The Rise of Don Antonio 253 



The sea-birds were coming down from the north, long, 

 undulating lines of shags passed north and south, clouds 

 of gulls followed the bait catchers, and the west at night 

 became set in autumnal splendours and ineffable tints of 

 gold and red. The delightful fall fishing season, Sep- 

 tember, was on, with two more fishing months to follow. 

 A rain had cleaned the sleeping air ; the blue haze on the 

 distant mountains softened the rugged outlines ; the 

 chaparral and trees took on deeper tints of green, all 

 telling of the waning summer and the coming of the 

 island winter, the season of flowers. 



One morning when great bands of vermilion shot 

 upward from the horizon, cutting deep into the sky, 

 Don Antonio rowed his patron out from the vale of 

 Avalon. The channel was calm, and the rhythm of the 

 tide gave a gentle undulation to the kelp leaves that 

 lay glistening in the rising sun. The tide was low, and 

 all along shore the black beard of kelp brought out 

 the rocks in strong relief. On the points eagles stood 

 preening their feathers for the day ; a school of sea- 

 lions was making for the rookery after a circuit of the 

 north shore, and as the boat rounded the point and 

 entered the light green water a fair and smooth sea 

 stretched away. Don Antonio dropped the anchor 

 near the beach, half a mile above the rookery, in sight 

 of the sea-lions that lay basking on the black rocks, 

 arranged his rope to cast off at a moment's notice, 

 placed his oars in position, baited his hook with three or 

 four pounds of albacore, and while the angler made the 



