"Miguel, mi compadre," said the Governor, "do you think they
can cross the deserts?" He was startled by Peralta's views of the
future.

"Senor," said the Captain, "I saw the first American who came
overland. The wanderer appeared in 1826. It was the 20th of December.
He was found half starved by our vaqueros. I have his name here on
a piece of paper. I have long carried it, for I was a guard over
him."

Miguel slowly spelled off the detested Yankee name, Jedediah S.
Smith, from a slip of cartridge paper in his bolsa. Glory be to
the name of Smith!

"Where THAT one Yankee found a way, more will come, but we will
meet and fight them. This is our OWN land by the right of discovery.
The good King Philip II. of Spain rightfully claimed this (from his
orders to Viceroy Monterey in 1596). We get our town name here in
his honor. We will fight the English, and these accursed Yankees.
They have no right to be here. This is our home," cried fiery
Miguel, as he pledged the hospitable Governor. He passed out into
the dreaming, starry night. As he listened to the waves softly
breaking on the sandy beach, he thought fondly of Juanita Castro.
He fumbled over the countersign as the sentinel presented his old
flint-lock musket.

Both Governor and Captain sought the repose of their Spartan pillows.
The Captain forgot, in his zeal for Spanish dominion, that daring
Sir Francis Drake, in days even then out of the memory of man,