Diego noticed the absence of his friend quite soon, and decided to take advantage of the fact. He could get more done without a babysitter, he decided.

He finished his soup, and left the table, waving with a sheepish smile at his father's friends at a nearby table. He cast a wistful look at the curtain that led to the kitchen. She'd be angry with him, he realised, but he wasn't getting very far with interference at every turn.

Luke meant well, and he was doing what Alejandro had told him to. Diego would take the blame, of course, and more than likely the vaquero would be alright and free from consequences.

Something gnawed at his insides, and it certainly wasn't hunger. Albondiga soup had made sure of that. It was the longing for his memories to return, something was driving him to find out more. There was an urgency he couldn't even begin to understand and it was making him impatient.

Everyone knew him in town, and by the time he had ventured out, most people knew of his condition and the warnings the doctor had given. He wondered if anyone would dream of telling him anything. Most people smiled at him, and greeted him, as he made his way down the path that led back to his newspaper office.

He needed some sort of disguise...was the first thought that came to mind. A disguise? He chuckled a little, he was no longer on the stage at university. Such games were surely not suitable for a man of his breeding in real life? He remembered his acting, he had enjoyed it, and he even remembered Ignacio de Soto's time on the stage.

How long did he want to be left alone before he was 'captured' again by his friends? More than a few moments, he realised. They would look for him in the places he was most likely to be, the places he had already been that day. The tavern, the alcalde's office, the newspaper building.

He decided to see the tradespeople first. He wondered if he had much to do with them in the past. Pablo probably brought the horses to the blacksmith and attended the saddler, not Diego, or so Diego thought.

"Hola, Don Diego," the blacksmith said, pausing from his work as Diego approached. "I heard about your accident, nasty business."

"I'm doing a story for the newspaper," Diego said, after greeting the man as fondly as he had greeted him. Obviously they had friendly dealings with each other.

"Isn't it a little soon for that?" The blacksmith said with a slight frown. "You aren't a strong man, Diego, and it is not wise to push yourself too hard. You are too important to all of us."

"It's not really that taxing," Diego said. "I am asking people about what they think of Zorro."

"Oh, that is easy enough," the blacksmith said with a smile. "Well, as you know," he started and then stopped.

"Someone was saying you'd lost your memory, and yet here you are," the blacksmith said. "Goes to show that gossip gets things wrong sometimes."

Diego wished he had fetched a notepad and pencil for writing things down. He smiled and agreed with the man.

"Yes, you were saying?"

"Well, as you know, Zorro saved my life last year. I had been riding out near Buzzard's Creek, and my horse had sunk in the quicksand that sometimes forms there. I thought perhaps we were both goners, we were stuck fast, and there was no one for miles. Then along comes Zorro on that giant stallion of his, jet black that Toronado. The first thing he does is greet me, by name, and throw a quip about something while he throws me a rope. That stallion is strong, I tell you, there must be no other horse in the world equal to him. Pulled me and the horse out of the mire, and as you can see, Caracol stands in the stall over there. Had a foal last week, and I'll show you the little fellow."

Diego was led over to the stall where a fine bay mare stood calmly, watching over a tiny foal with the same markings.

"What beauties," he said with genuine appreciation. "Almost equal to any in my father's stables."

"You exaggerate," the blacksmith said with a wide smile. "I know your father's horses, and they are a lot finer than anyone else's. But these are mine and I love them for it."

"I'm glad you didn't lose her last year," Diego said with feeling. Yet something else he should have already known, and it irked him greatly. This Zorro sounds like a man of the people.

"What would you think if Zorro was captured?"

The blacksmith glanced at Diego with surprise. "It's for the newspaper. Just collecting opinions at this stage," Diego said. Now he would have to write an article about what he used for information, but it killed two birds with one stone. Information gathering and practice getting back to his work with the newspaper.

"Well, I suppose it's inevitable, but I wouldn't like to see the day of course. Not much a mere blacksmith could do to help," the blacksmith said with a sigh. "They'll hang him of course. Pity, that man has a heart of gold. You know what he means to this town," he added thoughtfully.

Diego nodded thoughtfully. He was starting to get a feel for the man. A bit foolhardy perhaps, but in the blacksmith's case, a good Samaritan. Diego rubbed the nose of the mare, and glanced at the foal with the eye of a connoisseur. Some men might only save the man, but Zorro was prepared to save the horse too. Maybe he had known that the blacksmith relied so much on the mare, and that his day to day life would be next to impossible without the horse for transport at least.

"Well, the next issue will have your opinion included," Diego said, making the blacksmith smile. "Along with several others."

"Take care, Don Diego. In a few weeks, make sure you bring Esperanza for her new shoes. It's always good to see you and your old mare. She is a magnificent piece of horseflesh."

"Of course," Diego said. The men farewelled each other and Diego went further down the path. He was vaguely surprised that he was the one that brought his horse into the blacksmith, but it explained the relationship he had formed with the other man. Diego was still floundering for the man's name, but the blacksmith didn't have to know that right now. The next time they met Diego would make sure to greet him with his name.

Glancing towards the doctor's office, he cringed a little, but the doctor was obviously not in. The man was busy on his rounds, or Diego knew he would be in danger of being corralled from his information gathering. It didn't seem as if it was doing any harm, apart from the headache and nausea that came and went on a regular basis anyway.

The apothecary shop sat next to the doctor's office, and Diego made his way over. Feeling his way with the blacksmith had worked well, and now he had a pattern for his research. His confidence was growing, but his memories stayed stubbornly stuck.

Zzz

Victoria glanced out of the kitchen, through the curtain.

"Luke, we've lost Diego," she announced with an exasperated sigh.

Luke followed her gaze, and raced out of the kitchen, followed closely by Victoria.

"I promised Don Alejandro to keep him in sight at all times," Luke said, scanning the room. He was hoping that Diego was only talking to friends in the tavern, but there was no sign of the man.

"We are dealing with Zorro," Victoria whispered. "He is not all he seems."

"He may not have all his memories, but he is as crafty as a fox," Luke said. "I'm sorry Victoria. I will find him."

"I will let Pilar know, and I'll help you." Victoria was already removing her apron, placing it on the bar. "That man will be the death of me one day, I swear."