Young Zorro (3 page)

D
ON
A
LEJANDRO ENJOYED MAKING
a grand entertainment for his guests. Beyond a mere dinner, he had planned a
Californio
spectacle. The vaqueros who had accompanied Carter and Stackpole to the hacienda would play one of their rowdy, frenzied games for the guests.

Padre Mendoza arrived as wine and cakes were being passed around the veranda. Estafina's husband, Montez, tended a barbecue fire. Estafina and her helpers mopped sauce on great slabs of beef sizzling on iron grates above the fire. A pot of beans bubbled at the side.

Diego and Bernardo saddled horses and joined a dozen vaqueros as they swung their mounts into a circle, the horses' heads inward.

Stackpole translated Carter's question: “The captain asks if this is the way you begin your polo games.”

Padre Mendoza laughed, and Don Alejandro said, “No, friends, this isn't polo. That's a game from the ancient world. This is the Circle Game, one of our
Californio
diversions. It's a bit faster, there are fewer rules, and it's rougher.”

Scar walked out to the ring of horses and called to Juan Three-fingers, one of his crew bosses. Juan backed out of the circle doubtfully, and Scar gave him a long bamboo rod, whippy but stiff. He said, “Good luck, caballero.”

The other vaqueros chuckled and called out to Juan: “You'll need some goose grease on your back tonight, caballero!” and “Are you ready to weave and duck, brother?”

Juan called back, “We'll see whose back is raw by midnight.”

The vaqueros began to whoop and holler as they all faced inward. Each had his good hand open behind his back. Juan walked his big bay stallion around and around the circle, then spurred it into a slow trot. More whooping. Pedro Maduro called, “Come on, Juan, give that soft little feather duster to me!”

But quick as a flash, Juan leaned in and thrust the
bamboo into Bernardo's hand. Then the rowdy part of the game began.

Juan Three-fingers kicked his stallion into a gallop. Bernardo pulled his reins, and his horse danced back out of the circle. The pony whirled and charged after Juan. Bernardo almost caught him, and Captain Carter let out a squeal of dread as the bamboo whistled toward Juan's back.

But Juan slid off to one side of his horse. At a full gallop, he held on in some way Carter couldn't imagine. The bamboo struck the saddle with a sharp
thwack
!

All the vaqueros were sitting sideways on their saddles now, watching the fun and the incredible riding skill. These vaqueros loved to show off, but Carter winced at the heavy price they might pay for fancy horsemanship.

Bernardo brought the bamboo up again, but Juan had already righted himself and wheeled his stallion, riding past Bernardo on the other side, heading for the empty space in the circle!

Bernardo's pony spun in the opposite direction and tried to cut him off. The best he could do was land one solid
whack!
on Juan's back before the vaquero skidded to a safe stop in the circle. Juan laughed like a maniac as he rubbed his back. “Only a sweet caress!” he called.

Carter was so excited that he shook Stackpole as he spoke, hurrying the translation: “He says that this is polo if the players used each other as the ball!”

Now it was Bernardo's turn to look worried. The vaqueros whooped and called out to him, facing in again with their hands ready. Diego, mounted on a spotted Indian pony, chuckled at the thought of Bernardo getting a few whacks. But then suddenly Bernardo thrust the bamboo into Diego's hand.

Diego tugged on the reins, and his pony reared back, then tore into a gallop. Diego turned inside Bernardo and stayed between him and the circle. They passed the empty place in the circle over and over as Diego swung the bamboo in whistling circles. Ducking, changing pace, Bernardo avoided all but a few of the blows. “You'll get it now,” Diego shouted. He rode up close to whack the daylights out of poor Bernardo, but no! Bernardo leaped completely out of the saddle, holding only the big horn and the flared cantle. He was pulled along on the far side of the galloping pony with bounding steps. The bamboo flailed against the saddle as Diego tried to catch one of Bernardo's hands and dislodge him.

Now the space in the circle was approaching again. Bernardo waited until Diego finished one swing and
leaped into the saddle, pulling his pony into a skidding slide. Diego galloped past, and Bernardo walked the pony into the circle to the cheers of the vaqueros and Diego's moans. Now it was
his
turn to fret.

They played until the sun went down and the riders were only blurs. Then Scar gave a deafening whistle and they all rode to the hitching rail, laughing like children. The beaten and beaters laughed together, not a moment of resentment. They were vaqueros and, rough as it was, this was their game.

“Clean up, you filthy cowmen!” Estafina shouted, and they lined up at the stone troughs with their thirsty horses, perching their hats and neckerchiefs on their saddle horns to scrub up.

The vaqueros had begun to load tin plates with barbecue when Doña Regina appeared on the veranda. “Gentlemen!” she called. “Dinner is waiting in the dining room.”

Captain Carter would have been delighted with the hearty fare around the barbecue fire. He had been confined for months aboard his small vessel, so anything but a tin plate of dried peas would have looked wonderful. When he saw the dining room, it seemed like a view of heaven. The table glowed with a dozen candles, silver serving dishes and tableware, lace tablecloths
and—as always—the striking beauty of Doña Regina. Her thick black hair was swept up and held with tortoiseshell combs. A smile from her high-boned, bronze face seemed to leap out, white and dazzling.

The captain had won the doña's favor by bringing her a printed silk shawl of green and blue, as intense as a peacock's feathers. He was scrupulously polite, but shy and awkward with his beautiful hostess. Stackpole's uniform was clean, though a bit frayed at the sleeves. He carried himself with quiet courtesy that showed he had been a guest at gracious tables before. Padre Mendoza, charming and warm as always, discovered that he liked these Yankee sailors.

Estafina was in the kitchen now. She had worried all day when she learned that she would be cooking for two foreigners. The honor of the Spanish Empire and all of California weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was especially wicked to all of her helpers, and her voice rose hourly.

The fragrant dishes were brought in. Don Alejandro carved a young goat perfectly roasted with raisins and rosemary. It was surrounded by vegetables and the ever-present chiles. There was a great brown loaf of bread, still warm from the stone oven. The padre had brought mission olives and a small cask of the mission's
wine, which was served in pitchers with the juice of lemons and oranges.

The captain hadn't eaten this richly in years. He sighed, cooed, growled, and hummed his delight with each mouthful until Doña Regina couldn't help herself. She broke into a happy laugh. “
Capitán
Carter!” she called. “You poor man! Have they starved you all across the great Pacific Ocean?”

His jaw froze. He was shocked. He hadn't noticed what noises he had been making. He was suddenly afraid he had offended his hosts, but Don Alejandro's friendly chuckle encouraged him. He broke into rapid chatter and Stackpole translated.

“The
capitán
apologizes for his loud offense. A man who has eaten weevily biscuit and beef from a salt barrel for a year shouldn't be allowed to dine with civilized company. He sadly admits that your delicious food has shown him to be a brute.”

Don Alejandro broke into laughter. “Tell the
capitán
that such a brute may sit at my table any evening!” The don tore into a bite of goat and gave such a growl that everyone at the table laughed again. Then he said, “I worry only that you will give our dear cook, Estafina, an exaggerated view of herself. Estafina!” he called. “Estafina! Come!”

Estafina appeared from the kitchen with a worried expression. The Boston captain rose from his place at the table. He bowed over her hand and kissed it, then grinned and said something that didn't need translation: “Mmmmm!”

Big Estafina blushed, dipped a girlish little curtsy, and disappeared back into the kitchen, giggling.

As the dishes and the tablecloth were being taken away, Doña Regina rose. The men and boys stood for her. “Señores,” she said, “I will leave you to your coffee and cigars,” and she swept from the room.

A silver pot of coffee appeared. Scar entered, carrying a polished cedar box of cigars, which he offered to the Bostonians and the padre. At a nod from Don Alejandro, he took a cigar himself and sat just behind the don, near the table. The boys could see that he was here for a reason.

Diego and Bernardo got up to go, but the don motioned them to sit down. This was a change—being invited to sit with the men when they were about to talk some kind of business. But they were not offered cigars.

The conversation went remarkably well, partly because Stackpole was a good translator, but also because Don Alejandro guided it deftly.

He asked about the situation in Europe. The well-informed Captain Carter, speaking through Stackpole, described Napoleon's attempts to bring Spain under his thumb. He explained the iron shackles of rules and punishments that kept the French tyrant in power.

Stackpole continued: “The captain says that his countrymen, and especially Bostonians, are no great friend to despots of any kind. Nor are they—with the greatest respect for your views—great admirers of kings.”

Don Alejandro nodded, puffing his cigar. “The
capitán
might be astonished to know how much I value independence and the rights of the people. True, I am sworn to be a soldier for the king of Spain. But not for Bonaparte.”

When this was translated to Carter, the captain rapped on the tabletop with his knuckles, a kind of applause in agreement.

“These are strange times in our pueblo,” Don Alejandro continued, and the boys could sense that he was coming to his purpose, “hard times. Something or someone is taking our cattle. Good craftsmen are disappearing. Who will help us? Not Spain. With Napoleon's war, Madrid is even farther from California than it was. We
Californios
are no longer the children of
Spain. Perhaps we will never be again.”

More rapping of knuckles.

“We are practical men,
Capitán
.”

The Nantucket man looked thoughtfully at the don through the cigar smoke, guessing at what might be coming.

The don went on. “The letter of the law on this coast is that we are forbidden to trade with foreign vessels. Yet agreements are made. We're almost without a government. The official packets from Acapulco and Panama haven't arrived for months.”

Padre Mendoza nodded sadly as Stackpole translated.

“There are things we need,
Capitán
. Trade goods, simple things. Let us arrive at some agreement between us. Not to defy the law, but to nourish the pueblo.”

Stackpole translated, listened, and gave the captain's reply: “He is agreeable to all free trade, especially with a man of honor.”

Don Alejandro bowed in thanks to the compliment. “What if I were to deliver hides and tallow to the
capitán
's vessel, a cargo he might sell almost anyplace. He could return with goods we need. If the
capitán
places his trust in us, we will place our trust with him.”

The captain smiled warmly and held out his hand to
Don Alejandro, who took it as warmly.

Bernardo and Diego looked at each other: secret agreements at our table!

The don said, “Today in the pueblo, this year's mayor beat the drum and announced the day our
apartado
begins next week. This is our spring rodeo. We will be parting out and counting the mission cattle and the cattle belonging to the ranchos. We will brand our calves, make a fiesta, and then we can slaughter the needed number of steers for the hides and tallow. Most will be de la Vega cattle. The padre and I have arranged that some will be mission cattle, so that his necessities can be met, since he has lost several hundred head of cattle. All this will require three weeks of hard work. Can you return at a given time when the cargo is ready?”

Stackpole translated, listened, and spoke. “The
capitán
asks me to express his gratitude for the don's trust in his discretion and fidelity.”

The men shook hands all around while the boys watched. Just being allowed to stay in the room was a mark of the don's respect for them. It was his way of bringing them into the difficult and confusing world of practical matters.

Scar disappeared to arrange for horses and an armed
escort back to the docks. Even around a prosperous pueblo like Los Angeles, there were still cougars, wolves, and marauding grizzly bears. More dangerous than natural predators, the bandit El Chollo had robbed a traveling party of soldiers to the south; who knows where he could be tonight?

At the hacienda door, Captain Carter asked Stackpole to translate one more question: “He asks if you or the padre have seen or heard of his ship's cooper, his barrel maker, Mr. Warr. He came ashore to arrange for water yesterday and has not returned. He is a reliable man and unlikely to desert his ship in a foreign port. If you see or hear of him, please contact the captain or me.”

The padre crossed himself and said, “Another craftsman has disappeared!”

Stackpole translated a question from Captain Carter. “He asks if there is some wickedness afoot in the pueblo.”

Don Alejandro glanced at Scar and the padre. He puffed his cigar and blew out a thin stream of smoke as he thought. “We have the makings of a mystery, for sure. But at the edge of the world, there are always mysteries, yes?”

The men exchanged handshakes and compliments.
Stackpole and the captain mounted awkwardly. With hooting and shouts, the vaqueros galloped out of the hacienda with the two sailors clinging to their saddles.