CHAPTER NINE – De Soto Returns

Alcalde De Soto stopped a moment on the El Camino Real about fifteen miles north of Los Angeles. In some ways, he couldn't wait to be back, and in others, he almost wished he hadn't given up his room in Monterey. He'd gone to the seashore every day. He'd met with territorial officials only twice. He'd read two books, and romanced a tavern wench of his own in the evenings. The thought made him chuckle, as he thought of his masked arch-enemy. Why romance her? Why lead her on? Just take her, he thought, like I did. Of course, maybe he already has. And De Soto snickered again while rubbing his beard in thought. And yet, the senorita swore up and down she had not been compromised by Zorro or anyone else. He had no proof, and everyone in Los Angeles swore Senorita Escalante's innocence.

He took out his handkerchief and mopped his forehead. It was a hot one today. He took a drink from his canteen, then dismounted and poured some water into his gloved left hand and offered it to the horse. He saw a tree about 20 yards off the left side of the road.

"Come on, ole' boy, let's get some shade," he said to his horse. "We'll rest a short while before returning home."

Ah, it will be good to get back to Los Angeles, De Soto thought. The leave gave me some perspective on things. I'll be able to focus on what's important, and make new plans when I return. I'm going to move slowly. I'm going to wait and see what happens. But I will catch the Fox. I will, if it's the last thing that I do.

Whatever his thoughts, De Soto actually hoped things were quiet in the pueblo upon his return – to give him a chance to correct all the paperwork mistakes he knew Sergeant Mendoza would make while he was gone. And, until he could come up with a foolproof plan, frankly, he was hoping he wouldn't have to deal with Zorro – at least for a little while. Lots of ideas were running through his head, but none of them were taking shape yet.

After a short siesta, De Soto remounted his white horse, and trotted the rest of the way to the pueblo. He'd risen early this morning from an inn at San Luis Obispo, about half the distance between Monterey and Los Angeles.

He arrived about an hour later, in the late afternoon. He had sent the bulk of his luggage ahead of him on the coach yesterday so that it would get to Los Angeles around the same time he did. De Soto had only carried the most basic of necessities in his saddle bags. He had military privileges, being alcalde, and the luggage cost was minimal. It should have arrived in the pueblo about an hour ago.

As soon as he rode in, he tied his horse and went straight to his office. Mendoza was such a slob! Papers were everywhere…piles, and yesterday's leftover enchiladas! Obviously the sergeant hadn't expected him back for a few more days. He should really take Mendoza to task about neatness and cleanliness in the office. But, right now, he wanted to catch up on the news of the pueblo.

"SERGEANT MENDOZA! Come into this office – AT ONCE!" He heard a crash from the back porch area of the cuartel, as a chair was knocked over backwards. Mendoza came lumbering in a moment later.

"Si, mi Alcalde! Welcome back, Alcalde!" Mendoza stood strictly at attention and saluted De Soto. He gulped and tried to hide as much shock as he could. Even though he knew it was a distinct possibility De Soto would return early, Mendoza was sincerely hoping he wouldn't. He waited until De Soto spoke, before he said anything further.

De Soto had the latest edition of The Guardian on his desk, but he didn't see anything of interest in it.

"Sergeant, so – the pueblo was quiet while I was gone? Did anything happen of interest? I see that The Guardian doesn't have much news in it – just expanded Senor Estómago, and Dońa Corazon and some sort of de la Vega drivel about community service in his editorial. Was there nothing of interest while I was gone?"

Sergeant Mendoza cleared his throat. "Not much has happened, mi Alcalde, except for one thing. I'm not sure how much of that ended up in the newspaper, because of …well, anyway… About three weeks ago, a week or so after you left, the loco bull of Senor Segura got loose in the plaza on Market Day, but Don Diego made sure no one got hurt."

"Don Diego? How did he do that?"

"Oh, Alcalde – he was magnificent! You should have seen him! He…"

De Soto interrupted. "Diego? Diego de la Vega was magnificent? In what way?" De Soto was having a hard time imagining Diego de la Vega being magnificent at anything, except reading a book.

"In the way he fought the bull!" Mendoza gulped.

De Soto was flabbergasted, but frustrated. Sometimes, the Sergeant talked so much it made his head swim, but today, trying to get information from Mendoza was like squeezing blood out of a turnip.

"Bull – fighting? Don Diego? Tell me, Sergeant! Tell me all about it…" De Soto looked skeptically at the sergeant.

Mendoza hesitated, looking at De Soto to see if it was going to be worth his while to finish the story. He had a bad feeling about De Soto's reaction.

"Please continue, Sergeant." De Soto leaned back in his chair. This ought to be good, he thought.

Mendoza's eyes sparkled. "You would have thought he had taken lessons, you know, in the bullfighting. Ay Chihuahua! He kept the bull busy chasing him around the plaza…" the Sergeant was getting into his story-telling mode ever so slowly…watching to see if the alcalde was hanging on every word. When Mendoza saw that he had De Soto's full attention, he milked the story for all it was worth.

"…so that the vendors and people could get out of the bull's path. Diego and I were in the tavern for lunch when we heard screaming. Don Alejandro was in charge of the bull auction that day. You would have thought he was commandanté that day, the way he shouted orders…And I – I – bravely ran across the plaza, escaping the dangers from that loco bull – so I could get to the cuartel and gather the lancers to also help fight the bull!"

"Wait a minute, Sergeant. Who exactly fought the bull? You, Don Alejandro, or Don Diego?" De Soto was trying to get a handle on what really happened. He knew that Mendoza usually stretched the truth of his own role in any event that occurred. De Soto wanted to at least get that straight in his mind.

Mendoza cleared his throat and stuck a finger in his collar to loosen it. His chin went up as he did so. "Oh, well…uh – we all did."

"You – all – did! Tell me, what was your part again?"

Mendoza moved his head from side to side as he continued his attempt to loosen his collar, nervously. "Oh, I – uh – bravely ran to the cuartel and gathered the troops!"

"And what was Don Alejandro's role?"

"Well, Don Alejandro gave orders to the vaqueros to catch the bull! To – uh – throw their ropes…there were some on the ground, and some on horseback…"

"So – what – did Don Diego do?"

"Well, uh, Don Diego fought the bull – himself. But unfortunately, he broke his leg, when the bull threw him in the air!"

De Soto interrupted. "Sergeant! Wait a minute. Are you telling me that de la Vega broke his leg, really broke his leg fighting a bull?" De Soto wheezed in laughter at his imagined sight of seeing Diego de la Vega thrown up in the air by a bull and landing clumsily enough to break his leg. Serves him right, De Soto thought. De la Vega trying to be a hero. "Ha!" he said aloud.

"Si, mi Alcalde. But there's more." Mendoza couldn't wait now.

"There's more to this comedy? What?" De Soto was still laughing at the thought of Diego fighting a bull in the plaza. What a joke! I can just see El Torero, cape in one, sword in the other! Wait something's wrong with this picture. De la Vega never wears a sword. That's probably why he got hurt, De Soto snickered to himself.

"Well, Alcalde, actually, Don Diego was a hero that day. He saved all the vendors in the plaza from injury and their stands by distracting the bull with a broomstick, so they could get away…"

"WHAT! He fought the bull with a BROOM – STICK!" De Soto threw his head back and laughed out loud again. He leaned forward in his chair. "Tell me that again, Sergeant! I can't believe it!" But he was laughing so loud, he really didn't hear Mendoza repeat the story.

"…and the vaqueros could eventually capture the bull. He was very graceful, and evaded the bull for about ten minutes before his leg got caught in the bull's horns, and he got thrown in the air."

"That sounds like something de la Vega would do! Fight a bull with a broomstick – and not a sword!" Alcalde De Soto couldn't help it. He was beside himself with laughter, but he saw Mendoza frowning. "What's the matter, Sergeant?"

"Well, mi Alcalde, it wasn't really that funny. It was very heroic, really. The vendors were all very grateful."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure they were, Sergeant." De Soto struggled to get his laughter under control. He still had a mental picture of Diego flying through the air arms and legs flailing. De Soto shook his head and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face to try to sober up his expression. "Did anything else happen? Has Zorro been around?"

"No, sir. It's been very quiet, like I said. Only the bull in the plaza…that's all. Zorro has not been seen since before you left."

"EX-cellent, Sergeant. I'm glad to hear it. And, thank you for providing me with my entertainment of the day. That's the best story I've heard in a long time. You may go." De Soto chuckled to himself at his mental picture of Diego 'fighting' a bull with a broomstick, then flying through the air. He couldn't help himself. It was just so funny!

As Mendoza left, he turned to look at De Soto, and shook his head with a questioning look. I'll never understand the Alcalde, thought Mendoza. He thinks things are funny that are not funny, and doesn't think things that really are funny – to be funny.

Z

Week three brought less pain most of the time, even when moving it – especially after Diego had rested the leg a long time. Midway during the week he tested it again by standing on it for short periods, both with and without his walking support sandal.

It is getting better, he thought. Another week or so and hopefully these splints can come off. At least I can put some weight on it now, for short periods of time.

Midway of the third week, during one of his 'rest' periods, Diego got back to Ivanhoe. The tale of prejudice, chivalry, and two people falling in love with the wrong person held Diego's attention. Diego had a suspicion he knew who the Black Knight was, but wasn't at the point where those suspicions were confirmed. And then, there was Cedric and Wilfred, the father and son. Ivanhoe called himself The Disinherited Knight. Diego hoped he would never have to go that far to keep his secret from his father.

Several times a day, for short durations, he would stand on the leg, being careful to test it with just a little weight at a time. Every day it got better. And with the walking support sandal, Diego was able to be up and around a lot more.

Diego thought, I look forward to next week, when Dr. Hernandez will check the leg again, and hopefully remove the bulky and long splints and bandages. I really hope that I can dress 'normal' after Hernandez's visit next week…and that I can graduate down to a cane. When the time came, Alejandro had offered a cane he used when he had previously fallen off Dulcinea.

Z

Just after supper, in the early evening, Alejandro came in to sit with Diego again. Diego was sitting on the couch with his leg stretched out and propped up on a pile of pillows. Both were reading books, when Alejandro sighed, put his book down, and thought he would talk with Diego. Hopefully his son was ready to talk to him.

"Diego, how is the leg feeling tonight?"

"It's fine, Father. There is virtually no pain at all. I'm getting around better. I can put weight on it for short periods of time. I can feel it is improving almost daily."

"That's wonderful, son. How are you feeling about it all? It's been three weeks. You seem to have made peace with it, am I right?"

Diego placed his bookmark and set Ivanhoe on his lap. "You know, Father, three weeks ago, I was very angry at myself for letting this happen. I've come to realize that sometimes, things happen. I know things happen for a reason, and although I'm still not quite sure what the reason is for this yet, I'm beginning to get perspective on it – just a little bit."

Alejandro smiled. "I'm glad to hear that, son. I felt you were over-reacting and I couldn't understand your anger. I realize now it's because I, and probably others as well, often compare you to Zorro, and I now see that was wrong."

"I discovered I held self-loathing attitudes. We all do from time to time…we have regrests. But Father Benites helped me understand a few things. He even told me he thinks I'll be able to joke about this pretty soon." He chuckled at the thought.

"Well, I apologize for comparing you to Zorro, son. But sometimes, I see similarities between the two of you, and I would like to see you be more of the man of action that Zorro is, rather than the bookworm you are." Alejandro looked Diego straight in the eye.

Diego chuckled again, but looked down most of the time, only glancing at his father once in a while. "Similarities, Father? What similarities? I've been told I'm as far away from Zorro as anyone can get." And to himself, he thought, and that's the way I want it so no one will suspect.

"Similarities in the way the two of you move under pressure, for one. I've seen Zorro fight, and I saw you evade the bull. The similarity of the grace and fluidity of movement between the two of you cannot be denied."

"Why do you keep saying the 'between the two of you'?" Diego was beginning to fidget now. His fingers traced the embossing on the cover of Ivanhoe.

"Because my, son…I don't know how you've done it all these years…but you have managed to split yourself in two…"

TBC