“Ah! He would be!” said Don Alejandro.
“But the marriage cannot take place, I fear.”
“How is this? There is some shadow concerning the señorita?”
“Not to my knowledge. She appears to be a sweet and innocent maiden, father and sir. I had them come to Reina de Los Angeles and spend a couple of days at my house. I had it arranged so that she could see the furnishings, and learn of my wealth.”
“That was a wise arrangement, my son.”
“But she will have none of me.”
“How is this? Refuses to wed with a Vega? Refuses to become allied to the most powerful family in the country, with the best blood in the land?”
“She intimated, father and sir, that I am not the sort of man for her. She is prone to foolishness, I believe. She would have me play a guitar under her window, perhaps, and make eyes, and hold hands when her dueña is not looking, and all that silliness.”
“By the saints! Are you a Vega?” Don Alejandro cried. “Would not any worthy man want a chance like that? Would not any caballero delight to serenade his love on a moonlight night? The little things you term silly are the very essence of love. I doubt not the señorita was displeased with you.”
“But I did not see that such things were necessary,” Don Diego said.
“Did you go to the señorita in a cold-blooded manner and suggest that you wed and have it done with? Had you the idea, young sir, that you were purchasing a horse or a bull? By the saints! And so there is no chance for you to wed the girl? She has the best blood by far, next to our own.”
“Don Carlos bade me have hope,” Diego replied. “He took her back to the hacienda, and suggested that perhaps when she had been there a time and had reflected she might change her mind.”
“She is yours, if you play the game!” Don Alejandro said. “You are a Vega, and therefore the best catch in the country. Be but half a lover, and the señorita is yours. What sort of blood is in your veins? I have half a mind to slit one of them and see.”
“Cannot we allow this marriage business to drop for the time being?” Don Diego asked.
“You are twenty-five. I was quite old when you were born. Soon I shall go the way of my fathers. You are the only son, the heir, and you must have a wife and offspring. Is the Vega family to die out because your blood is water? Win you a wife within the quarter year, young sir, and a wife I can accept into the family, or I leave my wealth to the Franciscans when I pass away!”
“My father!”
“I mean it! Get life into you! I would you had half the courage and spirit this Señor Zorro, this highwayman, has! He has principles, and he fights for them. He aids the helpless and avenges the oppressed.
“I salute him! I would rather have you, my son, in his place, running the risk of death or imprisonment, than to have you a lifeless dreamer of dreams that amount to naught!”
“My father! I have been a dutiful son!”
“I would you had been a little wild—it would have been more natural,” Don Alejandro sighed. “I could overlook a few escapades more easily than I can lifelessness. Arouse yourself, young sir! Remember that you are a Vega.
“When I was your age, I was not a laughingstock. I was ready to fight at a wink, to make love to every pair of flashing eyes, to stand up to any caballero in sports rough or refined. Ha!”
“I pray you, do not ‘Ha!’ me, sir and father. My nerves are on an edge.”
“You must be more of a man!”
“I shall attempt it immediately,” Don Diego said, straightening himself somewhat in his chair. “I had hoped to avoid it, but it appears that I cannot. I shall woo the Señorita Lolita as other men woo maidens. You meant what you said about your fortune?”
“I did!” said Don Alejandro.
“Then I must bestir myself. It would never do, of course, to let that fortune go out of the family. I shall think these matters over in peace and quiet tonight. Perhaps I can meditate here, far from the pueblo. By the saints!”
The last exclamation was caused by a sudden tumult outside the house. Don Alejandro and his son heard a number of horsemen stop, heard their calls to one another, heard bridles jingling and blades rattling.
“There is no peace in all the world!” Don Diego said, with deepened gloom.
“It sounds like half a score of men,” Don Alejandro said.
It was—exactly. A servant opened the door, and into the great room there strode ten caballeros, with blades at their sides and pistols in their belts.
“Ha, Don Alejandro! We crave hospitality!” the foremost cried.
“You have it without asking, caballeros. What manner of journey is this you take?”
“We pursue Señor Zorro, the highwayman.”
“By the saints!” Don Diego cried. “One cannot escape it even here! Violence and bloodshed!”
“He invaded the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles,” the spokesman went on. “He had the magistrado whipped because he sentenced Fray Felipe to receive the lash, and he whipped the fat landlord, and he fought half a score of men while he was about it. Then he rode away, and we made up a band to pursue him. He has not been in this neighborhood?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Don Alejandro said. “My son arrived off the highway but a short time ago.”
“You did not see the fellow, Don Diego?”
“I did not,” Don Diego said. “That is one stroke of good fortune that came my way.”
Don Alejandro had sent for servants, and now wine mugs were on the long table, and heaps of small cakes, and the caballeros began to eat and
