out, and the whole story is known—­although everything’s against such a proposition—­the news has got to go back to San Francisco before the real search will be begun.  As to any clue that might come from Captain Bunker, that’s still more remote.  Allowing he crossed the bar and got out of the channel, he wasn’t at the right time for meeting a passing steamer; and the only coasters are Mexican.  If he didn’t die of delirium tremens or exposure, and was really picked up in his senses by some other means, he would have been back with succor before this, if only to get our evidence to prove the loss of the vessel.  No, sir sooner or later, of course, the San Francisco crowd are bound to find us here.  And if it wasn’t for my crops and our mine, I wouldn’t be in a hurry for them; but our first hold is the Church.”

He stopped.  Crosby was asleep.  Brace arose lazily, lounged into his office, and closed his desk.

“Going to shut for the day?” said Banks, yawning.

“I reckon,” said Brace dubiously; “I don’t know but I’d take a little pasear into the town if I had my horse ready.”

“Take mine, and I’ll trapse over on foot to the Ranche with Crosby—­after a spell.  You’ll find him under that big madrono, if he has not already wound himself up with his lariat by walking round it.  Those Mexican horses can’t go straight even when they graze—­they must feed in a circle.  He’s a little fresh, so look out for him!”

“All the better.  I’d like to get into town just after the siesta.”

“Siesta!” echoed Banks, lying comfortably down in the shade just vacated by Brace; “that’s another of their shiftless practices.  Two hours out of every day—­that’s a day out of the week—­spent in a hammock; and during business hours too!  It’s disgraceful, sir, simply disgraceful.”

He turned over and closed his eyes, as if to reflect on its enormity.

Brace had no difficulty in finding the mare, although some trouble in mounting her.  But, like his companions, having quickly adopted the habits of the country, he had become a skillful and experienced horseman, and the mustang, after a few springless jumps, which failed to unseat him, submitted to his rider.  The young man galloped rapidly towards Todos Santos; but when within a few miles of the pueblo he slackened his pace.  From the smiles and greetings of wayfarers—­among whom were some pretty Indian girls and mestizas—­it was evident that the handsome young foreigner, who had paid them the compliment of extravagantly adopting their national costume, was neither an unfamiliar nor an unpleasing spectacle.  When he reached the posada at the top of the hilly street, he even carried his simulation of the local customs to the point of charging the veranda at full speed, and pulling up suddenly at the threshold, after the usual fashion of vaqueros.  The impetuous apparition brought a short stout man to the door, who, welcoming him with effusive politeness, conducted him to an inner