Chapter 2
by Marian Robinson
Twenty minutes later, Johnston and H.G. arrived at the outskirts of
the pueblo. They found the plaza abuzz with activity, people coming
and going on horseback or in carriages.
H.G. looked about and spied the tavern and suggested, "there is the
inn. I will go reserve two rooms for us there."
"Good, good," Johnston replied, "I think I will find a spot to catch
the local color. I will join you later there?" That agreed upon,
the two separated. This was daily life of 1820 California, Johnston
thought as he looked around him. There wee the merchants, the
soldiers being drilled, men of various social classes walking, riding
or being driven in coaches. One coach, being pulled by large mules,
caught Johnston's attention. He leaned up against a wall near the
entrance of what he later learned was the cuartel. He'd barely been
there five minutes when a big , fat Sergeant appeared, lumbering out
of the garrison towards the coach shouting towards the
coach, "Welcome to the pueblo de Los Angeles. All luggage must be
inspected!"
From the bowels of the coach, Johnston heard a youthful, although
quite irritated, voice say, "But this is an imposition! I have
already had my bags searched!" As the door of the coach opens, a
young caballero steps out, wearing a splendid blue suit with gold
brocade trim. Johnston could not help but think, "My! How fancy the
young Spanish men like to dress. Like a peacock in all his finery."
Smiling, he decided there was something about this young and handsome
man that he liked right away. A certain sympatico.
"Don Armando! Is it really you?" You have been gone so long. Three
years, is it not? My, how you have grown!" the Sergeant said
joyously.
"Sgt. Garcia!" the young don acknowledged. "Si, it is I. I decided
to forego the fourth year at the university. There was too much time
being spent on gymnastics and fencing." He shuddered and shook his
head.
Garcia laughed heartily, "It is good to see you again, don Armando."
Garcia answered. "Welcome home. But si, I will have to search your
baggage again." As the sergeant approached, he noticed someone else
in the coach. "You, too, Senor!"
"Oh, this, Sergeant, is Bernardo, my mozo. He neither hears nor
speaks, but is a wonderful servant," don Armando explained to the
sergeant, before the question was off his tongue.
Out of nowhere, the comandante of the cuartel came striding over to
the coach, snapped to attention, and introduced himself, "Greetings,
Senor," he said, "I am Capitan Enrique Sanchez Monastario, at your
service."
Don Armando nodded in return. They exchanged a few words and the
young don was led in the direction of the Capitan's office. The
Sergeant and Bernardo unloaded the luggage when, suddenly, a shot
rang out. The Sgt. fell to the ground with boxes and baggage
tumbling down on him. Bernardo looked down from the top of the coach
and jumped down to help Garcia.
Twenty minutes later, the Sgt. left for the Capitan's quarters. He
was barely in there when a yell eminated and echoed round the
cuartel. Moments later, don Armando emerged, a huge and amusing
smile on his face. He motioned Bernardo back into the coach and
immediately instructed the coachero to drive, northward.
Johnston couldn't have asked for more activity to amuse him.
Unrehearsed, spontaneous. He crossed the plaza to join H.G. he
barely exchanged two words with his companion when there was a flurry
of commotion out in the plaza. An older man, very well dressed and
on horseback, was being brought in by an escort of soldiers, his
hands tied. An even older gentleman, known as the acalde, approached
the prisoner. "Don Nacho!" he exclaimed, "Why are you bound and
being brought in? What is this about?" Just then, the comandante
appeared. Just as the prisoner was pleading with the acalde to help
him, the Capitan ordered the soldiers to lock him up. "It is
forbidden to talk to this prisoner, Senor Acalde!"
Johnston turned and noticed the innkeeper and the patrons watching
all this. Johnston asked him, "Who was that man?"
"It is don Nacho Torres, Senor. He is a walthy ranchero, just north
of here. He has been accused of treason just because he dares to
speak out against injustice in our pueblo," came the innkeeper's
answer.
"I see," was all Johnston found he could say. He kept an eye out for
anything unusual as he and H.G. sat at a corner table and watched
people come and go for the rest of the evening. After a meal and a
drink, Johnston decided, "If I am wrong about this El Zorro I read
about, I will leave tomorrow for my own time and place, but if El
Zorro does exist, he will no doubt come tonight to free this don
Nacho Torres."
H.G. nodded and whispered, "Yes, but he could get caught, my friend.
One man against a garrison? I wish him all the luck in the world."
Johnston and H.G. decided then to call it a night and retired to
their rooms. Sharing a comman balcony, they met out in the cool
night air to discuss their plans for the next day. Their balcony
faced the cuartel at an angle, so they were able to watch the goings
on. Suddenly there were shots fired and angry shouts from within the
cuartel. All of a sudden they see a rider disappear quickly out of
the plaza. It looked like don Nacho Torres. Seconds later, another
rider emerged from around the cuartel, all in black, his face masked,
and on a black mount. He paused to carve something on the wall of
the cuartel, then spurred his horse past the tavern, down the alley,
right under the balcony where H.G. and Johnston were standing. The
rider looked up at them, paused, and reared his horse as he saluted
the two men above. With a big smile he shouted, "Adios Senores!" and
was gone.
Johnston and H.G. waved back as the rider disappeared to the south of
the plaza. Looking at each other in disbelief and amazement, H.G.
remarked, "Well, Johnston, it looks like you have your work cut out
for you. I wonder if he could be your El Zorro?" and jabbed his
companion in the arm humorously.
Leaning further over the railing, Johnston looked but could see
nothing of El Zorro anymore. He straightened up and gave his friend
a big grin. "If sure fits the bold caballero I read about." His
grin grew as his mind began processing. Just to imagine the
escapades this shadow of the night could get into gave Johnston a
certain thrill.
Capitan Monastario and his lancers raced out of the cuartel, some
heading north, some south. One way or the other, they would capture
either don Nacho or the outlaw that the Capitan had been personally
introduced to as "El Zorro---the protector of the people."........
