Young Zorro Read Free Page B

tough as sandal leather.
    â€œWhat brings you into the pueblo, hijos ?”
    â€œPartly you, Padre. My mother has sent you letters and gifts for your brothers.”
    â€œGod bless Señora Regina. Sometimes”—he nodded his head toward the street where the gang of boys had made trouble—“sometimes I am tempted to despair. But we have been blessed in this place. Look,”he said, pushing the plate of food toward them, “here are the beans and chiles. Grab a tortilla and bless yourselves.”
    He was right. It was too much food for one old padre. They rolled up fresh tortillas and scooped up the tangy beans and peppers. They drank mugs of agua fresca —cool water mixed with fruit juice and spices.
    â€œPadre,” Diego asked, “how can Rafael Moncada hate our Indian brothers? For him, the Indians who raise his crops and herd his cattle are no more than dogs.”
    Bernardo shook his head angrily.
    The old monk turned a rolled tortilla in his fingers, examining it as if it had an answer. “Only God can look into our hearts. Rafael Moncada has his own demons that claw at his heart, making him hate. Hate is its own punishment, hijos .” The old man dug into the beans and bit into his tortilla.
    â€œPadre, have any ships come in recently?”
    â€œOnly a Boston merchant. No official ships have arrived for months. No mail, then, but there may be packages from Acapulco or Panama. If you mean to be back at the rancho by dark, you need to get along. I, too, must remount my mule and ride down toward the almond orchards. I am concerned that several of myfarmers and tanners and carpenters are missing. It’s curious because they are good, steady men. This morning Señora Pedernales came to me looking for Paco.”
    â€œ Sí , Padre. My father asked about Señor Pedernales. How many are missing?”
    â€œPerhaps a dozen, and they are all skilled men. In a little place like our pueblo, we need everyone’s skills. I can’t understand how or why they’ve dropped out of sight.”
    â€œWe’ll keep our eyes sharp. And, Padre, is the mission’s herd missing any cattle?”
    The old man looked up quickly. “My vaqueros tell me we’ve lost a few hundred head. I had passed it off as poor counting before the apartado , but why do you ask?”
    â€œ Papá tells me we are missing about the same number, but we don’t know why. Bernardo thinks it may be a cattle sickness.”
    The monk shook his head. “I don’t think so. We’d see sick cattle, and we’d find dead cattle. What evil things are happening in our pueblo?”
    â€œI believe the Devil himself has stolen the people and the cattle to ask them, ‘Who is this wise and holy Padre Mendoza?’”
    â€œAh, Diego, you have almost too much flattery inyou. You will go far. Probably as far as jail, but far.” He grinned. “Vayan con Dios, hijos.”
    Â 
    Diego and Bernardo picked up the new branding irons at the blacksmith shop: big de la Vega V s. The pottery shop was just down the street.
    They watched from the doorway as Señor Porcana, a small man with big arms, sat at his pottery wheel. He kicked the heavy lower wheel around and around; the vertical shaft spun its upper wheel. He raised a head-sized lump of wet clay, then thumped it onto the spinning center with a loud “Ha!”
    His hands held it steady, and the boys could see his thick forearms straining. The hair on his hands and arms was spattered and clotted with clay. His eyes were focused on the whirling mass. His thumping leg kept the wheel spinning. He dipped his hands into a bowl of water. When he touched them to the clay, it gleamed wetly. He leaned into the clay, one hand plunging into the center, one holding the outside. The hands worked against each other, drawing the brown clay up and around. It was like magic: a perfect shape appeared out of plain wet mud. It