“No one will interfere,” the newcomer snapped. “It is for the boys to settle between themselves.”
The cowboy shrugged and leaned back against the ranch wagon. Intimidated by the newcomer’s fierceness, the Investigators could only watch. Skinny glared at them all and turned to face Diego. In the street, the smaller boy raised his fists and moved forward.
“Okay, you asked for it!” Skinny snarled, stepping off the kerb.
The two boys grappled with each other in the space between the ranch wagon and the next parked car. Suddenly Skinny leaped backwards to get more room for a final, crushing blow at Diego.
“Look out!” screamed Bob and Pete together.
Skinny’s backward leap had put him directly in the path of an oncoming car! Still watching Diego, Skinny didn’t see the danger he was in!
Brakes squealed, but the car would never stop in time!
Diego dived wildly at Skinny and struck him full force with his shoulder, trying to hurl him out of the way of the car. Both boys fell to the road as the skidding car passed and screeched to a stop fifteen feet away!
Two still figures lay in the street. The bystanders rushed forward, filled with dread.
Then Diego stirred and slowly got up, smiling. He was untouched! And Skinny was unhurt, too. Diego’s tackle had shoved him across the path of the car to safety.
Grinning, Bob and Pete pounded Diego on the back as the driver of the car hurried up to them.
“That was quick thinking, son! Are you all right?”
Diego nodded. The driver thanked him, and made sure that Skinny was unhurt before driving away. Skinny was still lying in the street, pale and shaken.
“Lucky! Darn lucky!” muttered Skinny’s cowboy friend as he helped the boy to his feet.
“I… I guess he saved me,” Skinny said.
“He sure did!” Pete exclaimed. “You better thank him.”
Grudgingly, Skinny nodded. “Thanks, Alvaro.”
“You thank me?” Diego said. “That’s all?”
Skinny looked confused. “What?”
“I have not yet heard an apology,” Diego said evenly. Skinny stared dumbfounded at the slim boy.
“You will take back what you said,” Diego demanded.
Skinny flushed. “If it means that much to you, okay, I guess I take it back. I… ”
“Then I am satisfied,” Diego said. He turned his back on Skinny and walked away.
“Hey, now —” Skinny began. Then he saw Bob, Pete, and Jupiter grinning. His narrow face turned red with anger. He hurried towards the ranch wagon. “Cody!” he called to the cowboy. “Let’s get out of here!”
The cowboy looked at Diego and the fierce stranger, who now stood beside the boy.
“You two just made yourselves a lot of trouble,” Cody said.
Then he got into the ranch wagon beside Skinny and drove away.
2
The Alvaro Pride
As Cody’s menacing words echoed in their ears, the Three Investigators saw Diego stare after the ranch wagon in dismay.
“My stupid pride!” Diego wailed. “It will ruin us!”
“No, Diego!” the tall stranger snapped. “You did well. For an Alvaro, pride and honour come first always.”
Diego turned to the boys. “This is my brother, Pico. He is the head of our family. My brother, these friends are Jupiter Jones, Pete Crenshaw, and Bob Andrews.”
Serious and formal, Pico Alvaro bowed to the boys. He was no more than twenty-five, but even in his old jeans, battered boots, and worn black shirt he seemed like some old Spanish nobleman.
“Señores. We are honoured that you meet with us.”
“De nada.” Jupiter said, and bowed in return.
“Ah?” Pico smiled. “You speak Spanish, Jupiter?”
“I read it,” Jupiter said, a little shamefaced, “but I can’t really speak it. At least, not the way you speak English.”
“You have no need to speak two languages,” said Pico politely. “We are proud of our heritage, so we speak Spanish. But we are Americans, as you are, so English is our language also.”
Before Jupe could respond, Pete burst out impatiently, “What did that Cody guy mean when he said you’d made yourselves a lot of trouble?”
“An empty wind without meaning,” Pico said scornfully.
Diego said uneasily, “I don’t know, Pico. Mr. Norris… ”
“Do not bother others with our troubles, Diego.”
“You do have some trouble?” Jupiter said. “With Cody and Skinny Norris?”
“A trifle of no importance,” Pico declared.
“I don’t call stealing our ranch a trifle!” Diego said.
Bob and Pete gaped. “Your ranch? How…?”
“Calmly, Diego,” Pico said. “Steal is a strong word.”
“What word is better?” Jupiter asked.
Pico thought for a moment. “Some months ago, Mr. Norris bought the rancho next to ours. He plans to buy others nearby and have one large ranch — as an investment, I think. He wanted our rancho, but it is all we have, and although he offered a good price we refused to sell. Mr. Norris was quite angry.”
“He was mad as a roped stallion,” Diego said with a grin.
“You see,” Pico continued, “our land contains an old dam and reservoir on Santa Inez Creek. For his large ranch, Mr. Norris needs that water. When we refused to sell, he offered more money. And when we still refused, he tried to prove that our old Spanish land grant wasn’t legal. But it is. Our land is ours.”
“He even had Cody tell the sheriff our rancho is a fire hazard because we don’t have enough men,” Diego said angrily.
“Who is Cody?” Bob asked.
“Mr. Norris’s ranch manager,” Pico explained. “Norris is a businessman. He has no knowledge of ranching.”
“The sheriff didn’t believe your place is a fire hazard?” Pete said. “So your ranch is safe?”
Pico sighed. “We support ourselves, but we have little money. We fell behind in paying our taxes. Mr. Norris found out, and tried to have the county take over the ranch so he could buy it from them. We had to pay our taxes quickly, so… ”
“You got a mortgage from a bank,” Jupiter guessed.
Pete frowned. “What’s a mortgage, Jupe?”
“A loan on a house or land or both,” Jupiter explained. “If you don’t pay the loan, the bank takes the house or land.”
“You mean,” Pete said, “you get a loan to pay taxes so the county won’t take your ranch, but you have to pay back the loan or the bank takes the ranch! Sounds like out of the frying pan and into the fire, if you ask me.”
“No,” Jupiter said. “You have to pay taxes all at once, but you can pay a loan in a lot of small payments. A loan costs more, because you have to pay interest on it. But you gain time, and small payments are easier to make.”
“Except,” Pico said with anger in his voice, “a Mexican-American with more land than money does not get a bank loan often in California. An old friend and neighbour, Emiliano Paz, gave us the mortgage to pay our taxes. Now we cannot pay the mortgage, and that is why we come to you, Jupiter.”
“To me?”
“While I live, we will sell no more Alvaro land,” Pico said fiercely. “But over many generations the Alvaros gathered much furniture, art, books, clothing, tools, and such. It is painful to part with our history, but we must make our payments, and it is time to sell what we can. I have heard that your uncle Titus will buy such things for a fair price.”
“Will he!” Pete exclaimed. “And the older, the better.”
“I think,” Jupiter said, “that Uncle Titus will be delighted. Come on!”
Jupiter, an orphan, lived on the outskirts of Rocky Beach with his uncle Titus and aunt Mathilda. Across the street from their small house was the family business, The Jones Salvage Yard. This super-junkyard was famous up and down the entire coast of southern California. It held not only the usual second-hand goods — old pipes and beams, cheap furniture, used appliances — but also many wonderful treasures that Uncle Titus had collected — carved wood panelling, old marble bathroom fixtures, wrought-iron grille-work.