golden West.

The mountain gnomes of this mystic wilderness are already in terror
lest some fortunate fool may utter the one magic word, "Gold." It
will call greedy thousands from the uttermost parts of the earth
to break the seals of ages, and burrow far below these mountain
bases. Through stubborn granite wall, tough porphyry, ringing quartz,
and bedded gnarled gneiss, men will grope for the feathery, fairy
veins of the yellow metal.

A feverish quest for gold alone can wake the dreamy "dolce far
niente" of the Pacific. God's fairest realm invites the foot of
man in vain. Here the yellow grains will be harvested, which buy
the smiles of beauty, blunt the sword of justice, and tempt the
wavering conscience of young and old. It will bring the human herd
to one grovelling level--human swine rooting after the concrete
token of power. Here, in later years, the wicked arm of power will
be given golden hammers to beat down all before it. Here will that
generation arise wherein the golden helmet can dignify the idle
and empty pate.

Maxime, now desperate, is ready for any fate. Only let this long
ride cease. Sweeping around the hills, for the first time he sees
the square courtyard, the walled casas of the rancho of Lagunitas.

By the shores of the flashing mountain lake, with the rich valley
sweeping out before it, it lies in peace. The fragrant forest throws
out gallant flanking wings of embattled trees. It is the residence
of the lord of ten leagues square. This is the great Peralta Rancho.