Agreeing it was a better solution to try to find the girl, after convincing Diego they needed to give up and return should the walk prove longer than two miles or so, De Soto followed the young caballero towards some hills, constantly complaining about the dirt in his boots.

As they didn't seem to get anywhere, they eventually decided to turn back just as Diego heard neighs coming from not more than 50 yards from where they were. Carefully, the two thus followed the sounds to a small wooden cabin behind a hill, near which a brown horse was munching on some grass.

"Isn't it beautiful, Mama?" They heard a young girl's voice ask from inside the hut.

"It is mi hija, but where did you get it? And with what money? We can't afford to buy something this beautiful." A woman's voice was heard say next. "And all this food? Where does it come from?"

"Don't worry about it, Mama! Just take a bite of this cake! It's delicious!" The girl replied.

De Soto stomped inside the hut, for a moment forgetting he was no longer alcalde, but only an ordinary citizen. "So, you're the little thief! Give back what you have stolen!" He ordered just as Diego also followed him inside.

The woman gave a shout of fright, and the girl hurriedly retreated to her mother's bed, watching them fearfully from her protective arms, and De Soto froze when he saw the girl couldn't be more than eight years old.

"Please don't hurt us, Señores!" The woman begged, embracing her daughter.

"We are not here to harm you, Señora. My companion has just forgotten his manners." Diego assured her, giving Ignacio a scolding look as he moved to stand between him and the occupants of the cabin. "We are only here because your daughter took something, and the person she took it from would like it back."

The woman looked inquisitively towards the girl. "I thought we talked about this, mi niña! We may be poor, but under no circumstances you are allowed to steal!" She told the child.

"I'm sorry, Mama… But you are so ill! And you haven't eaten in days." The girl answered.

"Ill? What is wrong with you, Señora?" Diego inquired. The woman didn't say a thing, just looked at him terrified. "I am a doctor. Perhaps I might be able to help you." He suggested.

"I don't have the money to pay for your services, Señor!" She answered.

"I don't intend to charge for my services. Just allow me to help if I can." The caballero told her and slowly neared the bed she was lying in. The woman finally let go of her daughter after glancing at De Soto, then back at Diego, and realizing the caballero was truly intent on helping.

"It's my chest. I fell last week down the creek, and I think I might have broken my ribs. I haven't been able to do much since… and every time I tried, the pain has just gotten worse." She answered.

"May I?" Diego asked as he took his hands to her chest to feel the ribs, then turned around. "Ignacio, if you could wait outside…" He asked, and the white-haired man rolled his eyes and exited.

"Can you pull your nightshirt up, Señora?" Diego inquired and the woman shyly complied, pulling the patched cloth up from under her dirty blanket till just under her breasts.

As Diego suspected, she was so skinny that he could easily see her injuries.

"You shouldn't have tried to work after you became injured. The broken ribs can perforate the lungs and then your life would be in danger. Can you breathe well, Señora?" Diego questioned as he allowed her to let her shirt back down.

"It hurts when I do, but yes… I think so." She replied.

"You have two broken ribs, and a third one looks cracked, yet, fortunately, there doesn't appear to be further damages. In cases such as this, there's not really much to do, other than give them time to heal while avoiding any activity which might affect the process. I could bind them, but that might prevent you from breathing well and lead to you getting pneumonia, which would be far more dangerous than leaving them as they are. For at least a week or two more, you should just keep as still as possible, then start moving slowly as soon as you feel up to it." Diego told her.

"I can't lay in bed for so long!" She replied. "I'm the one who's supposed to take care of my daughter! I can't burden her with caring for me for several weeks at her age!"

"I can take care of you, Mama! I'm old enough!" The girl contradicted her.

"You're 7 years old, Manuela! You're still a child. You should be out playing, not here, taking care of me, or in the pueblo, stealing from the good people there." The woman replied. "I'm so sorry about that incident, Señor! Please don't let the Alcalde arrest her! She's all I have. You can take everything back, just make sure no harm comes to her!"

"There's no need for you to fear that, Señora; and all I was asked to bring back was the blanket. It's very special to someone."

"And very beautiful." She replied with a smile. "Omnia enim possibilia sunt apud Deum." She continued, reading a text on the blanket. "With God, all things are possible."

"You speak Latin?" Diego asked, baffled.

"My tutor made sure I learned it. But that was a long time ago. It's a miracle I remember enough to know what that means." She told him.

"Yes…" He answered pensively. "Excuse me for asking, Señora, but don't you have anyone else to take care of you?" The caballero inquired. "Your husband, perhaps?"

"No… I lost the man I loved before my child was born." She replied. "All I have is my Manuela."

"I see. Well… In that case, I suggest the two of you accompany me back to my father's hacienda. You may stay in one of the guestrooms while you recover, I'll be able to keep watch on your progress, and our servants will make sure that both of you are well taken care of." Diego suggested.

"I wouldn't want to impose on you and your family, Señor." The woman answered.

"It's no imposition. My father wouldn't forgive me if I left you here, all alone, in the middle of nowhere." He told her with a grin.

"We've been living here for over seven years, and we can manage on our own." She answered, irritated.

"I don't mean to offend, Señora. But a woman confined to a bed and a small girl living alone here, far from the pueblo, would be easy prey for men with bad intentions." He explained, becoming quite serious.

The woman stared at him for a few moments before addressing her daughter. "Go check on the horse, mi hija. See if she needs water!"

"Si, Mama!" Manuela answered, giving Diego a warning look before leaving the house.

"I don't believe you understand, Señor!" The woman uttered as soon as they were alone. "I don't have a husband because I was never married. My daughter's father died a short while after she was conceived, before we had the chance to marry."

"I understood that quite well." The caballero replied, a kind look on his face.

"And you still want me in your house? My own father was too embarrassed to have me in his with a fatherless child. Besides, you don't even know me! People will gossip and your good name will suffer if you take us in like that!"

"I assure you, Señora, neither I, nor my father are the kind of people who'd let gossip guide our actions. Let us help you, and I promise you will never feel unwelcome at our hacienda. And I will have peace of mind by knowing you are both safe, and not here, prey to hunger, the elements, and to those who might want to harm you." He answered.

The young woman started crying at that point, unable to believe what she was hearing. For years she had been ostracized, forced to raise her girl in poverty, with no one there to even offer them a kind word, and, suddenly, a stranger wanted to take care of them, despite the risks of him doing so.

Diego didn't know if he should let her cry or try to comfort her, so, for a minute, he simply looked uncomfortable until the girl came in to embrace her mother and help her calm down.

Leaving them alone, the caballero exited the hut and headed towards De Soto, who was carefully studying the horse.

"Do you think they bought this mare or stole her?" The white-haired man asked his companion, who just shook his head, not even bothering to answer.

"Ignacio, I'll need you to go to the pueblo, and have my father and Felipe come here with a wagon half-filled with hay and several blankets. Tell Felipe I'll also need a pain reliever. He'll know where to get it."

"Why?" De Soto simply asked.

"Because the woman in there and her daughter need help, and I plan on providing them such help at the hacienda." He answered.

"So you're rewarding the little thief?"

"Ignacio, that child hasn't eaten in days and, worst yet, has been forced to watch her mother, the only person she has in the world, going through hunger and become weaker with every passing hour. Unless something is done urgently, that woman will die, not because of her broken ribs, but because of hunger. Now, will you help, or should I go for the wagon myself?" The caballero replied in a tone that allowed for no further protests.

"I'll go! I'll go! You'd probably get lost on the way back, anyway!" De Soto replied and went to saddle the mare. She was a very good animal, well-taken-care-of despite having been left shoeless, and the former alcalde considered that not even his own stallion might be worth as much as she.

Keeping those thoughts to himself, he soon mounted, and was on his way back towards Los Angeles, just as the girl came out, worried that her horse was being stolen.

"Since you scared off our horses, I fear your mare was the only one available. Don't worry! He's only going to get my father and a wagon so that we can transport your mother back to our hacienda." Diego told her as he squinted to look her straight in the eyes. "You'll get your horse back in a few hours."

"You promise?" She asked. "She is all we have, and we need her to help us grow our crops."

"Yes, I promise. Ignacio might not be the best horseman out there, but he loves horses. He will make sure to take good care of her, and get her back to you as soon as possible." Diego answered as the two of them returned to the house.

"What's your name?" Manuela inquired, and Diego realized he had neglected to introduce himself.

"Diego. Diego de la Vega. My companion's name is Ignacio de Soto. And you are Manuela, if I am correct." He answered.

"I am." She confirmed. "Manuela Romero. And my mother's name is Diana, and our mare is called Aphrodite." She continued the introductions.

"Aphrodite? What an interesting name for a horse!" He uttered as they returned to the girl's mother.

"It's my father who named her." The young woman answered. "He used to name all our horses after Greek gods, and his children after Roman ones. He gave me Aphrodite as a gift, for my fifteenth birthday. She was just a colt back then, and it took a lot of training, but she's been the best horse I could have wished for. I don't know how I would have managed without her all this time."

"Your father… He was a haciendado?" Diego questioned. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He made me leave home when I became pregnant." The woman uttered as she caressed her daughter's hair. "Well… forced me, might be a better way to put it. Manuela's father had died in an accident a few days before we should have married, and my father was too embarrassed by the idea of… of me having her while unwed. He wanted me to give birth in a convent near Mexico City, and let the nuns raise her. I refused and he… informed me that, unless I come to my senses by the following day, I would have to find another place to live." Tears once more filled the woman's eyes at remembering all she had gone through. "So, the next morning, I packed some clothes, blankets, my jewelry and some money I had been saving, and left home. I had no idea where I should go or what I was supposed to do with myself, so I just headed north. People weren't very kind, though. In San Diego, a haciendado from whom I had rented a farmhouse and a piece of land threw me out at coming by and realizing I was pregnant. He still kept the money I had paid him for the rest of the year. Then, in Capistrano, one of the padres refused to let me stay the night, saying I would be a bad influence on the neophyte women at the mission. When I tried to explain I needed help because I was close to giving birth, he had the lancers there beat me to force me to leave.

"So I stayed away from the pueblos and the missions after that.

"Several days after I had left Capistrano, I found this cottage. It was just in time because I had barely entered it when my water broke. I gave birth to Manuela right here where the bed is now, so I took it as a sign. We never bothered anyone, and nobody bothered us either… except for two thugs who took all we had of any value, about a year ago. We were lucky that day, too, since neither one of us was here, and we only returned as they were leaving."

Diego just shook his head, his heart aching at the thought of all she had had to endure. "And your brothers? Sisters?"

"I had two older brothers." The young woman replied. "But I never got to meet them. They were twins, but they both died of smallpox when they were only two. My mother always said that losing them was what made my father the severe man he became." Diana answered. "He still loved me, I know he did, but he would have preferred I was a boy."

The caballero slowly nodded. "How come you've been here for years, yet I've never seen you in Los Angeles?" He inquired next.

"I only went there once, when my daughter was a little over three years old. I hoped to buy a few things we needed, but the Alcalde took most of my money as a tax for travelers, so we had to return empty-handed. I avoided the pueblo since."

"How have you been surviving, then?"

"It wasn't easy. I already knew how to hunt and build traps, for my father had made sure to teach me, so we never lacked food before. Although, since Manuela grew up, she's been forcing me to free all the rabbits I caught, and we've been mainly eating snakes and lizards the past few years… Fruits when they are in season… Acorns…And the wild wheat, herbs and vegetables I grow. And there is a stream very close from here, which never dries out. We also had some blankets and the clothes I had taken with me when I left home. They are worn out now, and some I used to make clothes for Manuela. But we muddled through." She recounted, doing her best to smile.

"You gave birth to her and raised her, all alone, here?" The caballero inquired, barely able to imagine what the young woman had truly been through, but already convinced of her strength.

"Si, Don Diego. And there's not a day in my life when I don't give thanks to God for sending me this little miracle and for the strength to choose to keep her. I might have lost the man I loved… I guess some love stories are just not meant to be… But there's a piece of him within her, and nothing will ever change that. She is the best thing that ever happened to me!" The woman answered among sobs. "And she is smart, too! She knows how to read, write, do computations, set traps, and rides far better than me at her age… She's perfect!"

Diego just smiled at her, yet some of the things she had said reverberated through him, making him wonder about his own chance at a future with the woman he loved.