No, he decided, he would not go into the army--not this year nor any
other year. He would defy the governor and all his men.

When Roldan made up his mind he acted promptly. No time was to be lost
in this case. Now was the hour of siesta; he could have no better time
to get away. A note would relieve his parents of a certain amount of
anxiety; and if they did not know where he was they could not be held
accountable. His blood tingled at the presentiment of the adventures he
should have in that perilous journey through a country of which he knew
nothing beyond his father's and the adjoining rancho. And as adventures
would be but half spiced if experienced alone, he determined--and not
from selfish motives only--to save his best beloved friend, Adan Pardo,
from the grasp of the law likewise.

He went within and slung about himself two pistols and a dagger. After
he had made a small bundle of linen and raided the pantry, he went out
to the corral, saddled his horse and packed the saddle bags, wound his
lariat securely about the pommel, then galloped away on a series of
adventures memorable in the annals of California.

II

Roldan's way lay over his father's leagues until two hours after
nightfall. As he passed, every now and again, a herd of cattle, lounging
vaqueros called to him: "Ay, Don Roldan, where do you go?" or, "The
little senor chooses a hot day for his ride." But he excited no
curiosity. Like all Californians he half lived in the saddle; and he was
often seen riding in the direction of Don Esteban Pardo's rancho, to
spend a few days with his chosen friend.