Young Zorro Read Free

Julio Dos Ochos. He may have a few branding irons ready for this year’s apartado .” The parting of the herds into each rancho’s share and the branding of new calves was one of the pueblo’s most important times.
    â€œSí, Papá.”
    â€œVayan con Dios, hijos,” he said. “Go with God, boys.” He strode into the house.
    Scar walked among the pack animals, inspecting thesaddles and girths. He tightened one girth but said nothing, and this was high praise from the mayordomo .
    As Scar jingled into the dark hacienda, the sound of loud, arguing voices rolled through the sitting room window. Don Alejandro and Regina were battling over some small thing. Bernardo put his fingers in his ears and squinted his eyes shut.
    â€œSaints and cats and little fishes,” Diego said. “Yes, let’s get out of here.”
    They mounted up and started along the tree-lined trail toward the mountains. They rode a few hundred paces and stopped to retighten their girths. Diego looked back through the trees to the hacienda’s garden. His mother and father were walking in the garden with their heads affectionately together.
    â€œRemind me, Bernardo, never to marry. I will never understand how men and women go together.”
    Bernardo nodded, agreeing, and Frying Pan brayed.

3
T HE P UEBLO
    A FTER SEVERAL HOURS’ RIDE across the plain, they were glad to see the buildings of the Pueblo de los Angeles.
    It was a prosperous pueblo. It had several streets, a few real stores, dozens of houses, and the workshops of skilled craftspeople. It even had an inn. Out here on the edge of the world, Los Angeles was—at least to its settlers—a promising bud of civilization.
    Friends called out from the porches and doorways of the thick-walled adobe buildings. Perhaps three hundred Angeleños lived around the pueblo. A few hundred lived out on the ranchos. Another four hundred neophytes, Indian workers who had converted to the Catholic church, lived near the mission. All told, only about a thousand souls, so there was no reason not toknow everyone. Like many places on the edge of the world, it was friendly.
    Diego and Bernardo tethered their animals in the shade of some oaks and walked toward the plaza. Bernardo tipped back his thumb and little finger in a drinking motion.
    â€œMe too. I could do with some agua fresca after that ride.”
    They crossed the dusty road toward the trees and benches of the plaza. Suddenly a troop of horsemen thundered around a corner. They were dressed like vaqueros bound for a fiesta, but they were just boys, not much older than Diego and Bernardo. They were the young dandies of the pueblo, the idle sons of rich hidalgos looking for a scrap of excitement. Silver conchos winked from their saddles and hatbands. Their big-roweled spurs gleamed, and their quirts snapped at their horses’ flanks. The leader of the band turned straight for the two boys in the street.
    Both boys stood still, knowing that horses won’t willingly ride over a basket, much less a person. With wild cries and cracking whips, the gang of boys galloped down on them. Bernardo grasped the hem of his loose shirt.
    When the riders were only a few horse lengths away,Bernardo gave a piercing whistle and pulled his shirt up, inside out, over his head. To the horses he appeared suddenly seven feet tall, white, and unfamiliar. The horses panicked, skidding to a halt. Some reared and stumbled, some slid and clambered. All but two of the riders were dismounted, thumping into the dust.
    They picked themselves up, cursing. They were no longer imaginary dons and grand vaqueros; they were just dismounted boys slapping away the dust and dung from their embroidered costumes.
    The leader, Rafael Moncada, older than the boys by five years, leaped up in a cloud of dust. “Fools! What do you mean by frightening our horses?” he demanded. “Someone could have been hurt. These horses are fine