He fairly lifts his horse ahead and shoots into victory, winner by
a neck. The South has vanquished the North.
The crowd yelled and shouted until it was exhausted. But even Cabanares
made no further demonstration toward De la Vega. Not only was he weary
and depressed, but the victory had been nobly won.
It grew late, and they rode to the town, caballeros pushing as close to
donas as they dared, duenas in close attendance, one theme on the lips
of all. Anger gave place to respect; moreover, De la Vega was the guest
of General Castro, the best-beloved man in California. They were willing
to extend the hand of friendship; but he rode last, between the General
and Dona Modeste, and seemed to care as little for their good will as
for their ill.
Pio Pico rode ahead, and as the cavalcade entered the town he broke from
it and ascended the hill to carry the news to Ysabel Herrera.
Monterey, rising to her pine-spiked hills, swept like a crescent moon
about the sapphire bay. The surf roared and fought the white sand hills
of the distant horn; on that nearest the town stood the fort, grim
and rude, but pulsating with military life, and alert for American
onslaught.
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