rule of the Dons would be over; that their familiar places would
know them no more. Just retribution of fate! The Dons drove out
the friars, and recked not their own day was close at hand.

As the exultant victors stood drinking the toast of the day,
"Muerte los estrangeros," neither crafty statesman, sly priest,
fiery general, wise old Don, nor reckless caballero, could predict
that the foreigners would return in two years. That they would come
under protection of the conquering British flag.

Alvarado was excited by his feuds with Micheltorrena. The people
were divided into clericals and anti-clericals. A time of "storm
and stress" hung over all.

Wise in victory was Captain Miguel Peralta. His campaign against
the foreigners marked the close of his service. Born in 1798, his
family were lords of broad lands on the Alamedas of San Francisco
Bay. He was sent to the city of Mexico and educated, serving in
the army of the young republic. Returning to Alta California, he
became a soldier.

Often had he sallied out to drive the warlike Indian toward the
Sacramento. In watching his mustangs and cattle, he rode far to
the slopes of the Sierra Nevadas. Their summits glittered under the
blue skies, crowned with silvery snows, unprofaned by the foot of
man.

A sturdy caballero, courtly and sagacious. His forty-two years
admonished him now to settle in life. When Alvarado was in cheeriest
mood, at the feast, the Captain reminded him of his promise to release