The padre sighed. His years of hard endeavor are wasted, the fruits
are wanting, his labor is vain.

"Why is not your Government more vigorous?" says the stranger.

"My son, our pastoral life builds up no resources of this great
land. The young men will not work; they only ride around. Flocks
and herds alone will not develop this paradise. The distance from
Mexico has broken the force of the laws. In fifty-five years of
Spanish rule and twenty-three more of Mexican, we have had twenty-two
different rulers. The old families have lost their loyalty, and
they now fight each other for supremacy. All is discord and confusion
in Alta California."

"And the result?" questions Maxime.

"Either England or the United States will sweep us off forever,"
mourns the padre. He addresses himself to his beads. Bright sunlight
wakes Maxime with the birds. The matin bell rings out. He rises
refreshed by the father's hospitality.

During the day Valois measures the generosity of Padre Francisco.
A few treasured books enable Maxime to amuse himself. As yet he
dares not venture out of the garden.

The sound of clattering hoofs causes the prisoner to drop his
volume. He sits enjoying a flask of ripe claret, for he is broken
down and needs recruiting.

A courier spurs his foam-covered horse up to the Commandante's