"Not a peso," said Miguel, firmly.

"And why, my Miguel? Thou knowest we could have worked the mine
ourselves."

"Good, and lost even that labor. Look you, little brother. Show to me
now the Mexican that has ever made a real of a mine in California. How
many, eh? None! Not a one. Who owns the Mexican's mine, eh? Americanos!
Who takes the money from the Mexican's mine? Americanos! Thou
rememberest Briones, who spent a gold mine to make a silver one? Who
has the lands and house of Briones? Americanos! Who has the cattle of
Briones? Americanos! Who has the mine of Briones? Americanos! Who has
the silver Briones never found? Americanos! Always the same! Forever!
Ah! carramba!"

Then the Evil One evidently took it into his head and horns to worry and
toss these men--comparatively innocent as they were--still further, for
a purpose. For presently to them appeared one Victor Garcia, whilom a
clerk of the Ayuntamiento, who rallied them over aguardiente, and told
them the story of the quicksilver discovery, and the two mining claims
taken out that night by Concho and Wiles. Whereat Manuel exploded with
profanity and burnt blue with sulphurous malediction; but Miguel, the
recent ecclesiastic, sat livid and thoughtful.

Finally came a pause in Manuel's bombardment, and something like this
conversation took place between the cooler actors:

Miguel (thoughtfully). "When was it thou didst petition for lands in the
valley, friend Victor?"