they brought home. When county conventions met at the upper end of the county he was often a delegate, though he never ran for any office except postmaster of Goleta; the lumber yard kept him in business. When home, then he cared for it.

These were comfortable years, as the wife's health became good, and he was vigorous. He went to the Painted Cave over the Indian trail with Professor Bowers, who made it known to the Smithsonian Institution. He was with the Professor upon his researches when he sent three tons of relics to the Institution. They were good comrades, liking the same things in nature, and the study of early men.

They believed the Cave a place of records for all tribes, as a few marks in many places were the same, but never all in any place. He believed it was the crossroads from the coast to the interior and the prehistoric courthouse of each tribe's private mark for its family or tribe. Many caves were found but only one or two with records corresponding to those in the large cave.

There were many paintings outside and signs of fires which soon disintegrated, and part of the front slid away a couple of years after their first trip to it.

MISSION VINEYARD AND ORCHARD

The Mission winery was at the mouth of San Jose creek. The valley and foothills vineyards, the large vats and still for making wine and brandy were old but in full bearing. Indians still trod the grapes and pulled yellow jackets off their bare feet and legs as they had been taught by the Mission Fathers. There was more than enough "firewater" made to supply the Presidio and the Mission needs.

Up the creek a mile or more was the Mission tannery. An Indian with red hair and freckled face worked it. His father was a sea cook, his mother a Digger Indian. So he was, as the saying was then, "A son of a sea cook," which meant all that was implied.

He was a quiet, honest man, doing beautiful work, but his sons and daughters bred back, one son murdering his brother, and there was a wild hunt and San Quentin for another son who had attacked a teacher in an out of the way school. Thus closed the race of halfbreeds.

Foster had many deerskins and the tanner cured them for him. He thought they would make lovely pants for his little grandsons, as both mother and daughter had sewing machines which were run by hand. They tried it, but the dew wet them. Then they stretched and were cold, sticky things. Then they dried and chafed the boys' legs and were abandoned.

The Mission orchard was in another canyon, Maria Ignacio canyon. The prince of the tribe was living, an upright, sober Indian, caring for the oranges, pomegranates, olives and pears, grapes and berries in another glen at the foot of the mountain. He and his sons were splendid horsemen and broke and trained horses on the Moore ranch. They followed this work for many years, the last of the once large tribe.

SAN MARCOS PASS TOLL ROAD

A stage road was built over the mountains into the Santa Ynez Valley, the tollhouse at the top. In one place grooves had to be cut across the slippery rock so the horses could get a foothold. There were very steep grades on both sides.

The keeper came to the valley in great distress as he and his wife were a young Irish couple from the city and she was alone and about to become a mother. The bears and mountain lions were taking his goats, pigs and geese out of their pens and the wife was in terror.

No one was able to help him in the newly-settled community but he found a helper in the Cienigitas. The Sisters. of Charity had a school with orphans, and they were a help in time of need to Catholic lonely ones on a mountain top. The Sisters sent help.

They then had a school at Cienigitas and many halfbreed Indian children or orphans half-white, were abandoned on their doorstep.

At San Jose and Santa Barbara these Sisters were cultured missionaries, many Italian or Spanish born. Good music, painting and fine arts training could be secured only in their schools, so to be convent taught meant much in California's early days. These Sisters gave up their school for an orphanage.

The Coopers were instrumental in building a gymnasium and college, taking over the Harmon first college which was

1

taught in an adobe house, the mother and daughter both teaching. Miss Harmon married a professor in the University of California. She and Lucy were her mother's pupils.

Both the girls had the same birthday, April first, and many a mouse and snake they found in their desks, and many a boquet of wild flowers upon them, that year. No tribute could be too high for a woman like Mrs. Harmon from a new community which she was molding as a teacher.

THE FATHER INJURED

Mr. Foster was thrown backward from a wagon, the seat being insecurely fastened, giving way. His kidney was torn loose and his back hurt. His back recovered but there being little knowledge of surgery nothing further was done for him. He went to the Hot Springs at San Marcos, very weak, and sent for his "little girl," as he always called the daughter Lucy, and her husband, to come and see him there.

His wife was with him. He had made himself a bathingpool walled up with rock around a spring. Another was made by his old neighbors where they soaked their aches out and exchanged yarns, he said. It was a small group of friends and the first night they were singing, father having gone to bed on the ground with his repeating rifle under his pillow.

A funny woman's rights song was sung, at which all laughed and there was a clapping of hands at its repetition. This frightened a California lion which afterwards it was ascertained had been visiting the garbage pit. The animal growled and snarled as it ran across a shale slide, scattering the rocks into the stream.

66

The women screamed and shouted: A lion!" This waked Foster, who asked: "Where? Where?" Guided by the noise of the clashing of rocks, he fired twice. He must have hit the lion as the animal bounded away, scattering more shale, but to us it seemed coming right across that pool.

One woman threw her arms around a man, screaming, "Save me, save me!" Another man threw a girl into a wagon and got in after her. A man demanded that father give him the gun. There was a little shanty near. The women ran for it. One woman who had used the crutches forgot both till she tried to climb on the platform, then begged for help.

After all were in the cabin they remembered a rattlesnake had been killed in it a few days before. Then they were terrified indeed. One whose memory of that night is still clear broke out into perspiration, her knees knocking together, and all the sensations ever written or told of fright possessing her.

After many months she looked into her child's face and saw its smile of knowledge and cried, for she knew it was not an idiot from the fright. The men came and assured the women that the danger was over, but the daughter, mother and other wom en slept in the wagons that night and afterwards.

The hot mineral waters were very healing but not a cure. The father knew he was getting weaker and often came to see his grandchildren, saying he would love to live to see them grow up. There were nine and one to carry, all born in ten years the Sextons. Not of his name, but his pride.

"Teach them to live the teaching of Christ and to believe in one God; to tell the truth; to deal honestly and live clean lives after me," he directed.

He went to San Francisco with his wife to see if something could be done for him and to visit his sister Mariett Cummings. His wife had been up many nights and the sister had come to be with him a while so they persuaded her to go out for a change.

He died while she was away, and the sister could not tell of his going for her grief. We believe he did not wish the passing to be at home for the others' sake, but knew the end was near. So the homecoming was as if he had gone on another trip. Like his father he had been instrumental in securing a cemetery in Goleta; there they brought him home.

Upon his tombstone was inscribed by his wish:
"I know I shall live again."

Our Father-Isaac Foster.

MRS. ROXANNA CHENEY FOSTER

(By Mrs. Lucy Foster Sexton)

When Roxanna Foster's husband died she said: "Do not pity me; he would have suffered so long if he had lived. He was too young to go. But I am alone.”

She lived almost twenty-years after his death, keeping the Foster home the rest of her life, as he had willed all to her for her life, to be divided with the children. This she once said he could not do as it was community property and half hers, but it was well invested, so she lived a very comfortable and contented life.

A few incidents the writer will attempt to tell her greatgrandchildren as we think she would have told them. She had a sense of the ridiculous and could be very sarcastic, but always tolerant to those not having her advantages, saying there was a wee Scotch blood in her that stood for justice to all.

Except the lazy. "These," she said, "couldn't be helped or wouldn't change their heritage." She lived close to, and joining her daughter, Lucy Sexton, and her grandchildren, her son Frank the first few years being with her till his marriage, then her older grandchildren and other girls going to school, for many years.

She always took a summer trip, first to her old friends at San Jose, Dr. Spencer and Dr. Cory, the Stevenses and Haddocks; then to Santa Rosa county to the Alexanders, whom she knew before she came to California. One year she went east to visit her early home. One year she went north to visit her northern home. She was in her seventieth year. Her sons objected but her daughter thought she had had good traveling companions. And her health was good. So she went to New Hampshire.

Before going she told them if she died there and they really wanted "her old bones" to send for them, but she expected to enjoy it and come back. She found it intolerably hot, and many were no more. Others, she said. filed the sheep's noses to get the grass between the rocks in old New Hampshire. What they called thrift she had another name for. California was wasteful but doing big things, and was glad her family were among those, making California easier for others, living in their own homes with business interests.

Boston was better, but California still home. She always kept a horse, which she was very fond of, and drove to Ventura, staying with her old Carpinteria friends, the Bailards. who came south with her. She would stay all night, and drive along the beach next day at low tide to Ventura, where her three sons lived.

She took someone with her on these trips, one year her sister-in-law, Mariett Cummings, who was visiting her that