The Mark of Zorro (10 page)

The saddle was heavy, and showed more silver than leather on its surface. The bridle was heavily chased with silver, too, and from its sides dangled leather globes studded with semi-precious stones, which now glittered in the bright sunshine as if to advertise Don Diego's wealth and prestige to all the world.

Don Diego mounted, while half a score of men loitering around the plaza watched and made efforts to hide their grins. It was quite the thing in those days for a youngster to spring from the ground into his saddle, gather up the reins, rake the beast's flanks with his great spurs, and disappear in a cloud of dust all in one motion.

But Don Diego mounted a horse as he did everything else—without haste or spirit. The native held a stirrup, and Don Diego inserted the toe of his boot. Then he gathered the reins in one hand, and pulled himself into the saddle as if it had been quite a task.

Having done that much, the native held the other stirrup and guided Don Diego's other boot into it, and then he backed away, and Don Diego clucked to the magnificent beast and started it, at a walk, along the edge of the plaza toward the trail that ran to the north.

Having reached the trail, Don Diego allowed the animal to trot, and after having covered a mile in this fashion, he urged the beast into a slow gallop, and so rode along the highway.

Men were busy in the fields and orchards, and natives were tending the herds. Now and then Don Diego passed a lumbering
carreta,
and saluted whoever happened to be in it. Once a young man he knew passed him at a gallop, going toward the
pueblo,
and Don Diego stopped his own horse to brush the dust from his garments after the man had gone his way.

Those same garments were more gorgeous than usual this bright morning. A glance at them was enough to establish the wealth and position of the wearer. Don Diego had dressed with much care, admonishing his servants because his newest serape was not pressed properly, and spending a great deal of time over the polishing of his boots.

He traveled for a distance of four miles, and then turned from the highroad and started up a narrow, dusty trail that led to a group of buildings against the side of a hill in the distance. Don Diego Vega was about to pay a visit to the
hacienda
of Don Carlos Pulido.

This same Don Carlos had experienced numerous vicissitudes during the last few years. Once he had been second to none except Don Diego's father in position, wealth, and breeding. But he had made the mistake of getting on the wrong side of the fence politically, and he found himself stripped of a part of his broad acres, and tax-gatherers bothering him in the name of the governor, until there remained but a remnant of his former fortune, but all his inherited dignity of birth.

On this morning Don Carlos was sitting on the veranda of the
hacienda
meditating on the times, which were not at all to his liking. His wife, Doña Catalina, the sweetheart of his youth and age, was inside directing her servants. His only child, the Señorita Lolita, likewise was inside, plucking at the strings of a guitar and dreaming as a girl of eighteen dreams.

Don Carlos raised his silvered head and peered down the long, twisting trail, and saw in the distance a small cloud of dust. The dust-cloud told him that a single horseman was approaching, and Don Carlos feared another gatherer of taxes.

He shaded his eyes with a hand and watched the approaching horseman carefully. He noted the leisurely manner in which he rode his mount, and suddenly hope sang in his breast, for he saw the sun flashing from the silver on saddle and bridle, and he knew that men of the army did not have such rich harness to use while on duty.

The rider had made the last turning now, and was in plain sight from the veranda of the house, and Don Carlos rubbed his eyes and looked again to verify the suspicion he had. Even at that distance the aged don could establish the identity of the horseman.

“‘Tis Don Diego Vega,” he breathed. “May the saints grant that here is a turn in my fortunes for the better at last.”

Don Diego, he knew, might only be stopping to pay a friendly visit, and yet that would be some thing, for when it was known abroad that the Vega family was on excellent terms with the Pulido establishment, even the politicians would stop to think twice before harassing Don Carlos further, for the Vegas were a power in the land.

So Don Carlos clapped his hands together, and a native hurried out from the house, and Don Carlos bade him draw the shades so that the sun would be kept from a corner of the veranda, and place a table and some chairs, and hurry with small cakes and wine.

He sent word into the house to the women, too, that Don Diego Vega was approaching. Doña Catalina felt her heart beginning to sing, and she herself began to hum a little song, and Señorita Lolita ran to a window to look out at the trail.

When Don Diego stopped before the steps that led to the veranda, there was a native waiting to care for his horse, and Don Carlos himself walked halfway down the steps and stood waiting, his hand held out in welcome.

“I am glad to see you a visitor at my poor
hacienda,
Don Diego,” he said as the young man approached, drawing off his mittens.

“It is a long and dusty road,” Don Diego said. “It wearies me, too, to ride a horse the distance.”

Don Carlos almost forgot himself and smiled at that, for surely riding a horse a distance of four miles was not enough to tire a young man of blood. But he remembered Don Diego's lifelessness, and did not smile, lest the smile cause anger.

He led the way to the shady nook on the veranda, and offered Don Diego wine and cakes, and waited for his guest to speak. As became the times, the women remained inside the house, not ready to show themselves unless the visitor asked for them, or their lord and master called.

“How are things in the
pueblo
of Reina de Los Angeles?” Don Carlos asked. “It has been a space of several score days since I visited there.”

“Everything is the same,” said Don Diego, “except that this Señor Zorro invaded the tavern last evening and had a duel with the big Sergeant Gonzales.”

“Ha! Señor Zorro, eh? And what was the outcome of the fighting?”

“Though the sergeant has a crooked tongue while speaking of it,” said Don Diego, “it has come to me through a corporal who was present that this Señor Zorro played with the sergeant, and finally disarmed him and sprang through a window to make his escape in the rain. They could not find his tracks. ”

“A clever rogue!” Don Carlos said. “At least I have nothing to fear from him. It is generally known up and down El Camino Real, I suppose, that I have been stripped of almost everything the governor's men could carry away. I look for them to take the
hacienda
next.”

“Um! Such a thing should be stopped!” Don Diego said, with more than his usual amount of spirit.

The eyes of Don Carlos brightened. If Don Diego Vega could be made to feel some sympathy, if one of the illustrious Vega family would but whisper a word in the governor's ear, the persecution would cease instantly, for the commands of a Vega were made to be obeyed by all men of whatever rank.

Don Diego sipped his wine slowly and looked out across the
mesa,
and Don Carlos looked at him in puzzled fashion, realizing that something was coming, and scarcely knowing what to expect.

“I did not ride through the damnable sun and dust to talk with you concerning this Señor Zorro, or any other bandit,” Don Diego explained, after a time.

“Whatever your errand, I am glad to welcome one of your family,
caballero,”
Don Carlos said.

“I had a long talk with my father yesterday morning,” Don Diego went on. “He informed me that I am approaching the age of twenty-five, and he is of a mind that I am not accepting my duties and responsibilities in the proper fashion.”

“But surely—”

“Oh, doubtless he knows! My father is a wise man.”

“And no man can dispute that, Don Diego!”

“He urged upon me that I awaken and do as I should. I have been dreaming, it appears. A man of my wealth and station—you will pardon me if I speak of it—must do certain things. ”

“It is the curse of position,
señor
.”

“When my father dies, I come into his fortune, naturally, being the only child. That part of it is all right. But what will happen when I die? That is what my father asks.”

“I understand.”

“A young man of my age, he told me, should have a wife, a mistress of his household, and should—er—have offspring to inherit and preserve an illustrious name.”

“Nothing could be truer than that,” said Don Carlos.

“So I have decided to get me a wife.”

“Ha! It is something every man should do, Don Diego. Well do I remember when I courted Doña Catalina. We were mad to get into each other's arms, but her father kept her from me for a time. I was only seventeen, though, so perhaps he did right. But you are nearly twenty-five. Get you a bride, by all means.”

“And so I have come to see you about it,” Don Diego said.

“To see me about it?” gasped Don Carlos, with something of fear and a great deal of hope in his breast.

“It will be rather a bore, I expect. Love and marriage, and all that sort of thing, is rather a necessary nuisance in its way. The idea of a man of sense running about a woman, playing a guitar for her, making up to her like a loon when everyone knows his intention!

“And then the ceremony! Being a man of wealth and station, I suppose the wedding must be an elaborate one, and the natives will have to be feasted, and all that, simply because a man is taking a bride to be mistress of his household.”

“Most young men,” Don Carlos observed, “delight to win a woman, and are proud if they have a great and fashionable wedding.”

“No doubt. But it is an awful nuisance. However, I will go through with it,
señor
. It is my father's wish, you see. You—if you will pardon me again—have fallen upon evil days. That is the result of politics, of course. But you are of excellent blood,
señor
, of the best blood in the land.”

“I thank you for remembering that truth!” said Don Carlos, rising long enough to put one hand over his heart and bow.

“Everybody knows it,
señor
. And a Vega, naturally, when he takes a mate, must seek out a woman of excellent blood.”

“To be sure!” Don Carlos exclaimed.

“You have an only daughter, the Señorita Lolita.”

“Ah! Yes, indeed,
señor
. Lolita is eighteen now, and a beautiful and accomplished girl, if her father is the man to say it.”

“I have observed her at the mission and at the
pueblo
,” Don Diego said. “She is, indeed, beautiful, and I have heard that she is accomplished. Of her birth and breeding there can be no doubt. I think she would be a fit woman to preside over my household.”

“That is the object of my visit to-day,
señor.”

“You—you are asking my permission to pay addresses to my fair daughter?”

“I am,
señor.”

Don Carlos's face beamed, and again he sprang from his chair, this time to bend forward and grasp Don Diego by the hand.

“She is a fair flower,” the father said. “I would see her wed, and I have been to some anxiety about it, for I did not wish her to marry into a family that did not rank with mine. But there can be no question where a Vega is concerned. You have my permission,
señor
.”

Don Carlos was delighted. An alliance between his daughter and Don Diego Vega! His fortunes were retrieved the moment that was consummated. He would be important and powerful again!

He called a native and sent for his wife, and within a few minutes the Doña Catalina appeared on the veranda to greet the visitor, her face beaming, for she had been listening.

“Don Diego has done us the honor to request permission to pay his respects to our daughter,” Don Carlos explained.

“You have given consent?” Doña Catalina asked, for it would not do, of course, to jump for the man.

“I have given my consent,” Don Carlos replied.

Doña Catalina held out her hand, and Don Diego gave it a languid grasp and then released it.

“Such an alliance would be a proud one,” Doña Catalina said. “I hope that you may win her heart,
señor.”

“As to that,” said Don Diego, “I trust there will be no undue nonsense. Either the lady wants me and will have me, or she will not. Will I change her mind if I play a guitar beneath her window, or hold her hand when I may, or put my hand over my heart and sigh? I want her for wife, else I would not have ridden here to ask her father for her.”

“I—I—of course!” said Don Carlos.

“Ah,
señor
, but a maid delights to be won,” said the Doña Catalina. “It is her privilege,
señor
. The hours of courtship are held in memory during her lifetime. She remembers the pretty things her lover said, and the first kiss, when they stood beside the stream and looked into each other's eyes, and when he showed sudden fear for her while they were riding and her horse bolted—those things,
señor
.

“It is like a little game, and it has been played since the beginning of time. Foolish,
señor?
Perhaps when a person looks at it with cold reason. But delightful, nevertheless.”

“I don't know anything about it,” Don Diego protested. “I never ran around making love to women.”

“The woman you marry will not be sorry because of that,
señor
.”