Don Alejandro looked at Bernardo with new worry in his eyes. Diego was so weak. So very weak. Bernardo stared back for a moment and then held up his hand. He reached back into the saddlebag and pulled out another bottle. This one was clearly marked.
"Brandy," nodded Don Alejandro. Carefully, they gave Diego some of the brandy. The fiery liquid seemed to revive him. They gave him another swallow. Diego nodded and pushed the bottle away as he sought to catch his breath. "Can you stand now and get up on Tornado if we help you?" Don Alejandro repeated. Suppressing a cough, Diego nodded weakly.
With one man on each side, they managed to help Diego to stand up, and, by pushing and pulling, they got him up on Tornado. He leaned forward, bracing himself on Tornado’s neck, panting and trying to catch his breath. His arms trembled and he thought that they might not support him, but he felt Don Alejandro swing into the saddle behind him and felt his father’s strong arms encircle his waist.
"It’s all right, Diego," his father said next to his ear. "We are going home now."
Diego nodded and concentrated on staying upright. He was not sure that he would live to make it home, but he was comforted by the voice of his father. A strong voice. A determined voice. A voice like no other. His father’s voice.
Don Alejandro looked around as Bernardo gathered up their things and packed them back into the saddlebags. Now, he too could hear the clatter of the soldier’s horses on the stony ground. They were close, very close. Not waiting on Bernardo, he sent Tornado down the trail leading back the way they had come, going much faster than was entirely safe, but they could not tarry. Pedroza and his men would be here in moments. Bernardo mounted his horse and with Don Alejandro’s horse in tow, hurried to follow. They disappeared into the rugged landscape just as Capitan Pedroza and his men came into view.
*************************************
Pedroza was almost ready to grind bullets into powder with his teeth by the time they arrived at the place where the man’s voice had been heard crying out. They found the small stream and the shallow pools. But of Zorro, they saw nothing. Pedroza cursed as he drove his horse up and down the area looking for any signs of the outlaw. "Spread out!" he cried to his men. "Spread out and look for Zorro. Twenty-five pesos to the man who finds Zorro or some sign of him!"
Don Emilio shook his head at the paltry sum that Pedroza was offering. What was that when the capitán stood to gain two thousand pesos? But he should have expected nothing more from Pedroza. He was a greedy, petty man. However, the lancers scattered and began to look for signs. Twenty-five pesos was more than they would see in several months time, a soldier’s pay being what it was.
Don Emilio’s horse was thirsty and dropped his head to drink from the stream while the don remained in the saddle. The bottom of the stream, like everything else on the mountain, was formed out of a light grey rock, polished smooth by the water. However, there was something round and black in the water that looked out of place. Don Emilio dismounted and stepped into the water to pick it up. It was a bullet from a pistol. What was it doing in the water, he wondered. Then he realized that it must have come from Zorro. Pedroza must have been right. Zorro had been shot. Walking back up onto the dry stone at the edge of the stream, he looked about. Underneath the feet of his horse, he found what he was looking for. There were a few small traces of blood on the rocky ground.
He opened his mouth to call Pedroza and then stopped. What did he owe Pedroza? He watched as the man drove his soldiers, shouting and cursing at them to try and find Zorro. He looked back at the bullet and rolled it thoughtfully between his fingers. Zorro had been a part of Los Angeles for almost two years now, though Don Emilio had never had the privilege of seeing the masked outlaw in person. He had never suffered by any of Zorro’s actions. Along with the others living in this part of California, he had enjoyed the songs that had sprung up about the bandit’s exploits and though he did not believe even half of them, he enjoyed hearing the stories about the Fox. Then there was Pedroza. He had only been in the pueblo a few months and no one liked him or his men. Zorro belonged to Los Angeles. Pedroza did not. Pedroza was a stranger.
Don Emilio quickly tucked the bullet into his pocket as the capitán charged back toward him on his horse. He moved to stand between Pedroza and the spots of blood on the ground. Don Emilio could not help Zorro, but he was through helping Pedroza. He waited as the capitán pulled up right in front of him.
"Where is he?" demanded Pedroza, as though Don Emilio should know.
"I do not know," replied Don Emilio. "The ground here will not show tracks. He could have gone in several different directions."
"But he is wounded. Dying!" cried out Pedroza angrily, convinced that he was right. "He cannot go far. If you were Zorro, which trail would you take?"
Of course, Don Emilio had no idea. But he knew which trail that would take them back to Los Angeles. "I would take that one," he said pointing to the track leading down the mountain and back to the pueblo.
"Why?" demanded Pedroza.
"Because, if I were Zorro, and if I were wounded, that trail would be the easiest one to travel and take me where I could get help."
"Who would dare to help him?" questioned Pedroza.
Don Emilio shrugged. "Peons. Indians. Or perhaps a vaquero or a priest. Who knows? There are many who might help him," he said.
"No one had better help him or they will suffer the consequences!" growled Pedroza. "Mount up. We ride at once." The capitán turned his horse and went to gather his men.
Don Emilio sighed and mounted his horse. By the time they were down from the mountain, it would be dark. Pedroza would have to call a halt to his mad search for Zorro and Don Emilio could go home. If he had his way, it would be many days, if ever, before he would find a reason to return to the pueblo.
**************************************
From his vantage point on the trail leading down the mountain to the de la Vega rancho, Bernardo watched from a distance as Pedroza and his men searched the very spot where they had found Diego such a short time ago. He watched as they seemed to scour the area for signs of Zorro and breathed a prayer of thanks that the ground was too rocky and hard to leave a trail for the commandanté to follow. He watched until he saw that they were taking the trial which would send them toward Los Angeles. He wiped his brow in relief and climbed back down the face of the rocky prominence that he had used to spy on the soldiers. He tucked the pistol back into his banda, thankful that he had not had to use it to cover Don Alejandro’s retreat. Mounting his horse, and leading the other one, he hurried to catch up to Don Alejandro and Diego. They would be able to exercise more caution in negotiating the difficult trail now that they knew that they were not being pursued.
Don Alejandro received the news with gladness. His heart had been in his throat as he had pushed Tornado down the trail, desperately clinging to Diego in the saddle before him. As they slowed down, his heart began to settle down in his chest. They would be all right if they could just get down off this mountain. Don Alejandro’s admiration for Tornado grew as they traveled down the narrow and winding trail. The stallion never seemed to take a misstep and his endurance was beyond compare. It was as though he knew how precious was the passenger he carried on his back. Don Alejandro was spared having to direct Tornado and could concentrate solely on keeping Diego upright in the saddle.
Don Alejandro had gained a new appreciation for the man Diego had become. Though weakened by the illness, Diego was a large, solidly built man and it was all that Don Alejandro could do to hold onto him on the steep trails. Had he been riding another horse besides Tornado, he was not sure that they could have gotten Diego down the mountain without a serious mishap.
Diego faded in and out of consciousness and his bouts of coughing still left him breathless. When he could think, all he wanted to do was lie down and stop moving. He felt so bad that he still thought that dying was a viable option. But he was going home. That one thought kept him going. He could do very little to help his father. He was as weak as a small child. Without his father’s arms around him, he would have slipped from Tornado’s back a dozen times over. But his father was there to steady him and hold him tight. Had he been feeling better, he might have been amused at the irony of it all. The great El Zorro being carried home in the arms of his father like a child. But for now, he was comforted.
When at last they reached the base of the mountain, Bernardo called a halt in order to give Diego some more of the medicine from the brown bottle. This time, when he felt of Diego’s forehead, he thought that his young master’s fever might have lessened somewhat. He conveyed this to Don Alejandro for the comfort it might give the elder de la Vega. Then he looked at the sun, which was low on the horizon and motioned that it would be dark when they returned to the hacienda.
Don Alejandro nodded and said, "Let’s go." Tornado snorted and set out at a good pace. Bernardo followed, still leading Don Alejandro’s horse and trying to keep up.
It was indeed fully dark when they rode into the cave. Don Alejandro was exhausted, but he never relaxed his hold on Diego. Bernardo dismounted and ran over to help Don Alejandro ease Diego down from Tornado’s back. He took Diego’s full weight upon himself as he held his young master while Don Alejandro climbed down from the saddle. Then the two of them put Diego’s arms around their shoulders and carried him up through the tunnels and up the stairs into Diego’s bedroom. Carefully, they laid him on the bed. Bernardo pulled the shades and lit a candle.
"Quickly, Bernardo. Let us get him out of these clothes and under the covers," said Don Alejandro. "Then we will send for the doctor." Bernardo nodded and began tugging on Diego’s boots while Don Alejandro began unbuttoning Zorro’s black shirt. The two of them worked quickly. Bernardo took a moment to change Diego’s bandage for a fresh one. No doctor would be allowed to see this particular wound. They would have to tend to it themselves. When Diego was tucked into bed, Don Alejandro gently stroked his son’s hair and felt of his cheek to check on his fever. Diego was still hot, but it did not feel as though he was burning up. He turned to Bernardo and said, "The fever is less and he has not coughed for a long time. He is getting better?"
Bernardo held up his hands to show that he did not know, then he pressed them together in an attitude of prayer, showing that he had hope. Then he pantomimed drinking from a bottle.
"Yes, I think that what ever is in that bottle has helped," said Don Alejandro. "Now to another matter. We must go back and ride in from the direction of the pueblo to keep up with our story of this morning." Bernardo nodded. Don Alejandro stroked his beard as he thought. "When we get home, we will ‘discover’ that Diego has returned home and is very sick. That is when we will send for the doctor. Come."
Their plan worked, and none of the servants was any the wiser. One of the vaqueros was sent to the pueblo to fetch the doctor and Don Alejandro took up his place at the bedside of his son. Diego looked so pale in the candlelight. Though he moaned softly from time to time, he seemed to have fallen into a deep, exhausted sleep. Don Alejandro did not miss Bernardo until the servant was back from the kitchen with a tray of food and a bottle of wine.
"Thank you," he said. "Thank you for bringing the food . . . and for being a faithful friend to my son."
Bernardo looked down at the floor and then back up at Don Alejandro. He touched Diego’s hand and then Don Alejandro’s hand and then brought both of his own hands to cover his heart. Thus, he reaffirmed his loyalty to both men.
Don Alejandro was touched and he gripped Bernardo by the shoulder. There were no more words to be said, except, "Let us eat."
Bernardo pulled up a chair, and the two of them ate together and watched over Diego. The subject of Capitán Pedroza came up and what was to be done about him. It was clear that Zorro would not be able to ride for some time, but it did not seem quite fair to let Pedroza think he had won. Bernardo pointed at his head and motioned that he had a plan. Before he could say anything more about it, there was a knock on the door and he went to let the doctor in.
"Doctor Avila," said Don Alejandro, rising to meet the physician. "Diego is gravely ill." He a paused. "I am afraid it is influenza."
"And you would probably be right," said Doctor Avila. "We may soon have an epidemic on our hands. If Diego has it, he would be the fourth person in the pueblo to have been taken by it."
"An epidemic," said Don Alejandro feeling a cold chill center itself on his spine.
Avila placed his bag on the bed next to Diego and began his examination. He first placed a glass tube in Diego’s mouth. "How is it that you know the symptoms of influenza, Don Alejandro?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Because I had it when I was a young man, just a little older than Diego," said Don Alejandro. "I remember what it did to the people. Many died."
"Yes, it is a very deadly disease," said Doctor Avila. "He has been coughing, yes?"
"Yes, a racking cough, but it seems to have subsided now," said Don Alejandro. "His servant had some medicine and we felt we could not wait and gave him some."
Doctor Avila turned to glare at Bernardo who shrank back, as though not knowing why he was being singled out. "Kindly do not give my patients potions of uncertain origins," Avila said to Don Alejandro. "I am the doctor." With that pronouncement, Avila turned back to Diego. Bernardo made a face behind the doctor’s back which made Don Alejandro roll his eyes.
Avila took from his bag a strange device. It was a wooden tube with a flared portion on both ends. He placed one end on Diego’s chest and bent over and placed his own ear to the other end. He moved the device around on Diego’s chest and stopped to listen each time. He nodded his head and then put the device back in his bag. He then pulled out his watch and took Diego’s pulse. He took the thermometer out of Diego’s mouth and held it close to the candle to take the reading.
"He definitely has a high fever," said Avila. "His pulse is rapid and weak. But his lungs are clear. I think that with the medicine that ‘I ’ will give him and with time, he will recover, Don Alejandro. But he is to have complete bed rest and to be kept quiet. You can feed him broth and make him drink plenty of liquids for the next few days. Keep everyone away from him as he is still contagious. You have had the influenza, so you are immune. I don’t know about your servant here, so keep him in this room. Do not let him mingle with the other servants or they will catch it also. Do I make myself clear?"
Don Alejandro was so relieved to hear that Diego would have every chance of living, that he did not really hear anything else, but he answered, "Yes, very clear Doctor."
"Good," said Avila. He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a spoon and a large brown bottle. "This is the latest thing from Spain for treating cases such as these," he said. Don Alejandro looked at Bernardo, who simply raised his eyebrows. The bottle was the same as the one Bernardo had brought with him. Avila measured out a portion of the medicine. Gently raising Diego’s head, he spooned it into his mouth. Diego choked a little, but swallowed the medicine. He did not open his eyes. This did not seem to concern Avila overmuch. He turned to Don Alejandro and continued, "Sleep is the best thing for him now. See that he takes one spoonful of this every four hours. If he becomes delirious, or his fever goes higher, send for me. Otherwise I will drop in tomorrow morning to check on him. Now I must go and see about my other patients. Hopefully, we can limit the number of people who become infected with this disease." His voice softened. "I too remember an influenza epidemic when I lived in Mexico City. We did not have a way to stop its spread then. It killed many people."
"If I may ask, who else has the illness?" said Don Alejandro, wondering if it was anyone he knew.
"A Padre Simeon, who just came here from a voyage to the Philippino Islands has it, as do two of his novices."
"That explains where Diego got it then," said Don Alejandro. "He had been eager to meet the new padre when he arrived a week ago. They spent many long hours talking about the padre’s travels and I do remember Diego mentioned that the padre had not been feeling well."
Avila nodded. "Then perhaps we have it quarantined and no others will be coming down with it. We can pray that this is so. I have only a limited amount of that medicine." He indicated the brown bottle. "Who knows when I can get some more?"
"Thank you, Doctor," said Don Alejandro. "Thank you for coming."
Avila closed his bag with a snap. "Wait until you get my bill before you thank me, Don Alejandro," he said in mock harshness. Then he smiled and Don Alejandro smiled back. But he frowned again as he looked at Bernardo. He pointed his finger at the servant and said sternly, "And you! Stop playing doctor!" Then, placing his hat on his head, Avila swept out of the room.
Bernardo wiped his forehead in relief and looked at Don Alejandro.
"He can be rather abrasive, I know, but I trust him to take good care of Diego," said Don Alejandro. Then he added, "Almost as much as I trust you." Bernardo looked at the floor and scuffed his foot back and forth. Then he smiled.
Don Alejandro smiled back and then sat down in the chair next to Diego. He adjusted the covers on the bed and then sat back wearily. He did not intend to leave his son for a moment. Not until he knew for sure that he was going to be all right. Bernardo made the sign of the "Z" and pointed down to the cave where Tornado was waiting.
"Sí, go ahead and take care of Tornado," said Don Alejandro. "Then you can get some rest."
Bernardo nodded and entered the secret room. He paused for a moment to light the lantern, and taking a piece of paper from the small desk, he wrote a note which he folded. Then he took off his jacket and began to unbutton his shirt.
**************************************
Pedroza and his men had just settled themselves into the tavern, ordering drinks and grabbing at the waitress. Pedroza was particularly unhappy about the day’s events and was drinking at a table by himself. He did not care what amusement his men were finding. They were off duty now and could do what they wanted. He leaned back with one arm crooked over the back of his chair and drank half a glass of wine in one swallow. He splashed more wine from the bottle into the glass, not caring that it spilled on the table. He knew that out there somewhere, Zorro was injured, if not dead. Two thousand pesos going to waste. They had been close to finding the bandit. Of that he was sure. What spirit had come and whisked the outlaw away at the last moment? Shaking his head over his bad turn of fortune, Pedroza drank more wine. At least he would not have to worry about Zorro interfering with him any more, he thought as a consolation. Zorro was dead or dying and he would trouble Los Angeles no more.
Suddenly, the glass in the tavern window shattered as a projectile struck Pedroza’s table. The hoof beats of a horse could be heard fading in the distance through the broken window. Everyone turned to see what had happened. They saw a knife quivering in the table top, not an inch from Pedroza’s hand. There was a note attached to the knife which had the stylized head of a fox worked into its design. Pedroza’s men crowded around as the capitán opened the note and began to read.
Commandanté
I hope you enjoyed your time in the mountains, today. I am sorry that I could not stay to keep you company. I have other work to do for a few days and I trust that you will be on your best behavior until I return. Then we may resume where we left off. You shall not be rid of me so easily. On that you may rely.
Zorro
Cursing, Pedroza crushed the note in his hand. Even his soldiers found themselves able to blush upon hearing such language.
*************************************
Two days had passed and Diego was recovering. He was still weak, but he was able to sit up in bed and enjoy a light meal. He was laughing at Bernardo’s tale of how Zorro had tweaked Pedroza’s nose right when the commandanté thought he was rid of Zorro forever. It seemed that Pedroza was now going out with a lancer patrol every day, looking everywhere for the masked outlaw, determined to find him and kill him. This served to keep Pedroza out of the pueblo and from causing too much trouble for the people there. The servant’s action would give Diego the time he needed to recover and resume his role of Zorro. Diego was pleased with Bernardo and told him so. Bernardo grinned in return. Don Alejandro, seated on the edge of the bed beside Diego, clapped the mozo on the back in approval.
Diego was also pleased to find out that Padre Simeon and his novices were expected to recover from their cases of influenza. It seemed that Bernardo had also had a case of the disease when he was in Cadiz, Spain, long before he met Diego in Madrid. That is why, when he had heard about the medicine, he made sure to find a bottle of it to bring with him to California. He knew what a devastating illness it could be and he wanted to be prepared.
"You and Father saved my life," Diego said. "I can never thank you enough. I thought I was going to die up there on that mountain. At times, I felt that dying would have been a blessing."
"I know what you mean, my son," said Don Alejandro. "I remember how bad I felt when I had the illness." Bernardo nodded to show that he remembered too. Don Alejandro continued. "I remember how that some very strong men succumbed to the illness and died, and yet some women, no bigger than this," he held his hands close, "were able to survive. Being young and strong was no guarantee that you would not die. That is why I was so worried about you, Diego. When we found you, you were delirious and so very sick."
"But I will be all right now," said Diego. "I want to get out of bed today and go down to see Tornado and thank him too."
Bernardo shook his head no and Don Alejandro exclaimed, "Oh, no you don’t! You will stay right there in bed, young man."
"But, . . . ." started Diego.
"No buts," said Don Alejandro in very stern tones. "You might be the greatest swordsman in all California, and the most notorious outlaw in all of His Majesty’s vast empire, but you will mind me and stay right there in bed." Bernardo nodded emphatically in agreement, looking just as stern.
Diego opened his mouth to protest and then saw that it would do no good. "Yes, . . mí papa," he said meekly, using the name for his father that he had not used since he was a child. He smiled again as he held his arms out and embraced his father while Bernardo looked on in approval.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Table of Contents
