Jimeno put his feet on the side rung of Castro’s chair, puffed a large gray cloud, and half closed his eyes.  He then, for three-quarters of an hour, in a low, musical voice, discoursed upon the dignity of the administration and the depravity of the offenders.  When his brethren were beginning to drop their heads and breathe heavily, Alvarado politely interrupted him and referred the matter to Castro.

“Imprison them!” exclaimed the impetuous General, suddenly alert.  “With such a Governor and such a people, this should be a land white as the mountain-tops, unblemished by the tracks of mean ambitions and sinful revolutions.  Let us be summary, although not cruel; let no man’s blood flow while there are prisons in the Californias; but we must pluck up the roots of conspiracy and disquiet, lest a thousand suckers grow about them, as about the half-cut trunks of our redwood-trees, and our Californias be no better than any degenerate country of the Old World.  Let us cast them into prison without further debate.”

“The law, my dear Jose, gives them a trial,” drawled Gonzales.  And then for a half-hour he quoted such law as was known in the country.  When he finished, the impatient and suppressed members of the Junta delivered their opinions simultaneously; only Estenega had nothing to say.  They argued and suggested, cited evidence, defended and denounced, lashing themselves into a mighty excitement.  At length they were all on their feet, gesticulating and prancing.

“Mother of God!” cried Requena.  “Let us give Vallejo a taste of his own cruelty.  Let us put him in a temascal and set those of his Indian victims who are still alive to roast him out—­”

“No! no!  Vallejo is maligned.  He had no hand in that massacre.  His heart is whiter than an angel’s——­”

“It is his liver that is white.  His heart is black as a black snake’s.  To the devil with him!”

“Make a law that Pio Pico can never put foot out of Los Angeles again, since he loves it so well—­”

“His ugly face would spoil the next generation—­”

“Death to Carillo and Iturbi y Moncada!  Death to all!  Let the poison out of the veins of California!”

“No! no!  As little blood in California as possible.  Put them in prison, and keep them on frijoles and water for a year.  That will cure rebellion:  no chickens, no dulces, no aguardiente—­”

Alvarado brought his staff of office down sharply upon a board he had provided for the purpose.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “will you not sit down and smoke another cigarito?  We must be calm.”

The Junta took to its chairs at once.  Alvarado never failed to command respect.

“Don Diego Estenega,” said the Governor, “will you tell us what you have thought whilst the others have talked?”

Estenega, who had been star-gazing, turned to Alvarado, ignoring the Junta.  His keen brilliant eyes gave the Governor a thrill of relief; his mouth expressed a mind made up and intolerant of argument.