abruptly to the south, and, scrupulously refraining
from a downward glance at the Battery of Yerba
Buena, stood looking out over the bay to the eastern
mountains: dark, almost formless, wrapped in the
intense and menacing mystery of that last hour be-
fore dawn.

"Senor!" called a low cautious voice.

Rezanov stepped hastily back from the point of
the bluff and glanced about in wonder, his pulses
suddenly astir. But he could see no one.

This time the direction was unmistakable, and
he went to the edge of the plateau facing the south
and looked over. Halfway down a shallow and
almost perpendicular gully, he saw a girl forcing a
mustang up the harsh, loose path. The girl's white
and oval face looked from the folds of a black re-
boso like the moon emerging from clouds, and its
young beauty was out of place in that wild and for-
bidding setting. She reined in her horse as she
caught his eye and beckoned superfluously; then
guided her mustang to a little ledge where he could
plant his feet firmly, permitting her to reassume her
usual pride of carriage and averting the danger of
a sudden scramble or need of assistance.

As Rezanov reached her side, she gave him a
grave and friendly smile, but no opportunity to kiss