news of his Western domain. No letters from Donna Dolores gladden
him. Far away from the red hills of Georgia, in tenderness his
thoughts, chastened with illness, turn to the dark-eyed woman who
waits for him. She prays before the benignant face of the Blessed
Virgin for her warrior husband. Alas, in vain!

Silent is Hardin. No news comes from Padre Francisco. Nothing from
his wife. Valois trusts to the future. The increasing difficulty of
contraband mails, hunted blockade-runners, and Federal espionage,
cut off his home tidings.

His martial soul thrilled at the glories of Chickamauga, Valois
learns that California has shown its mettle on the fiercest field
of the West. Cheatham, Brooks, and fearless Terry have led to the
front the wild masses of Bragg's devoted soldiery. These sons of
California, like himself, were no mere carpet knights. On scattered
Eastern fields, old friends of the Pacific have drawn the sword
or gallantly died for Dixie. Garnett laid his life down at Rich
Mountain. Calhoun Benham was a hero of Shiloh. Wild Philip Herbert
manfully dies under the Stars and Bars on the Red River.

The stain of cold indifference is lifted by these and other
self-devoted soldiers who battle for the South.

With heavy sighs, the wounded colonel still mourns for the failure
to raise the Southern Cross in the West. Every day proves how
useless have been all efforts on the Pacific Coast. Virginia is
now the "man eater" of the Confederacy. Valois is haunted with the
knowledge that some one will retrace the path of Rosecrans. Some
genius will break through the open mountain-gates and cut the