Of the many queer characters who took up land in the brush hills near
our ranch none excited greater tongue-wagging than the Baron. The
squatters called him the Baron. He signed his name--I had to witness
his signature--Réné Bourgueil.
The Baron built himself a bungalow on a small hill overlooking a
pretty lake which dried up in summer and smelled evilly. Also, he
spent money in planting out a vineyard and orchard, and in making a
garden. What he did not know about ranching in Southern California
would have filled an encyclopaedia, but what he did know about nearly
everything else filled us and our neighbours with an ever-increasing
amazement and curiosity.
Why did such a man bury himself in the brush hills of San Lorenzo
County?
More, he was past middle-age: sixty-five at least, not a sportsman,
nor a naturalist, but obviously a _gentilhomme_, with the manners
of one accustomed to the best society.