CHAPTER 3
Alcalde de Soto walked into his office. Looking around, he could see the evidence of Emissary Risendo’s occupancy. Papers were everywhere; dust was thick on his desk. With a sigh, he settled into his chair, leaning back and closing his eyes. The past week had been one of stress, and even terror for him. He would be dead now, if not for Sergeant Mendoza’s refusal to execute him. He also owed his life—he had to admit—to Zorro’s intervention. He leaned forward, putting his elbow on the desk and his chin in his hand. That masked bandit had been the bane of his existence since he had arrived here. Without Zorro, he would have a quiet, obedient pueblo. If the people did not resist him at every turn, he would not have to take such stern measures. A career military man, he expected a town to be run the same as a military post. Clean, orderly, and with strict obedience! He sincerely did not understand why the people of the pueblo objected to that. He gazed at his portrait of Machiavelli.
“They just do not appreciate what we do,” he spoke to it.
He let his gaze drop to his desk. “Emissary Risendo was such an untidy person.” He started to gather the papers on his desk.
A knock sounded on his door. “Come in,” he said absently, sorting through the papers. Sergeant Mendoza came to attention in front of his desk. He held his hat under his arm, and his thin, black hair was neatly brushed back. He hoped that whatever his alcalde wanted him to do, it would not take long. Lunch would soon be served at the tavern.
“Reporting as ordered, mi alcalde.”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Relax, sergeant. I just want to be sure that Señorita Risendo leaves with the guardsmen tomorrow morning. Gilberto…uh…de la Vega will be buried here, at Don Alejandro’s request.” He paused, his light blue eyes intent on the paper he was reading. He fingered his beard thoughtfully. “Sergeant Mendoza, I want you to find an excuse to search all the belongings of the guardsmen, and bring to me any and all official reports of the events that have happened here.”
“Alcalde? Search all their belongings—but, they are royal guardsmen!” Sergeant Mendoza said nervously.
“You will think of something, I am sure. Dismissed, sergeant.” Sergeant Mendoza opened his mouth to speak, but de Soto merely looked at him.
“Si, mi alcalde!” Sergeant Mendoza hurried out. Gone was the camaraderie he had felt with his commanding officer over the last few days. All de Soto had to do was look at him, with that stare, and his knees turned to jelly. He could understand why he had been such a good commander in battle. He himself would gladly face death at the hands of the French rather than face that stare. He was so unnerved, he didn’t even feel hungry.
ZZZZZZ
A huge black stallion carefully picked his way down a dry canyon. His rider, dressed in black linen, with a flowing silk cape, black mask, and hat, studied the steep walls. Turning his head to the side a bit, he could hear riders. They were just around the bend. Finally, he spotted what he was looking for: a narrow cattle trail, weaving its way up the steep wall. From the ground, it looked impassable, but he had faith in his stallion. Without pausing, the stallion surged up the trail; his rider could feel the horse’s muscles bunching, the mighty thrust of his hindquarters. He leaned forward, grabbing a handful of thick mane to make the climb easier.
To any observer, it would seem the big black horse had run straight up a sheer cliff. Near the top, however, it looked as if his luck, and the trail, had run out. Turning to the right, the trail ended in a sheer drop where a landslide had carried it away. The rider raised his hand, about to signal the horse to a stop, when he felt the stallion’s muscles surge, and with a determined snort, he launched himself into the air. He spotted the bit of a ledge the horse was aiming for. His heart sinking, he realized they would fall short. “It was a valiant try, my friend,” he muttered to the horse, avoiding looking down at the rocks they would soon be crashing on.
At the arc of his leap, the powerful horse gave an odd, twisting surge, and to his rider’s amazement, seemed to go higher and farther. They made the ledge with only one hoof dangling over the air. Two more strides, and they were at the top. He paused to look back over the cliff. They would not have survived the fall.
“You never cease to amaze me, my friend.” He patted the arched neck, then wheeled him after the fleeing men. The stallion snorted, shook his head, and took a couple of playful, bouncing steps before settling down to business again.
Quickly passing the riders, they followed a dry stream bed back into the canyon ahead of them. Dismounting, the masked rider examined the area. The train ran between several large boulders, shadowed by scrubby trees. Moving quickly, he tied ropes at eye level between the trees, being sure to point them out to the horse. He pulled an overhanging branch back and tied it with a slip knot, placed several small clay pots with fuses on a boulder, and started a small fire on the boulder with kindling. A quick gesture sent the horse hiding on the opposite side, and the slender dark figure ducked behind the boulder. After a moment, three men appeared around the curve and rode up the trail towards him. They were a surly-looking trio, lean and hardened from time spent in the saddle. Their clothes had at one time been expensive, but now were ragged and dirty, a testament to the luck they had been having.
“I don’t see what the rush is. Those soldiers will not be able to track us on these stones,” one of them complained. He removed his broad-brimmed hat and wiped his bald head with a bright cloth. He had a curved scar running across his cheek. “It’s too hot here in California.”
“I want to be well on our way to San Diego. The sooner we sell this stuff, the sooner we will be off to Mexico City again. We can live well on the money for a long time.” The leader was an older, heavier man, the years of harsh living etched in his face.
The youngest looked up at the cliffs nervously. “I’ll be glad when we get back to Mexico City.” The others agreed, remembering some very pleasant times in the taverns there.
“The pickings here have been neither as rich, or as easy, as you promised,” the leader commented to the scar-faced man.
“Well, it has been some years since I have been here.”
“Señores, surely you will not leave without saying good-bye. I’m crushed!” The black-caped figure stepped from behind his rock, a cheerful grin showing behind the mask.
“It’s Zorro!” the leader exclaimed, rather unnecessarily, since their intruder’s identity was rather obvious.
With an elegant gesture, Zorro bowed.
“Get him!” the leader ordered, pulling his pistol and firing in one motion. Zorro ducked back behind his rock, lit a string attached to a small clay pot, and tossed it to the middle of the group.
“Look out!” the young one yelled, trying to pull his horse away. Seeing a gap in the trees, he kicked his horse towards it, to be swept off onto his back by the chest-high rope. The pot exploded with sparks and smoke, causing one horse to rear, dumping his rider. The third backed up into a branch, just as Zorro threw a knife, cutting the rope that held it back. The branch sprang forward, flipping the rider head over heels into a tree on the other side of the trail.
Zorro sprang over the rock, catching the leader on the ground with a quick left to the jaw, felling him instantly. The bandit knocked off by the rope rushed him. Zorro stood his ground until the bandit was almost upon him, then gracefully danced to the side and assisted the bandit’s head in its contact with the boulder he had been standing in front of. He casually walked to the last one, hanging upside-down in the flowering tree, trying to free himself from the thorns.
“Señor, you have excellent taste in trees. The blossoms of the black walnut are exquisite, are they not?” He reached out to one of the blossoms, then held it to his face.
The trapped man growled something incoherent.
“A wonderful idea, señor. I will take some to a special señorita.” He gave a sharp whistle, which was answered immediately by a loud neigh. The black stallion leaped over a boulder, and ducking under the rope, trotted over.
“Toronado.” Zorro patted the horse’s neck. “Our guests’ horses seem to have strayed.” Holding his hand at eye level for the horse, he made a curious circling gesture with one hand. With a snort, Toronado galloped off, showing his enthusiasm for the task with each bounding strife. Zorro shook his head, smiling. Toronado always enjoyed herding things, cattle, horses, people…even a bunch of chickens, once. His keenness for that, as well as his athletic ability and intelligence, had long ago convinced him that he was almost pure Andalusian blood. It had always been a mystery to him that such a horse would be running wild, as he had been when he had found him. He looked up into the tree, where the scar-faced bandit gazed at him with fury. “Señor, I think the best way out for you would be to fall.”
Hearing the others stir, Zorro quickly tied them. As Toronado herded the other horses up, gleefully nipping them in the flanks, the man in the tree finally freed himself to fall to the ground. In a flash, he was up on his feet and running, but his escape was blocked by Toronado. He stopped, watching the stallion warily. Then, to the masked man’s amazement, Toronado lunged at the man with a scream of anger, teeth bared.
“Toronado! No!” Zorro yelled. The bandit threw himself backwards, falling on the ground. For a moment, Zorro thought Toronado would continue his attack, but he simply stood over him, pinning his ears at the thief’s slightest move. Zorro tried the man, then pulled him out of reach of the stallion, who stood trembling with rage.
As he walked towards his horse, he noticed Toronado never let the man on the ground out of his sight, even peering around his rider sideways.
“What is it, boy?” Zorro murmured, stroking his neck. Toronado responded with a loud snort, and shoved him hard with his head. Zorro turned to look at the bandit.
“Señor, I don’t know why he has taken such a dislike to you, but I certainly wouldn’t try his patience. I invite you all to return with me to Los Angeles for a…” He paused, tilting his head and grinning. “…proper farewell.”
ZZZZZZ
The three bandits, tied on their horses, caused quite a stir when they rode into Los Angeles. The Z marked on each of their backs left no doubt as to who their captor was.
Don Alejandro and the other caballeros came out of the tavern when they heard the cries of the people in the marketplace. “Well, it seems Zorro had taken care of things, yet again. And now, I must go home and take care of my son…my sons! Adios, Victoria.”
“Adios, Don Alejandro.” Victoria smiled warmly at him. She noticed everyone coming outside to see the captured bandits. Well, she would have a little time before they all came back to the tavern. Victoria went inside and started clearing up. Suddenly, she realized she was not alone in the tavern. The curtain that hung in the doorway was moving! She was about to call for the lancers, when she realized it was moving in a pattern…as if someone was writing a Z on the other side.
“Zorro!” she whispered to herself; heart fluttering, she quickly went into the kitchen, carefully pulling the curtain closed behind her. He stood there, slim and elegant in his black linen and silk; casually leaning against her counter, a branch of white flowers in his hand, looking at her with that roguish grin. As if this visit were an everyday occurrence, and he was not risking his freedom and his very life by being there to see her.
“Zorro,” she said, happily, and stepped toward him. He quickly placed the flowers on the counter and took her into his arms, his face suddenly serious.
She had no idea how she looked to him then, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, her every move showing how much she wanted to be with him. His chest felt like a giant fist clenched around his heart. For a brief moment, she wished it was Diego that she looked at this way, then all was forgotten in the wonder of kissing him.
Suddenly, the curtain was pulled aside, and Sergeant Mendoza walked in. He had a smile on his open, honest face, and his girth showed a passing acquaintance with Señorita Escalante’s cooking.
“Señorita Escalante, we need…Zorro!”
“Whatever for, sergeant? I have already caught the thieves.” He gracefully stepped away and slightly in front of Victoria.
“Oh. No…I meant…” Mendoza sputtered through his thick mustache.
“To apologize, no doubt, for your usual bad timing,” Zorro spoke cheerfully.
“Yes; I mean, no…”
“You don’t apologize? Sergeant, really, how would you feel if, once, you finally managed to be alone with…” He paused. He had been about to say “with a lovely señorita,” but remembered where Sergeant Mendoza’s true passions were. “…a plate of Victoria’s enchiladas, and I interrupted you?” He heard Victoria chuckle. She knew what he had been going to say, and why he had changed it.
Sergeant Mendoza considered it seriously for a moment. “I would be very upset! Excuse me, I will leave you two alone.” He left, carefully pulling the curtain behind him.
Zorro laughed quietly, shaking his head. Victoria smiled at him, her eyes dancing with laughter. Victoria raised an eyebrow at the tall figure in black.
“So, you compare me to a plate of enchiladas?”
“To each man his own passions,” Zorro answered, making plain where his were, by kissing her. He kissed her lips, her cheek, but paused, concerned, when she shivered. “Is something wrong?”
“Um…no,” she said, nervously. She put her hand on his cheek, looking into his dark-blue eyes, then ran her fingers lightly over his mustache. Thinking quickly, she said, “It’s your mustache…it tickles.” Relieved, he kissed her fingers, then he leaned forward and trailed kisses down her cheek and neck, deliberately tickling her. Laughing, Victoria put her hands on his chest and pulled back a little.
“That is unfair, Señor Zorro! Surely, you did not come here just to tickle me.”
“That would certainly be a worthy goal, but actually, I did come here to talk to you about something…”
“I am listening,” Victoria said, demurely, sliding her hands around his neck and playing with the hair that stuck out from under his mask.
“But I keep getting distracted…”
He started to kiss her, when he heard a voice yelling, “Lancers!” outside.
They looked at each other. “Mendoza,” they both said.
“I must leave, but before I go…” He picked up the flowers, and handed them to Victoria.
“To remind you of me.”
“I need no reminder of you; you are in my every thought, but thank you. I’ll put them in my room tonight and dream of our future,” she said, pointedly, looking at him sideways from the corner of her lovely eyes.
The promise in her eyes caused his heart to race for a moment, and left him breathless. Unable to speak, he took her hand and kissed it. Taking a blossom from the bouquet, she handed it to him.
“So you will dream of me tonight,” she said somewhat wistfully, with a question in her voice. He smiled, and brought the blossom to his nose.
“I always do, Victoria!” Hearing the soldiers coming in the tavern, he went quickly to the back door, turned, and bowed out gracefully. “Adios, mi amada,” he said quietly, and ducked out the door as the soldiers rushed into the kitchen.
“Sergeant Mendoza!” Victoria said sharply. “What is the meaning of this?” She spoke loudly, to cover the sound of Toronado galloping away.
“Zorro! Where is he?” Alcalde de Soto stomped into the kitchen, resplendent in a gray silk suit, peach cravat, and matching sash, his white hair perfectly combed, mustache and goatee clipped. If not for the cold malice in his ice-blue eyes, he would be a handsome man.
“Gone where you will never find him!” Victoria said smugly.
“He’s escaped again! After him!” De Soto gestured angrily at Sergeant Mendoza.
“Lancers! After him! Vamonos!”
The soldiers hurried to obey, almost knocking each other over, trying to get out the door. De Soto rolled his eyes heavenward. “A quintessence of inadequacy. I will be trapped in this miserable pueblo forever.” Then, seeing Victoria smiling behind her hand, he glared at her, growled in disgust, whirled on his heel, and left.
ZZZZZZ
De Soto stalked into his office, slamming the door behind him. “Zorro—always, it is Zorro!” he muttered to himself. He stopped before his portrait of Machiavelli. “Even if I am able to confiscate all the documents regarding Risendo’s death, there will still be questions. I must do something—outstanding—to stifle those questions. I must capture Zorro somehow.” He was standing there, deep in thought, when one of the lancers tapped on his door.
“Yes, what is it?” he said, irritably.
The lancer stepped in, hesitantly. “Your pardon, alcalde, but one of the prisoners—he wishes to speak to you. He says it is very important.”
“I don’t have time for common thieves and cutthroats!” de Soto snapped, glaring at the lancer.
The man paled and stepped back. “I’m sorry, alcalde; it is just that he mentioned he knew of a way to stop Zorro.”
De Soto whirled so quickly, the lancer flinched. “Well, what are you waiting for? Bring him here, corporal!” De Soto seated himself behind his recently cleaned desk, and tapped his fingers impatiently until the lancer returned with a wiry, bald man with a scar on his face. He gestured the lancer out of the room.
“You wished to speak to me?” he asked the bandit.
“Si, alcalde. What would it be worth to you, to stop this Zorro?”
“Tell me who you are, and what you know, and I will tell you what it is worth to me.”
“I am Pancheco Barquilla. The horse Señor Zorro rides—it is stolen.”
“Zorro is no horse thief!” de Soto scoffed.
“That may be, but the horse he rides does not belong to him; it belongs to me. I can prove it!”
“How does this stop Zorro?”
“Suppose it were to become known that Zorro rides a stolen horse? This Zorro claims he is no bandit! In order to keep the people behind him, he will have to answer the charges!”
“Yes, go on.” The alcalde listened intently.
“Suppose you were to insist he turn over this horse, and have the ownership decided by an objective party. I will prove I am the owner of the horse, and Zorro would lose the one thing which has kept your soldiers from catching him.”
“And if he refuses, or attempts to steal Toronado back, he will lose the people. They would see him as the common outlaw he is.” De Soto smiled thoughtfully.
“What do you want, for your part in all this?” he asked Barquilla suspiciously.
“Freedom for myself, and my compadres; a fair share of the reward; and my horse, of course.”
“Of course…” De Soto fingered his beard. “I’ll let you know my decision. Corporal! Take him back to his cell.”
De Soto leaned back thoughtfully as they left the office. He knew Zorro was not a horse thief; it was believed Toronado was a wild horse he had captured. But if the horse did belong to someone else, he knew Zorro would turn it over.
“Honorable to the point of idiocy,” he muttered.
He fingered his beard again, as he thought. He had to do something. However the report to Madrid was worded, the fact was that he had shot the king’s emissary in the back. Not only that, a de la Vega! Any hope he’d had of being received well at court was well and truly gone. It was well-known that the de la Vegas were close friends of the royal family; Diego’s familiarity with the king’s seal and signature had brought that home recently. All his plans and ambitions were dust; all he had left was duty. And he had not been discharging that duty as he should, he knew. He had been more concerned with glorifying himself than running Los Angeles. He couldn’t remember when his soldiers had actually captured a bandit. All the true lawbreakers in his jail had Z’s on their clothes.
Coming to a decision, de Soto stood up and nodded to his portrait of Machiavelli. “Things will be different around here! I will make this a military post to be proud of!” He marched to the door of his office, yanking it open.
“Private!” he barked.
“Si, mi alcalde!” He snapped to attention.
“Get me Sergeant Mendoza!”
The soldier saluted. “Si, mi alcalde!” He ran hastily off.
De Soto walked back to his desk, and sat down. He pulled a clean sheet of paper out of a drawer, picked up a quill, and started to write. He paused for a moment to read what he had written.
“Finally, I will be rid of Zorro…forever.” He began to laugh.
Mendoza, pausing outside the alcalde’s office to straighten his uniform, felt a chill go up his spine at the deep, harsh sound.
“That doesn’t sound so good for somebody,” he said nervously, while fervently hoping that “somebody” wasn’t himself.
ZZZZZZ
The exhilaration the masked rider had felt after his visit with Victoria faded quickly as he carefully rode home. Even as he doubled his tracks, and rode through streams to evade pursuit, he worried about this strange new behavior of Toronado’s.
Felipe was waiting in the cave when Zorro returned. He quickly moved to help untack Toronado after the injured masked man carefully dismounted.
“Thank you, Felipe.” As he changed clothes, he related his capture of the bandits, and Toronado’s subsequent alarming behavior.
Felipe gestured with one of the brushes he was cleaning Toronado with.
“I don’t know, amigo; he acted as if he considered the man dangerous. Do you remember the time the rattlesnake got in the cave, and Toronado wouldn’t let us past him to where the snake was?”
Felipe nodded.
“He stood there the same way, watching him like he did that snake. It was as if he knew him, and knew he was dangerous.”
Diego walked to where Toronado calmly munched hay, and placed his hand on his neck. The tall stallion looked at him inquiringly, pausing in his meal.
“What was it about him, boy?” Diego asked, as he rubbed Toronado’s neck. “Why did you act that way?”
Toronado knew he was being addressed; he recognized the word “boy” as referring to him, but the rest of the words meant nothing to him except that his human wanted something. With his ears pricked, he put his nose into Diego’s chest and nudged him.
Diego laughed. “He knows I want something, and he wants to help. It’s all right, Toronado.” With a final pat, he continued getting dressed.
Felipe gestured at Toronado, then pointed to his own head.
“Yes, Toronado is very smart. Zorro would not have been able to do his work without him. I have always been amazed that he allowed me to capture him that day, when we found him. He had just gone to all the trouble to steal my father’s broodmare and foal, and yet when I put a rope on him and led him away, he didn’t resist. And he learned so quickly! He still does.”
Toronado watched the two humans for a while, just in case they did something interesting, but when it looked as if they were just going to stand there and talk, he turned back to his hay. He had learned, a long time before, that humans—especially his humans—tended to talk a lot. He always listened, with one ear cocked back, in case they mentioned a word he knew, like “oats,” or “saddle.” He knew what those words mean. He also listened for the sound of glass clinking on the table, which meant his human was going to make a loud noise or a horrible smell—which in turn meant he needed to be prepared to duck to the back of the cave.
“Come, Felipe; I need to be in bed, ‘resting,’ before Father gets back from Los Angeles.” As Diego passed the table, he casually picked up a sprig of flowers, hiding his action from the young man following him.
Felipe followed him with a grin. He knew Diego was hoping he hadn’t noticed the flower, and he knew it had something to do with Señorita Escalante. Diego’s secret passion for the lovely tavern owner had long been a source of amusement and frustration for him. Amusement, because as intelligent, educated, and confident as Diego was, he was unable to face Victoria with his feelings. Frustration, because he loved both of them, and wanted them to be happy. He followed Diego up the stairs.
END OF CHAPTER 3