l,
profusions of lace and embroidery and buttons, and pantaloons split on the side and laced to the ankle. A long sword was thrust into the right boot of untanned deerskin, a silken sash drooped at the side. Eloise looked for the fierce mustachios and piercing eyes of a Spaniard, and beheld Ermatinger!
With lifted sombrero and laughing face he called, "Are Sir George and the doctor here?"
"They sailed five days ago for Monterey, sir," answered Eloise.
"And Rae?"
"Is with them. Where is your brigade?" she asked.
"Camped with La Framboise beside the old mission," and with a jingle he was gone, galloping down the trail to Monterey.
It was the work of a moment for Eloise and her maids to saddle, and set out for the first time to meet the California brigade from the other end of the route. They heard the Spanish women singing and thrumming guitars in the whitewashed adobes on the scattered farms. Now and then they passed a gilded and painted horseman, in steeple-crowned sombrero and fiery serape, flying to the race-track. Eloise hastened on over the sandy hills covered with dwarf oak and strawberry trees, past San Dolores walled in with skulls of slaughtered cattle, scarce noting the mouldering pile where once the Indian converts carded wool, and wove blankets and cloth with home-made looms. A few Indians lingered, still chanting canticles traced by the early fathers in the great choir books of sheepskin. She scarce noted the narrow windows deep set in the wall, or the gaping roofs whence the lazy Californians had stolen the tiles for their farmhouses on the bay. Her heart thrilled as children's will when all at once the full brigade burst
