Chapter 1: Arrival

The late afternoon sun shown down on a small and dusty traveling party making its way into the plaza of the Pueblo de La Reina de Los Angeles. Two riders and two pack animals eased their way to the front of the inn and slowed to a halt. The elder rider, grey-eyed and sporting iron grey hair and a moustache to match, surveyed the inn, the cuartel, and the church with a keen gaze that missed nothing. Firm and straight in the saddle, he held himself with more than a hint of military bearing. His younger companion, wrapped in a serape, seemed almost absent, following the other rider's gaze but focusing on nothing in particular.

But it was not so much the travelers themselves as their mounts that attracted the attention of Alejandro De la Vega. He and Don Diego, having concluded the purchase of sufficient grain to see their stable well fed for the next several months, were partaking of some light refreshment on the inn's shady patio before returning to their hacienda for the evening.

Alejandro, who prided himself on his ability to breed horseflesh, nodded at the riders. "Two very fine mounts, Diego."

Diego turned to observe the animals. "Yes, Father, those are indeed fine horses. Although one does not often see horses like that used for traveling great distances, which these have obviously done."

Dismounting now in front of the inn, the riders were met by a bustling Sergeant Garcia and two lancers. "Buenos tardes, Señores," the sergeant declared in his official voice. "Welcome to the Pueblo de Los Angeles. By order of Comandante Monastario, all new arrivals must have their baggage inspected."

"Baggage inspected?" echoed the taller rider. "Inspected for what?"

"For, er... contraband."

"Contraband?" replied the rider, irritation creeping into his voice.

"Si!"

"What kind of contraband?"

Garcia was taken aback. No one had ever asked him that question before. "Er...Illegal contraband," was the only answer the sergeant could think of.

"And exactly what sort of illegal contraband do you suspect us of carrying?" The irritation in his voice was stronger now, very close to anger.

But Garcia had no choice. "I am sorry, señor," he said, now sounding irritated himself, "but I have my orders. Corporal, inspect these pack animals."

"Now just a minute —" continued the older rider."

Alejandro leaned towards his son. "Diego, perhaps we should rescue Sergeant Garcia before there is an incident that brings out the comandante himself." His son nodded and the two of them rose from their table and started into the plaza. As they approached the group, Diego observed the younger rider. The serape hung clumsily, much too large for its wearer. This rider's face, with its high cheekbones and small mouth, appeared drawn and somewhat overpowered by a very large hat. Diego wondered if perhaps an illness was responsible.

"Your pardon, señores," said Don Alejandro," but Sergeant Garcia means no offense. This inspection is merely our local custom, a formality for everyone. Our comandante wishes only to safeguard all those who live here and visit here. My son Diego and I invite you to take some refreshment with us in the shade of the patio until the inspection is completed." And he gestured toward their table.

"Perhaps that's a good idea," said the younger rider, in a voice that was much too soft to be healthy.

"Very well," the elder replied. "At this point rest of any kind is welcome."

The four of them proceeded to the patio and arranged themselves around the De la Vega's table. Diego motioned to the innkeeper for another bottle of wine. The two dons and the elder rider seated themselves. The younger rider stood and began to adjust the serape. The elder rider watched for a moment and then addressed his companion, "Now that we're off the trail, why don't you just take that dusty thing off?"

"Yes, I think I will," came the reply. Removing the hat revealed a bandanna that covered a lumpy mass at the back of the head. Removing the serape dislodged the bandanna — and let loose a cascade of chestnut hair that ended half way down her back. There before them stood a tall young woman wearing an ordinary work shirt and trousers. And a pistol belt. Diego and his father sprang to their feet.

"Your pardon, señorita, we did not realize..." Diego began.

"Señora," she corrected him. He looked at her, puzzled. "You would call me 'señora.' I am a widow," she added flatly. "Please, gentlemen, sit down."

Alejandro sank back into his chair. He was speechless. He was beyond speechless. To have an unaccompanied woman who was dressed like a vacquero sitting and drinking publicly with men in the inn's patio was a scandalous violation of every aspect of hidalgo decorum that the old don could think of. Even a widow should be accompanied by her maid!

"Perhaps we should introduce ourselves," began the elder rider. "I am Colonel Robert Sheraton, United States Army, retired, and this is my daughter Mrs. Margaret Emerson. We are here in Los Angeles to inspect the Rancho Flores, which has been bequeathed to me by the late Don Alfonso Martinez y Flores. I was told that Licenciado Piña could take care of the necessary arrangements. I have the necessary correspondence and documents in my baggage."

"I am afraid that Licenciado Piña is not available," said Diego. "He has gone up to San Fernando on business and is not expected back for several days. Is he the only one who can help you?" Diego shot his father a guarded glance. Licenciado Piña was a close colleague of the comandante and heartily disliked by all of the landowners.

At that moment Sergeant Garcia approached, announcing loudly: "The baggage inspection is completed, señores, and you can be on your way."

Colonel Sheraton ignored the sergeant. "I believe so." He turned to his daughter. "Maggie, wait here while I see about rooms at the inn —"

"I'm afraid you cannot do that," interrupted Garcia. Seeing the look of displeasure return to the colonel's face, Garcia hastened to add: "The inn, it is full. I was speaking to Señor Pacheco the innkeeper only this morning and he said he has no more rooms. I am sorry, señores." Only then did the sergeant notice the transformation of the fourth person at the table. He started, then opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again."

Diego leaned towards his friend and said in a low voice, "I'll explain later, Sergeant." The soldier beat a hasty retreat.

"Since the inn is full, we would be honored if the two of you would stay with us at our hacienda, until your business with Rancho Flores is settled," offered Don Alejandro.

"That is very kind of you, but we are strangers and we wouldn't want to impose," declared the colonel.

"It is no imposition, I assure you. We have plenty of room and many things to help make you comfortable after your long journey."

Robert Sheraton eyed his daughter. On the surface she appeared comfortable in her chair, but the fatigue of the long journey was evident to anyone who knew her well. "Very well, Don Alejandro, we accept your offer. I must confess the idea of sleeping in a real bed again has a certain appeal. And I promise you that if we take possession of Rancho Flores, we'll be happy to return your hospitality if ever you have a need."

The four of them rose. The dons returned to their horses and mounted. Colonel Sheraton fetched the pack animals from the lancers, then he and Maggie mounted up and followed father and son out of the pueblo.

Don Alejandro strode through the hacienda gate calling out, "Cresencia, Arturo, Rosa, we have guests!"

The servants sprang into action. The horses were unloaded and fed. Saddlebags were brought in and carried up to rooms. The dinner menu was adjusted. One of the house servants brought refreshing lemonada. After finishing her drink, Maggie found herself shepherded up to a bedroom by the housekeeper Cresencia, who insisted on helping her unpack and put away her clothing. "I will bring you hot water and towels so you may refresh yourself before dinner," the woman offered.

"Thank you," said Maggie, as she went to the wardrobe and looked over the clothes she had brought with her. She had packed only three dresses. Well, she reminded herself, a dress isn't much use on a rough overland journey of several hundred miles. All the dresses seemed equally wrinkled after weeks in a saddlebag, so she simply picked one and shook it vigorously. Then she located her more conventional ladies' linen. The housekeeper and another female servant arrived with a basin already containing hot water, a large pitcher of extra hot water, and a stack of fresh-smelling towels. "Constancia," Maggie asked, "how soon is dinner?"

"Your pardon, señora, but my name is Cre-sen-ci-a," she said, sounding out each syllable. And this," she indicated the young woman who had brought in the pitcher," is Buena. And dinner is in about a hour. Please make yourself comfortable and rest until then."

Maggie couldn't think of anything else she'd rather do.