Free Young Zorro by Diego Vega Page A

stung.
    â€œScar sent us to relieve you and a couple of your crew.” It was surprising how loudly Diego had to shout to be heard over the sound of the moaning, jostling cattle.
    Juan nodded and started to ride off but spun his pony back. “Here,” he said to Diego. “Give it a try.” He handed Diego the coiled length of the black whip. Then he disappeared into the wall of dust.
    â€œHoo hoo!” Diego called, and hefted it. He tossed the whip out behind him and gave it an experimental flick, almost knocking his own hat off. “This will take some time to learn,” he shouted, then leaned into his pony’s turn as it moved across to block a wandering cow.
    Â 
    Both boys were standing beside fresh ponies, spitting, trying to get the feel and the taste of the dust out of their mouths. Diego was gargling a big mouthful of water when Don Alejandro rode up with Scar.
    â€œI’m not sure, caballero, but you look a little bit like my son. Hard to tell with the dust and the dung. But maybe.” He grinned from the saddle. “And you, vaquero, I know a boy named Bernardo who resembles you. But his skin is darker, not so dusty white.”
    Bernardo slapped his jacket, raising a cloud of dust.
    Diego spit out the mouthful of water. “We’re working in the drag, Papá . Hundreds of cattle try to sneak past us, but we hide in the dust and leap out, howling like wolves. They run back to their friends. Bernardo and I are learning to be shape-shifting sorcerers in that dust. We turn into wolves and bears. Anything that will impress the cattle. But you know what frightens them most?”
    â€œWhat’s that, my dusty shaman?”
    â€œWe turn into mayordomos with big mustaches. It scares even big bulls silly.”
    Scar raised one critical eyebrow and puffed through his mustache.
    â€œHow is the herd shaping up for numbers, Papá ? Did we have a good spring for calves?”
    â€œNot as good as we’d hoped. With this much grass and the mild winter, we should have hundreds more cattle than we’re driving. It’s puzzling. We’ll sort it out.”
    â€œWill the branding begin tomorrow?”
    Don Alejandro swung down from his mount and tightened his saddle girth, speaking as much to Scar as to the boys. “Don Honorio is the administrador this year, and a few of the garrison sergeants are his jueces de campo. I hope they’re at least sober. I have no faith in mataperros as field judges.” He used the rude term for the garrison soldiers: “dog killers.”
    Scar snorted. It was his short and complete opinion of the soldiers.
    â€œBut with this many cattle, they can’t go far wrong. God has been good to us. God loves California.”
    â€œYes, and so do we,” Diego said, slapping a cloud of California soil from his chaps and jacket. “We love it so much we carry it around with us.”
    Don Alejandro shook his head. “My son the clown. I would love to sit and laugh at your antics, caballeros, but there is this rancho I must run, so adios, and have a good lunch of dirt, yes?” He and Scar rode off.
    Diego and Bernardo spat a few more times, tightened their bandannas, and rode back into the dust behind the herd.
    Â 
    The de la Vega herd for this year’s apartado was assembled. More than eight thousand head of cattle made a satisfying display. Not every cow, bull, and calf had been gathered. There were some wily cattle still grazing in the hills or hidden in cottonwood thickets. Not all of them were de la Vega cattle, either. The herds mixed and wandered. A few hundred of these cattle would carry the cross-and- G of the mission’s brand. Some would be branded with Don Moncada’s elaborate poppy brand.
    When the jueces de campo sorted them out, they would find cattle belonging to ranchos far and wide. But the big plain V of the de la Vega rancho would be on most of them.
    And there would be this year’s