. They were what might be called 'regular fellows.'"

"Your Catalonian ancestors? Why, I thought you were black Irish, Farrel?"

"The first of my line that I know anything about was a lieutenant in the
force that marched overland from Mexico to California under command of
Don Gaspar de Portola. Don Gaspar was accompanied by Fray Junipero
Serra. They carried a sword and a cross respectively, and arrived in San
Diego on July first, 1769. So, you see, I'm a real Californian."

"You mean Spanish-Californian."

"Well, hardly in the sense that most people use that term, sir. We have
never intermarried with Mexican or Indian, and until my grandfather
Farrel arrived at the ranch and refused to go away until my grandmother
Noriaga went with him, we were pure-bred Spanish blonds. My grandmother
had red hair, brown eyes, and a skin as white as an old bleached-linen
napkin. Grandfather Farrel is the fellow to whom I am indebted for my
saddle-colored complexion."

"Siberia has bleached you considerably. I should say you're an ordinary
brunet now."

Farrel removed his overseas cap and ran long fingers through his hair.

"If I had a strain of Indian in me, sir," he explained, "my hair would be
straight, thick, coarse, and blue-black. You will observe that it is