inference that the cash must be deposited somewhere.

And everyone well knows it will be in gold-dust; since banks have not
yet been established, and there are not obtainable notes enough in San
Francisco to cover a tenth part of the amount. He had tried to convert
it thus--as more convenient for carriage and safety--but failed.

In fine, after confiding his fears to Silvestre, and taking counsel from
him, he decides upon the plan, already in part communicated to Captain
Lantanas--of having the endangered gold-dust secretly conveyed to the
_Condor_ that very night. Don Tomas will provide the boat, with a
trusty sailor-servant he has attached to his establishment, to assist in
the removal and rowing. They can take it aboard without passing through
the town, or at all touching at the port. The boat can be brought to
the beach below Don Gregorio's house, and the gold quietly carried down
to it. Thence they can transport it direct to the ship. Once there,
Lantanas will know how to dispose of it; and surely it will be safe in
his custody--at all events, safer there than anywhere else in San
Francisco. So thinks Don Gregorio, the ship-agent agreeing with him.

Soon everything is settled; for they spend not many minutes in
discussing the matter. The _ex-ganadero_ knows that by this time his
house will be empty, excepting the servants: for the ride on which his
girls have gone was arranged by himself, to gratify his expected
visitors. He thinks apprehensively of the unprotected treasure, and
longs to be beside it. So, remounting the stout cob that brought him to
town, he rides hastily home.

On arrival there, he retires to his sleeping apartment; where he spends
the remainder of the day, having given strict orders not to be called,
till the party of equestrians comes back.

But although confining himself to the chamber, he does not go to bed,
nor otherwise take repose. On the contrary, he is busy throughout the
whole afternoon, getting ready his treasure for surreptitious transport,
for it is there in the room--has been ever since it came into his
possession. Almost fearing to trust it out of his sight, he sleeps
beside it.

Some of it is in bags, some in boxes; and he now rearranges it in the
most convenient form for carriage to the Chilian ship, and safe stowage
in her cabin-lockers.

He has not yet completed his task, when he hears the trampling of hoofs
on the gravelled sweep outside. The riding-party ha