Before going to Mexico, Estenega remained for some weeks at his ranchos in the North, overlooking the slaughtering of his cattle, an important yearly event, for the trade in hides and tallow with foreign shippers was the chief source of the Californian’s income.  He also was associated with the Russians at Fort Ross and Bodega in the fur-trade.  But he was far from being satisfied with these desultory gains.  They sufficed his private wants, but with the great schemes he had in mind he needed gold by the bushel.  How to obtain it was a problem which sat on the throne of his mind side by side with Chonita Iturbi y Moncada.  He had reason to believe that gold lay under California; but where?  He determined that upon his return from Mexico he would take measures to discover, although he objected to the methods which alone could be employed.  But, like all born rulers of men, he had an impatient scorn for means with a great end in view.  There was no intermediate way of making the money.  It would be a hundred years before the country would be populous enough to give his vast ranchos a reasonable value; and, although he had twenty thousand head of cattle, the market for their disposal was limited, and barter was the principle of trade, rather than coin.

Toward the end of the month he hurried to Monterey to catch a bark about to sail for Mexico.  The important preliminaries of the future he had planned could no longer be delayed; the treacherous revengeful nature of Reinaldo might at any moment awake from the spell in which he had locked it; had a ship sailed before, he would have left his commercial interests with his mayor-domo and gone to the seat of government at once.

He arrived in Monterey one evening after hard riding.  The city was singularly quiet.  It was the hour when the indefatigable dancers of that gay town should have flitted past the open windows of the salas, when the air should have been vocal with the flute and guitar, song and light laughter.  But the city might have been a living tomb.  The white rayless houses were heavy and silent as sepulchers.  He rode slowly down Alvarado Street, and saw the advancing glow of a cigar.  When the cigar was abreast of him he recognized Mr. Larkin.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

“Small-pox,” replied the consul, succinctly.  “Better get on board at once.  And steer clear of the lower quarter.  Your vaquero arrived yesterday, and I instructed him to put your baggage in the custom-house.  He dropped it and fled to the country.”

Estenega thanked him and proceeded on his way.  He made a circuit to avoid the lower quarter, but saw that it was not abandoned; lights moved here and there.  “Poor creatures!” he thought, “they are probably dying like poisoned rats.”