[Illustration:  Mission san Luis Rey.  Founded 1798.]

[Illustration:  Mission Dolores.  Established 1776.]

“For weeks every one worked hard, killing the cattle, stripping off their skins and hanging the green or fresh hides over poles to dry in the sun.  When dried hard and stiff as a board the skins were folded hair-side in, and were then worth about two dollars apiece.  The beef-suet, or fat, from these cattle was put into large iron kettles and melted.  While still hot it was dipped out with wooden dippers into rawhide bags, each made from an animal’s skin.  When cold and hard these bags of tallow were sewed up with leather strings, and thus they were taken to Boston.

“So much beef was on hand at such times that not even the hungry Indians could eat it all while it was fresh.  The nicest pieces were cut into long strips, dipped into a boiling salt brine full of hot red peppers and hung up to dry where the sunshine soon turned the meat into carne seca, or dried beef.  We put it away in sacks, and very good it was all the year for stews, and to eat with the frijoles, or red beans, and tortillas, which were corn-cakes.

“All we bought from the Gringos was paid for with hides and tallow, so it was well, you see, children, that my father owned ten thousand cattle; for counting relatives and Indian servants, we always had more than thirty people on our ranch to feed and clothe.  We raised grain and corn and beans enough for the family, but had to buy sugar, coffee, and such things.

“Did we have many horses, you say?  Yes, droves of them, and we almost lived on horseback, for no one walked if he could help it, and there were almost no carriages or roads.  Neither were there any barns or stables, for the mustangs, or tough little ponies, fed on the wild grass and took care of themselves.  Every morning a horse was caught, saddled and bridled, and tied by the door ready to use.  All the ladies rode, too, and I often used to ride twenty miles to a dance with Juan, my young husband, and back again in a day or so.

“Sometimes we went to the rodeo, where once a year the great herds of cattle were driven into corrals, and each ranchero or farmer picked out his own stock.  Then those young calves or yearlings not already marked were branded with their owner’s stamp by a red-hot iron that burnt the mark into the skin.  After that the bellowing, frightened animals were turned out to roam the grassy plains for another year.  We had plenty of feasting and merry-making at these rodeos, and a whole ox was roasted every day for the hungry crowds, so no one went fasting to bed.

“Those were gay times, my children,” and Senora Sanchez sighed and sewed quietly for a while till Harry asked her if they kept Christmas before the Gringos came.