The Splendid Idle Forties

Splendid Idle Forties - Stories of
Old California, The

Project Gutenberg's The Splendid Idle Forties, by Gertrude Atherton
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: The Splendid Idle Forties Stories of Old California
Author: Gertrude Atherton
Release Date: June 23, 2004 [EBook #12697]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE
SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES ***

Produced by PG Distributed Proofreaders

[Illustration: "'IT WAS ONLY THE PEARLS YOU WANTED.'"]

THE SPLENDID IDLE FORTIES

STORIES OF OLD CALIFORNIA
BY
GERTRUDE ATHERTON
AUTHOR OF "THE CONQUEROR," "SENATOR NORTH" "THE
ARISTOCRATS," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HARRISON FISHER
1902

TO
THE BOHEMIAN CLUB
OF SAN FRANCISCO
AS A SLIGHT ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF
ITS COURTESY IN PLACING
ITS FINE
LIBRARY OF CALIFORNIAN LITERATURE
AT MY DISPOSAL

NOTE
This is a revised and enlarged edition of the volume which was issued
some years ago under the title, "Before the Gringo Came."

CONTENTS

THE PEARLS OF LORETO
THE EARS OF TWENTY AMERICANS
THE WASH-TUB MAIL
THE CONQUEST OF DOÑA JACOBA
A RAMBLE WITH EULOGIA
THE ISLE OF SKULLS
THE HEAD OF A PRIEST
LA PÉRDIDA
LUKARI'S STORY
NATALIE IVANHOFF: A MEMORY OF FORT ROSS
THE VENGEANCE OF PADRE ARROYO
THE BELLS OF SAN GABRIEL
WHEN THE DEVIL WAS WELL

THE PEARLS OF LORETO
I
Within memory of the most gnarled and coffee-coloured Montereño
never had there been so exciting a race day. All essential conditions
seemed to have held counsel and agreed to combine. Not a wreath of
fog floated across the bay to dim the sparkling air. Every horse, every
vaquero, was alert and physically perfect. The rains were over; the dust
was not gathered. Pio Pico, Governor of the Californias, was in
Monterey on one of his brief infrequent visits. Clad in black velvet,
covered with jewels and ropes of gold, he sat on his big chestnut horse

at the upper end of the field, with General Castro, Doña Modeste
Castro, and other prominent Montereños, his interest so keen that more
than once the official dignity relaxed, and he shouted "Brava!" with the
rest.
And what a brilliant sight it was! The flowers had faded on the hills, for
June was upon them; but gayer than the hills had been was the
race-field of Monterey. Caballeros, with silver on their wide gray hats
and on their saddles of embossed leather, gold and silver embroidery on
their velvet serapes, crimson sashes about their slender waists, silver
spurs and buckskin botas, stood tensely in their stirrups as the racers
flew by, or, during the short intervals, pressed each other with eager
wagers. There was little money in that time. The golden skeleton within
the sleeping body of California had not yet been laid bare. But ranchos
were lost and won; thousands of cattle would pass to other hands at the
next rodeo; many a superbly caparisoned steed would rear and plunge
between the spurs of a new master.
And caballeros were not the only living pictures of that memorable day
of a time for ever gone. Beautiful women in silken fluttering gowns,
bright flowers holding the mantilla from flushed awakened faces, sat
their impatient horses as easily as a gull rides a wave. The sun beat
down, making dark cheeks pink and white cheeks darker, but those
great eyes, strong with their own fires, never faltered. The old women
in attendance grumbled vague remonstrances at all things, from the heat
to intercepted coquetries. But their charges gave the good dueñas little
heed. They shouted until their little throats were hoarse, smashed their
fans, beat the sides of their mounts with their tender hands, in imitation
of the vaqueros.
"It is the gayest, the happiest, the most careless life in the world,"
thought Pio Pico, shutting his teeth, as he looked about him. "But how
long will it last? Curse the Americans! They are coming."
But the bright hot spark that convulsed assembled Monterey shot from
no ordinary condition. A stranger was there, a guest of General Castro,
Don Vicente de la Vega y Arillaga, of Los Angeles. Not that a stranger
was matter for comment in Monterey, capital of California, but this

stranger had brought with him horses which threatened to disgrace the
famous winners of the North. Two races had been won already by the
black Southern beasts.
"Dios de mi alma!" cried the girls, one to the other, "their coats are
blacker than our hair! Their nostrils pulse like a heart on fire! Their
eyes flash like water in the sun! Ay! the handsome stranger, will he roll
us