Victoria's little school finished before noon, a fact that afforded much relief to Alejandro.  He called for her horse to be saddled at once and Pepe to be ready to ride with his patroness to the pueblo.  Since he sent her off with a broad smile and many encouragements to have a good time, she suspected nothing.  He broke into a genuine, if grim, smile when she and the boy had cantered down the long driveway.
     He did not have long to wait for the Costillas' carriage to pull up to the front door.  Chico, not knowing the circumstances behind the unexpected visit, attended the arrival with the courtesy extended to all the hacienda's guests.  Armando and Antonio Costilla were shown into the sala by the housekeeper.
     "Thank you, Maria; leave us, please," Alejandro said.
     When he had the privacy to speak, Armando Costilla greeted genially, "Well, Alejandro, we both have hot-tempered sons, so I hope a night's sleep has brought you the same wise counsel that it has brought me.  I think you'll agree that it would be better for all concerned if this fight did not take place.  I can safely promise that if your son will apologize to Carlos, I will persuade Carlos to accept it."
     "And is your son ready to apologize for his remarks about my daughter-in-law?" asked the rancher in chilly tones.
     The businessman laughed gently, condescendingly.  "We are both men of the world--"
     "Apparently not the same world, for in mine no gentleman would slander a lady!"
     "Carlos was unwise, perhaps, in his word choice and timing, but he has done nothing more than repeat what is common knowledge about the lady's reputation.  I doubt if your son intends to challenge the entire pueblo."
     "I rather think he would," the rancher mused almost to himself, reflecting on the previous night's revelation that Diego's heart was deeply attached to his wife, after all.
     "I suppose he must," observed Costilla, amused, "but don't you think that under the circumstances playing the knight errant for a fallen lady will pall?"
     "Lest I challenge you for the same offense that my son challenged yours," gritted Alejandro, "I advise you to retract that comment.  Those privileged to know Victoria well know that her personal integrity is above reproach.  I have known her since she was a little girl, and she has always been good and pure.  Those who think otherwise are either foul-minded or ignorant.  Which are you?"
     Costilla chuckled.  "I see where your son gets his temper!  Very well, I admit that I am not well enough acquainted with your daughter-in-law to know if the rumors are true or not.  I only state that they are widespread and generally believed."
     "Fools believe what they want to believe."
     "Exactly so," said the businessman with strong tones of irony, "which is why Don Diego must withdraw.  This is not a matter worth dying for!  Diego is an only child, I understand."
     "And you have a spare, I suppose!" Alejandro gestured toward Antonio.
     "Señor, do not let your pride blind you to the very real danger of losing your son.  You must persuade him to apologize.  It is the wisest course of action, and I'm sure that you and I can smooth over any public embarrassment."
     "The duel will be at six o'clock this evening," the hacendado announced, cutting through the soft words of Costilla.  "The place will be at the large oak on the Camino Real two miles north of here.  I will bring a pair of dueling pistols and the doctor. Buenas tardes, Señores."
     The interview was over, and Armando Costilla smiled to himself as he was escorted to the door.  His son Antonio lingered after his father had gone to the carriage.
     "Señor, please speak to Diego!  My brother is a crack shot!"
     Alejandro's cold eyes pierced the younger man, but he answered not a word.  Disconcerted, Antonio followed his father.  Seconds later, the carriage departed the hacienda.

     Diego had spent the morning in an isolated section of the ranch testing the pistols.  One threw a little to the left; he adjusted the sights and shot again. After insuring that there was no discernible difference between the pistols, he was satisfied and mounted to leave.  Further practice with the pair would give him an unfair advantage, and after plugging the knot of a pine from fifty feet, he felt confident of his marksmanship.  At home he found his father still stewing over the encounter with the Costillas.
     "The nerve of the man!" Alejandro fumed.  "He had the bald-faced gall to say that his son's estimation of Victoria's character must be accurate because it was popularly believed!  I almost challenged that oily knave myself!"
     "I'm glad you restrained," commented his son dryly.  "One of us fighting is enough."
     "That's not all!  He kept insisting that you back down or you'd be killed!"
     "Typical scare tactics before a duel.  Disregard them."
     "I can't disregard them entirely.  You are my only son," mused the rancher sadly.  "Antonio confided in me that Carlos is a crack shot."
     "He'd better be."  Diego's voice was hard.
     "Maybe he wanted you to back down because he was afraid Carlos would be killed!" said the older man, brightening.  "Maybe Carlos is afraid to meet you!"
     "Wishful thinking, Father.  Carlos has the nerve to match his conceit.  I sincerely doubt that Costilla was trying to get me to back down to preserve his son, or for some altruistic concern for me.  They are new in the area and trying to establish a good reputation.  A duel will not reflect well on young Carlos."
     "How will it reflect on you?"
     "That depends on the outcome. Victoria was gone before they arrived?"  Upon receiving assurance that his wife still knew nothing of the duel, Diego retired to his room.

     Victoria came through the tavern's front door shortly before lunch and was greeted cheerfully by her brother.
     "Can you help out?" he asked, indicating a row of empty mugs lined up on the bar.
     She willingly obliged and entered the kitchen. Perdita was bending over the fire stirring a savory tortilla filling and looked up as her sister-in-law entered.
     "Hola, Victoria!  What brings you to town today?"
     "I want to visit you, of course, but Ramón has asked me to help.  Where is the green water pitcher?" she asked, peering around the kitchen.
     "I keep it in the cabinet when it's not in use," Perdita replied timidly. "I hope you don't mind."
     "Oh."  A second glance around the kitchen confirmed that several items had been moved from their habitual location.  The changes gave the señora a pang; she somehow had thought that whatever else changed in her life, the tavern would remain the same.  But the tavern, which had been the child of her sacrificial efforts, was hers in name only now.
     It would not be kind to let Perdita suspect that the changes were offensive; Victoria pinned on a bright smile while her heart twisted.  "Perdita, you goose--if you're running the kitchen, you have the right to arrange things anyway you please."
     Lunch hour passed noisily. When Ramón at last closed the doors, Perdita disappeared quietly for a nap.   Escalante lingered below to speak with his sister.
     "How did you happen to choose today to come to town, Vic?"
     "Diego insisted, and the idea suited me well. I hope this is a good time."
     "That husband of yours has more backbone than most people give him credit for," Ramón mused cryptically, but before she could question him about the meaning of his words, he continued, "Of course we're glad to have you.  Too bad that you couldn't persuade Diego toward independence.  Having him on board would really help us."
     "Whatever his personal feelings are, he won't stand back from Don  Alejandro."
     "I can't get him to say anything more in the newspaper, either.  With him taking the king's side and Zorro noncommittal, we've lost our two greatest potential allies."
     He was disgruntled, and Victoria was not in the mood for an extended political discussion.  She indicated that she was quite ready for a siesta and parted company with him until later in the afternoon.  Perdita returned downstairs looking wan and pale.
     "You don't look well-rested," the doña noted with concern.  "How may I help you tonight until Diego comes?"
     "Actually, if you don't mind, I'd rather have you cook, and I'll wait tables."
     "Are you feeling ill?"
     "The smell of the meat cooking is making me sick to my stomach. It will pass."
     "No, no, you must lie down if you're ill.  What a good thing I came into town today!"
     "It's nothing, really.  It's just that I think I might be--you know--expecting."  The shy brunette blushed in embarrassment.
     "Oh!  That's wonderful!"
     Perdita lifted her hand in a weak gesture.  "Yes, I suppose so.  I'm just so tired that it's hard to feel excited about the baby."
     "What can Ramón be thinking to let you work when you need to rest?"
     "He can't cook, so I must.  He says we can get through this hard time if we try."
     "Men!" Victoria exclaimed in disgust.  "They always think they know the right thing to do!  Don't you worry about a thing; I'll help you out every day until you're feeling better."
     "Ramón wouldn't like that.  He says you need to spend time with your husband."
     "Does he now?" quizzed Victoria with a martial gleam in her eye.  "I will help you, and Ramón and Diego will just have to get used to the idea!"  She stirred the sauce vehemently.  "Tell Ramón you're going to lie down!"
     Perdita nodded uncertainly and disappeared through the thick curtain with a full pitcher.  A nice girl, thought Victoria, who just needed to speak up a little more.  She deferred too much to her husband.  Imagine anyone thinking Ramón a romantic figure!  But as Victoria shook her head in wonder, she had to admit that whatever her brother and sister-in-law had between them, it appeared to make them both happy.
     Her relationship with Diego was quite different from her meek sister-in-law allowing Ramón to call all the shots.  Diego valued his wife's input, listened to her concerns, noticed when something was bothering her.  He was the leader for all his mild manner, but he never made Victoria feel inferior.  Who would have guessed that the scholarly de la Vega scion contained such superior husband qualities?  And really, in his own way he was every bit as romantic and passionate as--that other person who shall not be mentioned!  Her pulse quickened at the recollection of the previous night's encounter.  Diego had taken her breath away, and his need to hear her declaration of love touched her heart.  He was vulnerable despite his strengths.
     And had she meant her tender words?  Yes, she decided after careful examination, still amazed at the truth.  She had come to love her husband, the man with whom she had been friends for years, the one she had married in desperation.  Unexpected happiness flooded her, and she laughed aloud.

     An elegant barouche pulled by a glossy bay entered the town in the late afternoon and stopped in front of the newspaper's office.  The lady who drove it descended the vehicle and tethered her horse to the rail.  Her knock on the locked door was not answered, though, and a glance through the dirty window glass confirmed that the editor was not in his office.
     The lady was only at a momentary loss.  Scanning the plaza, her gaze rested speculatively on the garrison's headquarters, and the corners of her mouth turned up.
     Ignacio DeSoto was at his desk preparing a supply requisition for the governor's office when a gentle knock sounded on the door frame.  He looked up, a harsh word ready, when he took in his visitor's appearance.  Rarely did ladies visit his office, especially ones dressed so charmingly in beige silk dresses and bonnets.  Her hair, gathered into a loose bun, was a striking shade of red.
     The vision spoke.  "Pardon me for interrupting your work, Alcalde.  I'm looking for Señor de la Vega, but The Guardian's office is closed."
     The commandant stood, glad he had dressed in uniform.  He knew he appeared to advantage in the blue jacket and white pantaloons.
     "I don't believe he's in town today, Señora.  May I be of assistance?"  He executed a crisp bow.  "Ignacio DeSoto, at your service."
     She extended a graceful lace-gloved hand.  "I'm delighted to finally meet you.  I'm Lola de Farral.  We've been at some of the same parties, I believe, but never had the opportunity to get acquainted."
     The officer smiled and clasped the fingers warmly.  "A terrible omission, Señora.  De la Vega might possibly be at the tavern.  May I escort you there?"
     "Yes, indeed!"  The widow took his offered arm.  "I can't imagine where he could be.  I always bring him my article on Tuesdays."
     DeSoto made the happy connection.  "Do you write for the newspaper?"  At her admission, he quizzed, "Would I be correct in assuming that I'm addressing 'Doña Corazon'?"
     She threw him a playful smile and put a finger to his lips.  "Shh!  That's supposed to be a secret!"
     Both intrigued and enchanted, the alcalde assured her, "Your secret is safe with me.  Will you join me for something cool to drink while we're at the tavern?  Perhaps we could become better acquainted!"

     The tap room soon hummed with the arrival of evening customers.  Victoria shaped tortillas, rolled tamales, and chopped chilies.  Perdita, who had evidently not delivered the message to her husband, served the clientele as quickly as she filled the platters.  After an hour, Ramón strode into the kitchen.
     "What are you still doing here, Victoria?" he demanded.
     "I'm helping your wife, which you should be doing!  Perdita is not feeling well enough to cook."
     He grasped her arm and wrenched it away from the beef she was shredding.  "We can manage," he gritted.  "Go home to your husband!"
     "What's the matter with you?  You need help, and I'm offering it.  I'm going to come every day until Perdita is feeling better."
     "That's all this situation needs!  More gossip about you!  Go home now!  And pray that you're in time!"
     "In time for what?" she asked, suddenly wary.  She did not like the ominous turn in the conversation.
     He pressed his lips together and snorted, struggling to gain mastery over his emotions.  "Did you and Diego go out last night?"
     Puzzled, she frowned.  "Yes.  We were invited to dinner at the la Cruz hacienda.  Why?"
     "By any chance did you leave early?"
     He evidently knew more about the events of the previous evening than she did.  "Yes," she answered slowly.  "What of it?"
     "Just this:  your husband was called out last night after defending you with his fists."
     "Diego?  No!  He wouldn't!  And anyway, how would you know?  You weren't there!"
     "But other people were, Victoria.  They heard, they saw.  They told others, and those others told others.  Now the news is being whispered at every table.  Didn't you tell me he insisted you come here today?  He wanted you out of the way!  Can you think how peculiar it looks to have you here when at this moment he could be fighting for his life?  Go home!  Maybe you can still avert this madness!"
     Horrified, she tore from his grasp and out the kitchen door, receiving a pitying look from Perdita.  The doña picked up her skirts and ran toward the pueblo gate.  Nothing mattered now except getting home before Diego did something foolish!  He scarcely knew one end of a sword from another, and pistols were so deadly!  Why couldn't her legs move any faster?  The desert wind parched her eyes and dried to a salty crust the tears that forced their way out the corners.  Her lungs burned, but a fear too terrible for words drove her on.

     The de la Vegas' open carriage ambled up the Camino Real; Juan drove the horses, and Don Alejandro, Don Diego, and Doctor Hernandez were passengers.  The doctor was a necessary attendant to all affairs of honor.  Some duels, Hernandez reflected, were settled at the site without harm to either opponent.  Others had a humorous aspect, like the time when Captain Blanco and Lucas Jimenez met each other.  Each missed, and accused the other of having done so on purpose.  The discharged pistols fell into the grass, and both men rushed at each other to settle their quarrel with fists.
     Other duels were different matters entirely.  Those involved emotions so deep that they could only be resolved with blood.  Hernandez knew that the duel he was attending that evening was one in this category.  Having called the de la Vegas friends for many years, he knew well that the genteel scholar who had accepted the challenge was no match for the brash newcomer--or anybody else, for that matter.
     "Diego, I have extreme reservations about this whole business," the doctor said severely.  "If there is a chance to avoid a fight, I hope you intend to take it."
     "If Carlos apologizes, I will accept it."  The caballero's inflection indicated that he thought the condition remote, and was fully prepared to meet the challenge otherwise.
     "You know, Diego, if you kill him, you could be charged with murder.  I don't know if my influence would be enough to help you," informed Alejandro.  "You might have to leave the country for quite a while."  The observation was tinged with wistfulness, revealing to Diego and the doctor how lonely the older man would be without his son.
     "I wonder if facing a murder charge will influence Carlos," murmured the young don.
     "I doubt it; he thinks with his emotions."
     "So I noticed."
     "That's something in your favor," consoled his father.  "The Costillas evidently believe that you are as hot-tempered as Carlos.  Keep a cool head."
     Diego smiled grimly to himself.  His years of masquerade had presented him with one-on-one battles many times, and he was a master of poise under fire.  Not many people faced the open end of a musket regularly, but Zorro expected to be shot at every time he rode.  That was an advantage that he could not level for Costilla.
     Their carriage pulled off the road and under the boughs of the large oak tree.  They did not have long to wait for the Costillas to arrive.  With his genial smile, Armando descended from the carriage first, then Carlos sprang down, looking belligerent.  Antonio, solemn-faced, stepped down last.
     "A beautiful evening, isn't it, Don Alejandro?  Too fine for dying!  Have you been able to talk some sense into your boy?" Costilla said conversationally.
     Alejandro crossed his arms.  "Is Carlos ready to apologize?"
     The young man shouted a profane denial.  The rancher cast a hard look at him before turning to the father and older son.
     "Shall we measure the ground?"  Without waiting, Alejandro strode off, leaving the other seconds little choice but to follow.
     Diego watched the proceedings with casual interest while leaning against the carriage.  The four men were discussing the sun's position, which was low, and where each man must stand so neither would be disadvantaged by the glare.  The stability of the ground was also examined carefully and in some places stamped down to provide each man with a surer footing.  Carlos sneered openly when he saw the men measure off fifty paces, a long distance for accuracy with a pistol, but the distance upon which Diego had insisted to his father.
     "I can kill you just as easily from that distance!"
     Amused, Diego laughed aloud--a deliberate reaction to make his opponent feel young and ridiculous.  He himself had little doubt that he could hit his target from fifty paces; whether or not Carlos could actually do so had yet to be seen.  But the caballero owed to his wife a certain degree of caution to protect himself from harm.  He pondered again whether he should have chosen swords, but a sabre presented a quandary.  On one hand, if he fought with his true skill the duel would be over in seconds.  Then he risked having his father and the doctor guess his dark secret.  An evasion might have answered their questions; he could say that Carlos's skill with a sword was so wretched that even a poor swordsman would look good against him.  But suppose Carlos or Armando Costilla recognized his swordsmanship as being similar to the masked man's who entered the la Cruz hacienda by night!  They would use the information to destroy him.
     The other option was to fight poorly, a strategy that had served him when European fencing champion Miles Thackerey had come to town.  But fighting well enough to avoid injury while pretending to be a novice was a dicey proposition at best, taxing his ability to the utmost.  Even that scenario, prolonged enough, would give rise to suspicion.  One other point made him reject the easier, safer route:  the de la Vega honor, which demanded a fair fight.
     Such considerations would not weigh with his opponent, he realized, but he had scarcely ever faced someone with a true sense of honor.  Pistols were great equalizers; the man with the steadier hand and keener eye would be the victor.
     The men returned, and Alejandro drew from the carriage the wooden case holding the matched set of dueling pistols.
     "Watch as I load these, so that you may be assured that both are loaded the same," he said to the Costillas.  He measured a small amount of powder into the muzzle of one flintlock, added the pistol ball, and packed the mixture carefully into place.  The second pistol was loaded in the same manner, and Armando and Antonio declared themselves satisfied.
     "Carlos has the first choice of weapons," reminded Costilla.
     Alejandro gave him a brittle smile.  "Of course."  Imagine the pompous windbag instructing him on the proper procedure for a duel!  Laughable if it weren't so insulting!
     Carlos glanced at his father for a clue to which pistol to take; Costilla gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.  After a moment's hesitation, he grasped the pistol butt further from him.  He turned, snarling, to Diego.
     "You're a dead man!"
     "Aren't we all?" returned the caballero mildly and picked up the remaining pistol.
     The duelists strode to opposite ends of the pasture and stood in the places marked out.  Doctor Hernandez and the seconds followed and stood to one side.
     "My first responsibility in conducting this affair of honor is to strive to bring about a reconciliation," the doctor called to the two men.
     "I will accept Carlos's apology," affirmed Diego.
     "You and your doxy can go to infierno!"
     Hernandez cleared his throat dolefully.  "My signal for firing will be thus:  'Take your aim.  Fire.'  If you fire before the command, you will have broken the rules governing affairs of honor, and your action will be denounced as such.  Gentlemen, are you ready?"  After each man had given an affirmative sign, he continued, "Take your aim."
     Diego brought his arm down and lined up the sights with his target quickly.  The warm breeze brushed through his hair and caressed his face.  He thought of his father standing anxiously by and wished he had told his father the truth about Zorro.  Victoria--what was his sweet wife doing at this moment?  Was she thinking of him?  Did she truly love him?  She cared for him at least; he could take comfort now in that.  Why was Hernandez taking so long to give the signal?  Diego's arm, strengthened by years of swordplay, held the pistol without a tremor; his eyes never blinked.  He exhaled a deep breath slowly; his finger tightened against the trigger.
     "Fire!"
     The flintlocks discharged their deadly spheres in a rank cloud of smoke.   Neither man fell, but Carlos screamed and dropped the pistol into the grass.
     "El ilegítimo! Look what he did to me!"
     The Costillas, followed by the doctor, ran to Carlos.  Diego lowered his arm and strode toward the carriage.  He was intercepted by his father.
     "Good shooting, Son!"
     "Get the other pistol, Father.  The doctor will be going home with the Costillas," he said curtly.
     Alejandro cast an appraising glance at his son; Diego was evidently not in the mood for congratulations.  The don walked to the other group and retrieved the smoking flintlock.  Carlos was moaning while the doctor tried to examine the wound.
     "Be still, young man!" Hernandez commanded.  "I cannot assess the damage with you in hysterics!"  Antonio held his brother while the doctor swabbed blood from the duelist's hand.
     "It seems your boy wins the day, Alejandro," said Costilla lightly.  "My felicitations."
     Alejandro nodded coolly and joined his son in the carriage.  At a given signal, Juan clucked to the horses, and the vehicle headed south on the highway toward the hacienda.
     "Well, Diego, you shattered his hand.  I hadn't figured out how we'd handle a murder charge, so it's a good thing you both missed."
     "I didn't miss.  I hit him exactly where I wanted to."
     "You aimed for his hand?  Why?"
     "To deflect his aim, primarily.  Also, it will be a while before he challenges anyone else, don't you think?"  He favored his father with a grim smile.  "Perhaps it should trouble my conscience that I've probably crippled his hand, but it doesn't--not now, at any rate."
     "He will have to be a little more circumspect about who he insults in the future," concurred his father.  "That was a good plan."
     "The young patrón is just like his father--as bold as an eagle," chimed in Juan.  "You are proud of him, no?"
     "Indeed I am," chuckled Alejandro.  A comfortable silence settled over the carriage as both gentlemen leaned back into the squabs.  The don ran a contented eye over his son.  Suddenly he sat bolt upright.
     "Diego!"
     "What?" asked the young caballero, opening his eyes again.
     "There's a hole in your jacket!" his father exclaimed, pointing to the seam where the left sleeve was joined to the coat.
     Diego examined the small round hole and then opened his jacket front to investigate the other side.  A startled outcry escaped him.
     "The little peacock actually nicked me!" he said, astounded, opening his jacket wider to reveal a small patch of blood on the white linen shirt.  "I must have turned my shoulder in.  What a stupid thing to do."  He sat back again and closed his eyes.

     Victoria reached the hacienda after twenty-five minutes of hard running.  "Where is Diego?" she shrieked to Maria, who stared dumbfounded at the doña's appearance.  Her hair was in wild disarray about her face, having escaped the confines of her prim bun, and her eyes held a frightening, deranged glitter.  The news of the duel, which had spread throughout the pueblo, had not penetrated the largely self-contained spread belonging to the de la Vegas.
     "He--he is not in the house, Señora."
     "Where did he go?"  Her voice rose on an impatient sob.
     "He went for a drive with the patrón.  Perhaps one of the stablemen knows where."
     Still gasping painfully for breath, Victoria dashed to the de la Vega mews.  No one was in sight except Chico, meandering on the far side of the training corral with a couple of colts.  At her shrill cry, he trotted up to the fence gate where she stood.
     "Señora, what is it?"  He touched his hat respectfully.
     "Where is the patrón?" she demanded.  "Where is my husband?"
     "They went out in the carriage with Juan a while ago."
     "Which way did they go?"
     He gaped stupidly.  "I don't know, Señora; I didn't watch them leave.  Either to the north or south, or into town."
     "Thank you!  That is so helpful!" she gritted.
     "Señora!" called Pepe's voice.
     She turned and saw the boy come from the stables.  "Pepe, saddle two horses!  We must find the patrón!"
     "Sí, Señora!"
     Within five minutes, Victoria had her toes in Cielo's stirrups and was sprinting northward on the Camino Real.  The carriage had not gone into town, she knew, and the hacienda was one of the furthest homes north of the pueblo.  A short ride would satisfy her search in that direction before she turned south, where most of the population lived scattered along the highway.  She must find Diego before the duel could take place!  At her command, Cielo stretched his legs into a gallop, and Pepe struggled to keep up with her.
     She did not have to search long.  Before riding two miles, she spotted the de la Vega carriage ambling southward at a sedate pace.  Pulling alongside of the vehicle, she studied her husband anxiously.
     "Hola, Victoria," Diego smiled in a warm greeting.  "I was coming to town to meet you at the tavern in just a few minutes.  You left a little earlier than I expected."
     Puzzled, she eyed both men and the driver.  All had the appearance of perfect innocence, looking pleased to see her.  If the duel had not taken place, why was the carriage headed home?  If the duelists had already met, why was her husband not hurt?  Had the quarrel been settled amicably, or had rumor lied about the whole thing?  Finding it impossible to frame her accusations about a duel, she decided to probe.
     "Yes, I left early.  What are you doing out here?"
     "It's a beautiful evening--probably one of the last before the heat makes a drive miserable," noted Alejandro.  "I suggested to Diego that we take a drive and enjoy the weather while we still can."
     A purely innocuous explanation, but the doña's doubts were not allayed.  Some intangible undercurrent tickled the back of her consciousness.
     "Would you like to join us? invited her husband.  "Pepe can hold Cielo's reins on the way back."  He opened the carriage door for her and stood waiting to help her dismount.
     Riding with them in the carriage would give her further opportunity to investigate the situation.  "Yes, thank you."  She handed the reins to Pepe and sat beside her husband in the carriage and opposite her father-in-law.  Her pansied brown eyes looked anxiously at Diego.
     "Did you come out this far to find me?" he smiled and took her hand in his own.
     "Uh, yes."  Her brain calculated rapidly.  "I have some wonderful news to tell you!  Perdita is expecting!"
     Both men made appropriate noises of delight, and she rushed on.  "She's been tired lately, so I told her that I'd help her every day until she's feeling better.  I hope you don't mind."
     "Of course you must help your family," her husband confirmed, "but what about your reading class?"
 She replied that "school" would have to take a recess for a while, and conversation died abruptly.  Her line of sight fell across the opposite seat, where Don Alejandro's buff jacket was lying casually on the seat beside him.  Under the cuff a corner showed of something that was hidden--wooden, it appeared.  Her suspicions, only partly lulled, sprang to the surface again.
     Diego sensed his wife's unease.  Someone at the dinner party the previous night must have prattled about the duel, because Victoria was certainly suspicious about something!  Not for a minute did he believe that she had ridden out to tell him the news about Perdita!  He turned his jacket's new hole further from her view and asked questions about the tavern to cover the awkward pause.  Don Alejandro made valiant efforts to contribute to the conversation again and mentioned that he was looking forward to Maria's carne picante that evening.
     "Yes, I'm starving!" his daughter-in-law seconded.  "I'd forgotten how the tavern can work up an appetite!"
 Food was the subject for the remainder of the journey to the large home; the three travelers, relieved for a safe subject, spoke enthusiastically.  After disembarking from the carriage, Victoria turned to discover what her father-in-law was hiding under his jacket.  He left it in the carriage, however, and at her reminder to bring his coat, answered nonchalantly that Juan would bring it to the house.
     Inside, Diego announced that he would change clothes before dinner was served and excused himself.  Within the chamber he shared with his wife, he quickly stripped off the damaged jacked with its tell-tale hole and the white shirt.  Perhaps both could be mended, though how he would apply for assistance in that department perplexed him.  At least he could work out the small blood stain!  Victoria must not see that!  He poured some cold water into the wash basin and began to rub the spot between his hands.  He had pulled off the whole business pretty well, he thought, and his wife was none the wiser.  Women had the strangest notions about duels; rarely did they see the necessity for them.  Victoria must certainly not find out about this one; learning the cause would bring her deep distress, and he was determined that she should not be hurt further.
     The door's hinges squawked without warning; Diego spun about to face his wife.  Her expression was penetrating as she stared at him, and he hoped he did not look as guilty as he felt.  She came close and peered over his arm at his activity.
     "I got a little stain on this shirt," he explained.
     Her fingers examined it.  "A little hole, too," she commented coolly.  "Let it soak a while."  Turning him to face her, she studied his bare chest and had no difficulty finding the small graze near his armpit.  Her fingers touched the fresh scab.  "And what is this?"
     "A piece of carelessness," he replied, brushing past her to pull a clean shirt from his wardrobe.
     "Did you fight a duel?  she demanded.
     He buttoned the shirt front rapidly.  "This is not a subject I care to discuss," he said in lofty tones.
     She would not allow him to push her aside so easily!  "That's too bad, because we're going to discuss it!  Listen to me, Diego!  There is nothing--nothing!--that anyone could say about me that is worth losing your life!  Don't you ever fight a duel again!"
     "The situation is extremely unlikely to recur when word gets around that I'm an excellent shot."  He shrugged a good jacket over his powerful shoulders.
     For the first time, thought of his opponent's well-being occurred to her.  "You--you didn't kill him, did you?" she whispered.
     "Of course not!" he said impatiently.  "Don't be so melodramatic!  This was simply a matter of defending the family honor!"
     "Is that what this is about?  Family honor?"
     A bleak look shadowed his eyes, and the armored attitude dropped away.  "No.  It's about penance."  He turned and exited the room, leaving his wife rooted to the spot where she stood.
     The blood drained from her cheeks, leaving her a hollow-eyed wretch.  Penance!  Atonement for some kind of fault!  But Diego had done nothing wrong; it was she who had made poor choices, had used faulty judgment!  And now her husband was having to pay for it!  Wait!  An even more terrible thought occurred to her.  Maybe he meant that he was paying for the mistake of marrying her!  Yes, he was sorry for his generous impulse!  That he had ever stooped low enough to wed an Escalante with a tarnished reputation!
     Forty-five minutes passed before Diego came to look for her.  He hoped, with some time to herself, that Victoria's rancor had spent itself.  He discovered her in the darkness of her private sitting room.
     "Dinner is ready," he called from the doorway.
     "I'm not hungry," came the muffled reply.
     He crossed the room and sat beside her huddled form on the divan.  "Victoria, it does no good to cry and pout about things you can't change.  A man has to answer a challenge, or he's not a man."
     "I've ruined your life!" she sobbed.  "I was such a stupid dolt all those years!  I wish I had never seen or heard of Zorro!  I've brought you down too, and you're sorry you married me!"
     Diego could not trust himself to respond to more than one of her statements.  "I'm not sorry I married you.  Now go and wash your face, and let's eat."
     She rose obediently, still whimpering, and walked into their bedroom.  He listened as water splashed in the basin, but her words haunted him.  She regretted ever loving Zorro!  She despised the very memory of him!  How could he ever tell her the truth now?  For years confiding the secret had seemed premature; now he knew that it was much too late to speak.  Sometime the right moment had come and gone, and he had not recognized it.  His wife's scalding tears chastened his soul.  A secret!  A calamitous secret that had kept him and Victoria apart, and was still keeping them apart!  Crushing, miserable guilt!
     Dear God, I have to tell her, but how?  How?  She'll hate me for it!  I can't bear to lose her--not now!
     So went the shabby particles of Diego's plea for heavenly aid.  He had little hope that Providence would lend a hand to help.  God seemed fond of letting His children founder in the disasters of their own making.