under the first streamers of the morning. The redwoods rose like a solid
black wall on the towering mountains on every side.

"Ay!" exclaimed Roldan, drawing a deep sigh. "Sleep and a hot breakfast.
They will be good once more."

"They will," answered Adan, who had been collapsing and digging his
knuckles into his eyes for an hour and more.

They feared that no one might be stirring, but, as they approached the
verandah, the door opened and a stout smiling Californian, dressed in
brown small-clothes, appeared.

"Who have we here?" he cried. "But you are early visitors, my young
friends."

"We are dodging the conscript," said Roldan. "You will not betray us?"

"I should think not. I'd hide my own boys, if the mountains did not do
that for me. Come in, come in. The house is yours, my sons. Burn it if
you will. Tired? Here. Go in and get into bed. The servants are not up,
but I myself will make you chocolate and a tortilla."

The boys did not awaken for eight hours. When they emerged, somewhat
shamefacedly, they found the family assembled on the verandah, drinking
their afternoon chocolate, and impatient with curiosity. There were no
girls to criticise the dilapidated garments--which the kind hostess had
mended while the boys slept; but there were two youths of fourteen and
fifteen and two young men who were lying in hammocks and smoking
cigarritos.