Free Young Zorro by Diego Vega

colony.”
    â€œAnd where are all these cattle going?” Trout Spot asked. “We’d be fatter if they were coming here.”
    â€œNo one knows. Cattle rustling is one thing, but slavery is an evil matter.”
    The old woman and the tomyaar nodded strongly.
    Trout Spot opened his palms as if he were laying out a plan. “Many animals or people must be moved by sea,” he said. “The roads are bad, and it would be too easy to spot them or track them on roads. I’ll ask some of our coast brothers. They are on the water at all hours. If something moves, they’ll see it. And I’ll ask our brothers in the mountains behind us, in case I am wrong about moving by sea.”
    â€œToo often wrong,” White Owl said, poking him in the ribs.
    â€œThey killed a man,” Diego said, “our potter, Señor Porcana.” This news left a silence after it.
    â€œWicked!” Trout Spot said. “Slavery and murder. Tell Don Alejandro that the tribes are with him in this thing. We will be watching.”
    Â 
    White Owl slipped out quietly a little later. When Diego and Bernardo walked back to her hut, she had their reed mattresses laid out beneath her raised bed shelf. Their vaquero clothes were neatly laid out for themorning, and their rabbit-skin blankets were folded down, ready for them.
    The fire in her hearth was never large, and now it was little more than a few embers. The house was dim, and White Owl was taking the horn pins out of her white hair.
    â€œGrandmother,” Diego said, sitting down on her high bed beside her, “I love being with you.” She gave a little shrug as if it was fine for him to say this, but she really didn’t care that much. Bernardo sat down on her other side. They put their arms around her and she put her hands over theirs, so that the three of them sat and rocked quietly for a few minutes.
    When she had crawled into her sleeping platform and pulled the deerskin curtains around it, Bernardo and Diego lay down on their mattresses with just their heads pushing out from under the platform. The domed house had a smoke hole open to the stars. White Owl’s shaman tools hung on pegs with many other things: a cloak of feathers, charms and rattles, bound bunches of herbs, skulls of animals, baskets, deerskin bags. It smelled smoky and herbal and familiar.
    â€œYou like Light-in-the-Night. I see the way you look at her,” Diego said.
    Bernardo kicked his milk brother and rolled away on his side.
    â€œHey!” Diego complained.
    â€œHush,” White Owl barked above them, “or I’ll wet the bed.”
    The boys giggled, pulled the rabbit blankets up, and closed their eyes.

10
T HE T ALLY
    T HE HERD WAS ENORMOUS now. They could see the dust cloud above it long before they saw the cattle. Closer, they heard it, loud with a constant bawling.
    A herd this size, thousands of cattle, was difficult to move. Every rider the rancho had was in the saddle. From the shoulder of a rise, Diego could see Don Alejandro working beside the vaqueros, keeping the big, dark mass together. Crews were turning back cattle at the sides of the herd. And coming up behind was the drag—the vaqueros who pushed and worried at the tails of the bawling cattle, keeping them moving in the choking dust. Everyone in the drag had their bandannas wrapped around their noses and mouths.
    Bernardo pulled his bandanna over his nose andglanced toward the back of the herd.
    Reading his movements, Diego said, “Yes, you’re probably right. We’ve been up in the mountains taking it easy. Scar will put us on the drag all day.”
    And he did. “All rested?” he called over the noise. “Get back to relieve a couple of Juan Three-fingers’s boys in the drag.”
    They found Juan using his whip to encourage the slowest cattle, popping it behind them. But now and then, they saw a particularly stubborn cow leap forward,