They rode leisurely, for which Don Diego remarked that he was grateful. Bernardo was still following him on the mule, and was a little chagrined because Don Diego had not remained longer at his father’s house. Bernardo knew something momentous was being planned, but could not guess what, of course, and wished that he was like other men, and could hear and speak.
When they reached the plaza, they found that the other two parties already were there, saying that they had not come up with the highwayman. Some declared that they had seen him in the distance, and one that he had fired a pistol at him, at which the caballeros who had been at Don Alejandro’s put their tongues in their cheeks and looked at one another in a peculiar manner.
Don Diego left his companions and hurried to his house, where he donned fresh clothing and refreshed himself generally. He sent Bernardo about his business, which was to sit in the kitchen and await his master’s call. And then he ordered his carriage around.
That carriage was one of the most gorgeous along El Camino Real, and why Don Diego had purchased it had always been a mystery. There were some who said he did it to show his wealth, while others declared a manufacturer’s agent had worried him so much that Don Diego had given him the order to be rid of him.
Don Diego came from his house dressed in his best; but he did not get into the carriage. Again there was a tumult in the plaza, and into it rode Sergeant Pedro Gonzales and his troopers. The man Captain Ramón had sent after them had overtaken them easily, for they had been riding slowly and had not covered many miles.
“Ha, Don Diego, my friend!” Gonzales cried. “Still living in this turbulent world?”
“From necessity,” Don Diego replied. “Did you capture this Señor Zorro?”
“The pretty bird escaped us, caballero. It appears that he turned toward San Gabriel that night, while we went chasing him toward Pala. Ah, well, ’tis nothing to make a small mistake! Our revenge shall be the greater when we find him.”
“What do you now, my sergeant?”
“My men refresh themselves, and then we ride toward San Gabriel. It is said the highwayman is in that vicinity, though some thirty young men of blood failed to find him last night after he had caused the magistrado to be whipped. No doubt he hid himself in the brush and chuckled when the caballeros rode by.”
“May your horse have speed and your sword-arm strength!” Don Diego said, and got into his carriage.
Two magnificent horses were hitched to the carriage, and a native coachman in rich livery drove them. Don Diego stretched back on the cushions and half closed his eyes as the carriage started. The driver went across the plaza and turned into the highway, and started toward the hacienda of Don Carlos Pulido.
Sitting on his veranda, Don Carlos saw the gorgeous carriage approaching, and growled low down in his throat, and then got up and hurried into the house, to face his wife and daughter.
“Señorita, Don Diego comes,” he said. “I have spoken words regarding the young man, and I trust that you have given heed to them as a dutiful daughter should.”
Then he turned and went out to the veranda again, and the señorita rushed into her room and threw herself upon a couch to weep. The saints knew she wished that she could feel some love for Don Diego and take him for a husband, for it would help her father’s fortunes, yet she felt that she could not.
Why did not the man act the caballero? Why did he not exhibit a certain measure of common sense? Why did he not show that he was a young man bursting with health, instead of acting like an aged don with one foot in the grave?
Don Diego got from the carriage and waved to the driver to continue to the stable-yard. He greeted Don Carlos languidly, and Don Carlos was surprised to note that Don Diego had a guitar beneath one arm. He put the guitar down on the floor, removed his sombrero, and sighed.
“I have been out to see my father,” he said.
“Ha! Don Alejandro is well, I hope?”
“He is in excellent health, as usual. He has instructed me to persist in my suit for the Señorita Lolita’s hand. If I do not win me a wife within a certain time, he says, he will give his fortune to the Franciscans when he passes away.”
“Indeed?”
“He said it, and my father is not a man to waste his words. Don Carlos, I must win the señorita! I know of no other young woman who would be as acceptable to my father as a daughter-in-law.”
“A little wooing, Don Diego, I beg of you. Be not so matter-of-fact, I pray.”
“I have decided to woo as other men, though it no doubt will be much of a bore. How would you suggest that I start?”
“It is difficult to give advice in such a case,” Don Carlos replied, trying desperately to remember how he had done it when he had courted Doña Catalina. “A man really should be experienced, else be a man to whom such things come naturally.”
“I fear I am neither,” Don Diego said, sighing again and raising tired eyes to Don Carlos’s face.
“It might be an excellent thing to regard the señorita as if you adored her. Say nothing about marriage at first, but speak rather of love. Try to talk in low, rich tones, and say those meaningless nothings in which a young woman can find a world of meaning. ’Tis a gentle art—saying one thing and meaning another.”
“I fear that it is beyond me,” Don Diego said. “Yet I must try, of course. I may
