Down by the marshes countless snipe, duck, geese, and curlew tempt
the absent sportsman.

The traveller easily overtakes his escort. They have been trying
all the arts of the vaquero. Past hills where startled buck and
doe gaze until they gracefully bound into the covert, the riders
pursue the lonely trail. Devoid of talk, they follow the shore,
sweeping for six hours over the hills, toward the Mission Dolores.
Another hour brings them to the Presidio.

This fort is the only safeguard of the State; a battery of ship
guns is a mere symbol of power.

In the quadrangle two companies of native soldiers and a detachment
of artillery constitute the feeble garrison. Don Miguel Peralta
canters up to the Commandante's residence.

Evening parade is over. Listless sentinels drag over their posts
with the true military laziness.

Peralta is intent upon affairs both of head and heart. His comrade,
the Commandante, sits late with him in sage counsel. A train follows
from Monterey, with stores for the settlement. Sundry cargoes
of gifts for the fair Juanita, which the one Pacific emporium of
Monterey alone could furnish, are moving. Miguel bears an order
for a detail of a sergeant and ten men, a nucleus of a force in the
San Joaquin. Barges and a shallop are needed to transport supplies
up the river. By couriers, invitations are to be sent to all the
clans not represented at the Monterey gathering.