She watched Benito shouting bids at the side of Adrian, vying with such men as Howard, Mellus, Clark and Leidesdorff in the quest for lots.  “Fifty of them have been sold already,” Windham told her.  “The auction will last three days because there are four hundred more.”

Suddenly, Anita Windham put forth a hand and touched that of her husband.  “Buy one, for me, Roberto,” she pleaded.

“But—­” he hesitated, “Anita carissima, what will you do with a rectangle of mire in this rough, unsettled place?”

“For sentiment,” she answered, softly, “in memory of my father, who had such abundant faith in San Francisco....  And, perhaps, Don Samuel is right.  We may yet bless his name.”

* * * * *

The summer of 1847 had passed.  Inez Windham was the wife of Adrian Stanley.  He had given up his school for larger matters.  Every day his ox-teams struggled over sandy bottoms to the tune of snapping whips and picturesque profanity by Indian drivers.  Men with shovels leveling the sand hills, piled the wagons high with shimmering white grains which were carried to the shore and dumped into pile-surrounded bogs till the tides left them high and dry.  San Francisco reached farther and farther into the bay, wresting irregular nooks and corners from the ebbing-flowing waters, building rickety, improvised piers, sometimes washed out by the northers which unexpectedly came down with tempestuous fury.  Quaint, haphazard buildings made their appearance, strange architectural mushrooms grown almost over night, clapboarded squares with paper or muslin partitions for inner walls.  Under some the tides washed at their full and small craft discharged cargoes at their back doors.  Ships came from Boston, Bremen, Sitka, Chile, Mexico, the Sandwich Islands, bringing all manner of necessities and luxuries.  Monthly mails had been established between San Francisco and San Diego, as well as intermediate points, and there was talk of a pony express to Independence, Missouri.

* * * * *

There were many crimes of high and low degree, from rifled tills to dead men found half buried in the sands.  Rumor told of thieves and murderers encamped in the hollow bowl of a great sandhill, where they slept or caroused by day, venturing forth only at night.  Aleck McTurpin’s name was now and then associated with them as a leader.  Men were importing safes from the States and carrying derringers at night—­even the peaceful Mormons.  At this time Governor Mason addressed to Alcalde Hyde an order for the election of a Town Council.

Adrian was full of these doings when he came home from an executive session before which he had appeared as an expert on reclamation.  “They are good men, Inez,” he declared, enthusiastically.  “They’ll bring law to San Francisco.  And law is what we need more than all else, my dear.”

“And how will they go about it, with no prison-house, no courts or judges?” asked Inez, wonderingly.