HOTELS RESTAURANTS CUISINE 37 land across the mountains. Bleak were the tales of bears and Indians, of snow-tragedies and gold- seekers' pains that were exchanged about the hearth of the Swiss boniface, Emperor of New Helvetia. The Spanish fonda made its appearance on southern roads. Loops of red peppers festooned the walls dried chiles no redder than the lips of the senoritas who served colachi and the peppers con came to hungry horseman and pedestrian. The master of the inn was paid in pesos and Mex- ican dollars. The language, the cooking, the jokes, the music were Mexican. Occasionally a monk came sadly and sat in a corner. The Mis- sions were tottering, the pueblos deserted. No longer rode cavalcades to their portals, sure of an outstretched, welcoming hand. Now, long pack-trains hastened on to the gold belt. Camps and rude hotels grew over night. Some of them offered cots beneath a roof of brush. A breakfast of sugared coffee, sardines and bis- cuit was given for an ounce of gold dust, and a bottle of ale for but little less. In 1847 there were a dozen rough buildings in the village of San Francisco, a few corrals for animals and, for the rest, acres of sand dunes. With the coming of the argonauts, clay and mortar houses were converted into hostelries. The City Hotel was the first to bear a name. The
