His education is practically
useless. He is forced to consider the question of existence. The
utmost Padre Francisco can do is to provide him horse and gear.
A few Mexican dollars for the road are not lacking. The lot of
fate is drawn for him by necessity. For the present he must be a
Californian. He cannot leave until the future provides the means.
When the vigil of the departure comes, the young man is loath to
leave his friend. In their companionship they have grown dear to
each other.
The camp of the volunteers is ready for the next day's march. At
their last dinner, the simple cheer of the native wine and a few
cigaritos is all the padre can display.
"Maxime, listen. You are young and talented," the padre begins. "I
see a great community growing up here, This is a land of promise.
The termination of the war ends all tumult. Your fleet holds the
coast. Mexico seems to be under the talons of your eagle. Your
nation is aggressive. It is of high mechanical skill. Your people
will pour into this land and build here a great empire. Your
busy Yankees will never be satisfied with the skeleton wealth of a
pastoral life. They will dig, hew, and build. These bays and rivers
will be studded with cities.
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