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           Almosteveryeventoutoftheusualdailycourse“markedanepoch”forhimorelsewas“history”;unlesswithhispompositystrugglingwithadiscomfiteddroopofhisrubicund,ratherhandsomeface,setoffbysnow-whiteclosehairandshortwhiskers,hewouldmutter—

           “Ah,that!That,sir,wasamistake.”

           ThereceptionofthefirstconsignmentofSanTomesilverforshipmenttoSanFranciscoinoneoftheO.S.N.Co.‘smail-boatshad,ofcourse,“markedanepoch”forCaptainMitchell.Theingotspackedinboxesofstiffox-hidewithplaitedhandles,smallenoughtobecarriedeasilybytwomen,werebroughtdownbytheserenosoftheminewalkingincarefulcouplesalongthehalf-mileorsoofsteep,zigzagpathstothefootofthemountain.Theretheywouldbeloadedintoastringoftwo-wheeledcarts,resemblingroomycofferswithadoorattheback,andharnessedtandemwithtwomuleseach,waitingundertheguardofarmedandmountedserenos.DonPepepadlockedeachdoorinsuccession,andatthesignalofhiswhistlethestringofcartswouldmoveoff,closelysurroundedbytheclankofspurandcarbine,withjoltsandcrackingofwhips,withasuddendeeprumbleovertheboundarybridge(“intothelandofthievesandsanguinarymacaques,”DonPepedefinedthatcrossing);hatsbobbinginthefirstlightofthedawn,ontheheadsofcloakedfigures;Winchestersonhip;bridlehandsprotrudingleanandbrownfromunderthefallingfoldsoftheponchos.