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of a guitar and dreaming as a girl of eighteen dreams.
    Don Carlos raised his silvered head and peered down the long, twisting trail, and saw in the distance a small cloud of dust. The dust-cloud told him that a single horseman was approaching, and Don Carlos feared another gatherer of taxes.
    He shaded his eyes with a hand and watched the approaching horseman carefully. He noted the leisurely manner in which he rode his mount, and suddenly hope sang in his breast, for he saw the sun flashing from the silver on saddle and bridle, and he knew that men of the army did not have such rich harness to use while on duty.
    The rider had made the last turning now, and was in plain sight from the veranda of the house, and Don Carlos rubbed his eyes and looked again to verify the suspicion he had. Even at that distance the aged don could establish the identity of the horseman.
    â€œâ€˜Tis Don Diego Vega,” he breathed. “May the saints grant that here is a turn in my fortunes for the better at last.”
    Don Diego, he knew, might only be stopping to pay a friendly visit, and yet that would be some thing, for when it was known abroad that the Vega family was on excellent terms with the Pulido establishment, even the politicians would stop to think twice before harassing Don Carlos further, for the Vegas were a power in the land.
    So Don Carlos clapped his hands together, and a native hurried out from the house, and Don Carlos bade him draw the shades so that the sun would be kept from a corner of the veranda, and place a table and some chairs, and hurry with small cakes and wine.
    He sent word into the house to the women, too, that Don Diego Vega was approaching. Doña Catalina felt her heart beginning to sing, and she herself began to hum a little song, and Señorita Lolita ran to a window to look out at the trail.
    When Don Diego stopped before the steps that led to the veranda, there was a native waiting to care for his horse, and Don Carlos himself walked halfway down the steps and stood waiting, his hand held out in welcome.
    â€œI am glad to see you a visitor at my poor hacienda, Don Diego,” he said as the young man approached, drawing off his mittens.
    â€œIt is a long and dusty road,” Don Diego said. “It wearies me, too, to ride a horse the distance.”
    Don Carlos almost forgot himself and smiled at that, for surely riding a horse a distance of four miles was not enough to tire a young man of blood. But he remembered Don Diego’s lifelessness, and did not smile, lest the smile cause anger.
    He led the way to the shady nook on the veranda, and offered Don Diego wine and cakes, and waited for his guest to speak. As became the times, the women remained inside the house, not ready to show themselves unless the visitor asked for them, or their lord and master called.
    â€œHow are things in the pueblo of Reina de Los Angeles?” Don Carlos asked. “It has been a space of several score days since I visited there.”
    â€œEverything is the same,” said Don Diego, “except that this Señor Zorro invaded the tavern last evening and had a duel with the big Sergeant Gonzales.”
    â€œHa! Señor Zorro, eh? And what was the outcome of the fighting?”
    â€œThough the sergeant has a crooked tongue while speaking of it,” said Don Diego, “it has come to me through a corporal who was present that this Señor Zorro played with the sergeant, and finally disarmed him and sprang through a window to make his escape in the rain. They could not find his tracks. ”
    â€œA clever rogue!” Don Carlos said. “At least I have nothing to fear from him. It is generally known up and down El Camino Real, I suppose, that I have been stripped of almost everything the governor’s men could carry away. I look for them to take the hacienda next.”
    â€œUm! Such a thing should be stopped!” Don Diego said, with more than his usual amount of