284 Recreations of a Sportsman 



$15,000,000; but into the vast vineyards, north, 

 south, and in the San Joaquin Valley, an army of 

 pickers are swarming. Some are Chinese, some 

 Americans, Mexicans, and Japanese. They be- 

 gin at the edges and sweep on, a human wave 

 before which the splendid bunches of fruit drop 

 away. The pickers are cutters and work with 

 remarkable celerity, cutting the big bunches. 

 " Mucho color" says Sefior Gonzales, stopping 

 to look up. 



" He means it is very hot," interprets the 

 young girl, laughing. 



Sefior Gonzales repeats it, "Mucho calor" ac- 

 cepts a cigarette, and bows gravely. He has the 

 kind of face you might expect to see in the 

 Mexican Senate; or he might be a general, 

 strong, dignified, self-controlled, with all his 

 property on his back. Good workers, these, 

 faithful and happy. In that little crew of pick- 

 ers were some famous Spanish names, descend- 

 ants of the conquistadores, mayhap. How they 

 piled up the boxes! The heaps of purple Zin- 

 fandels grew beneath their nimble fingers. Then 

 the four-mule ranch wagon came up the vine- 

 yard road, and the grape boxes were loaded on 

 it and dragged away to the winery and press, a 

 mile or two distant. Tons of grapes fell beneath 

 the sharp knives at Tierra Alta vineyard before 

 noon. Then the pickers trooped back to the 

 camp near the palms, and stood in the shade, 



