Young Zorro by Diego Vega Page A

nothing?” One of the sailors pointed suspiciously at Bernardo.
    â€œThere is a sad tale, friends,” Diego said. “Ourmother told him, when he was very young, not to speak unless he had something interesting to say. He’s been waiting all this time—years it’s been!—to find something really interesting to talk about. This is one of the reasons we arrived to amuse you. I said, ‘If these far-faring seamen aren’t worth a comment or two, you’re hopeless!’ But, as you see, my brother remains unmoved and silent. Personally, I find you highly colorful and even awe inspiring. Your tattoos alone are worth a book. And there must be a story left behind from each of your missing teeth.”
    Diego plucked another coin from behind the ear of the sailor who had asked about Bernardo. He polished the coin on his shirt. “They’re small coins, but bright enough to call for a pot of ale, don’t you think?”
    â€œThat’s enough out of your piehole!” The big sailor batted the coins out of his hand and they rang against the wall and bounced twice on the cobbles. One came to rest at the boots of Don Alejandro.
    â€œGentlemen!” His clear voice turned the sailors’ attention. The don stood tall in his fine suit and red sash. “Gentlemen, you have us at a disadvantage, yes? We do not even know your names. You are strangers to us, and already you are displeased with our pueblo. Let me introduce you to some of our citizens. I am DonAlejandro de la Vega.” He bowed.
    â€œThis fine gentleman is my mayordomo , Esteban Cicatriz.” The sailors turned to see Scar leaning against a fig tree, with his short saddle-musket cradled in his arms.
    â€œBehind you, there, is one of my high-spirited vaqueros, Juan Three-fingers.” Juan was coiling his long, black whip with close attention.
    â€œThe vaqueros on your other side, there, are part of his crew.” Four vaqueros in their spurs and chaps stood gazing at the sailors with their reatas over their shoulders.
    â€œMy large friend, Señor Ortega, is our blacksmith. You have not met him, but you must know his daughter, because you invited her to sit on your lap.” Ortega walked in from the street with his sledgehammer, his eyes as hot and angry as coals.
    â€œI myself have no daughters. But these two rascals”—the don beckoned to Diego and Bernardo, who walked carefully away from the group of sailors—“they pass as my boys, foolish and troublesome as they may be.”
    The sailors were looking about them nervously now.
    â€œWe all make mistakes. I believe we have begun on the wrong footing. My suggestion is that we start freshanother day. It is a long walk to the port of San Pedro, and this day is half gone. Perhaps you need to be on your way, yes?”
    The sailors backed away from Don Alejandro. Without another word, they made a wide circle around Juan’s vaquero crew and started down the dusty street at a rapid walk.
    Don Alejandro put his arms around his boys. “I have known good generals who don’t have your flair for delaying tactics,” he said, then laughed. “Señora Ruíz!” he called to the inn’s mistress. “Can you bring us pitchers of wine and juice and some bread for all these caballeros and for Señor Ortega? We are dry after chasing squirrels away!”

14
T HE F IESTA
    A LL DAY LONG THE pueblo had throbbed with music. Guitars, harps, flutes, and drums played vaquero songs, love songs, bandit songs. Little choirs of neighborhood children walked along the streets, singing church hymns in close harmony to earn sweets and coins. Crews of vaqueros, dressed in their finest, showiest clothes, competed with one another in singing. The crowds on front porches and sitting beneath the plaza’s trees voted for one crew or another with applause.
    Diego and Bernardo were dressed in the new clothes that had caused so much