The doors to the cells greeted him with open arms. The jail cells were all empty and the cell doors had been left wide open. Zorro stood there in front of the jail with his hands on his hips feeling very nonplused about the whole thing. Where, by all the Saints, was the peon he had come to rescue? He could not believe that he had gone through all that he had only to find the jail empty and the peon gone! He was till musing on this when the Sergeant, who had run out of money to buy wine and who could find no one who would subsidize him, came through the cuartel gates.
Seeing Zorro standing there in the cuartel with his back to him, the Sergeant pulled his sword and charged, crying Zorro’s name and calling for the guards who were posted outside the gates. Chasing Zorro all over the countryside was one thing, but finding him here in the cuartel was quite another. Zorro rolled his eyes to heaven before he turned to face the Sergeant, pulling his sword to defend himself. Their swords clashed loudly.
All of the commotion had awakened Capitán Monastario who burst through the door of his quarters in his night shirt demanding to know what the devil was going on. He began laughing heartily as soon as he saw who was in his cuartel.
As Zorro disarmed Sergeant Garcia once again, he said in a very loud, very condescending voice, “Oh ho, Señor Zorro! You have been on a fool’s errand tonight. The jail is empty and you have nothing to show for your night’s work. All I want is to get a good night’s sleep and here you are creating a disturbance. Go on, go back to wherever your dark lair is and leave me to my sleep.” To the Sergeant he said, “Sergeant, stand back. No one is to touch him.”
He turned back to Zorro. “We will meet again, my not so sly Fox. Now go!” Monastario’s laughter floated out into the night air as he went back into his quarters and slammed the door.
Zorro sheathed his sword with a snap. This was too much. Disrupting Monastario’s sleep was he? Creating a disturbance was he? He stalked over to the gate, pausing by the Sergeant who was flanked by the cuartel guards. Tightlipped, he said, “You must tell me Sergeant. What happened to the peon?”
“Oh, the Commandanté let him go because he did not want you to come tonight and disturb his rest, Señor Zorro. I expect that the peon is at home with his family.”
Zorro just shook his head. He saluted the Sergeant and jogged out of the gate and around the corner to where Tornado was standing. Smoothly he swung into the saddle and said, “Let’s go home, boy.” The stallion obliged.
As he rode home, Zorro pounded his fist into his thigh every so often to vent his frustration. It was he who was usually the victor in his encounters with Monastario. And after a night such as this night had been, to find out that his mission had been an empty one and to be laughed at by Monastario to boot . . . . ! “Sometimes you just have to wonder,” he thought to himself.
As if to punctuate his thoughts, it began to rain again. Not heavily as earlier in the day, but enough so that he would be thoroughly soaked again by the time he reached the cave. Zorro could only sigh.
The ride home seemed longer than ever even though Tornado did not falter in his ground eating pace. At least the rain would wash away Tornado’s tracks he thought to himself. They came upon the puddle that they had skirted earlier that night and Zorro turned Tornado to go around it. Just then Tornado hit a very slippery patch of earth which caused him to start sliding. As the stallion scrambled to right himself, Zorro could feel that he was losing contact with the saddle.
“Oh no, this cannot be happening!” was all he had time to think as he went head over heels to land right in the center of the puddle sending up a great spray of muddy water into the air. And, as what goes up must come down, the muddy water fell with a mighty splash right on the top of his hat, running off and dripping from the brim in a muddy cascade. He sat there, leaning back on his hands with his legs straight out in front of him, as the water in the puddle lapped over him, covering him up to his waist.
Tornado had come back by now and shook his head as he regarded his master now brought down to this low estate. He pawed the water at the edge of the puddle, splashing Zorro even further. Zorro leaned forward and slapped the water with his hand, spraying the laughing stallion with the same muddy water that was covering him, making the stallion as muddy as his master.
Tornado snorted and tossed his head. “Well, you deserved that,” Zorro said as he got up dripping muddy water. “I have already been laughed at enough tonight, thank you.”
Stepping carefully so as not to fall again, he got out of the puddle. Seeing nowhere else to sit, Zorro sat down on the muddy earth and emptied his boots and gloves, then stood and made sure to empty his scabbard of any water that was in it. Then he took Tornado’s reins in his hands. The ground was too slippery here with the rain for him to mount and ride. As he slogged through the mud, Tornado nickered and stuck his top lip out.
Zorro looked up at the stallion’s head which was just at his shoulder and said, “So you think it’s funny?” Tornado chortled. “I do not,” he retorted. “I will thank you to keep your thoughts to yourself.” He sounded somewhat petulant, even to himself, but he was past caring. By the Saints, he hated being dirty and now he was soaked in the mud that he had been avoiding in one place or another all night. To say that he was not in a good mood was to put it mildly. Finally, he found a place where he could mount Tornado and headed home once again.
Bernardo had made himself comfortable in the hay next to Tornado’s stall. He had fallen asleep there as he waited for Zorro to return. He awoke with a start as Tornado trotted into the cave. As he rubbed his eyes to clear them, he had to look the second time to believe what he was seeing. Both Tornado and Zorro were covered in mud. Instead of the both of them being all in black, they were a chocolate brown; just about the color of the drink Diego favored in the mornings.
Getting up, he held out both of his hands to ask what had happened. Zorro dismounted and said, “Remember when I said that I felt like things were going to be difficult tonight? Well, you don’t know the half of it.”
As they both worked on Tornado to clean him up and get him settled, Zorro began to tell of his evening. They set the saddle and tack aside to clean later and went up to the secret room where Diego began removing Zorro’s costume.
“And just when I thought nothing else could go wrong, Tornado slipped on the wet earth and sent me plunging into a large puddle,” he said slapping the gloves on the table and pulling his sword off to be placed upon its hook. He would see to his sword personally a bit later.
“I tell you, Bernardo, it was the last straw!” Diego pulled off his mask and shrugged off the wet and muddy cape. Bernardo, who was behind Diego helping him, could not help but laugh at his master’s misfortune. So much had gone wrong at one time that he found it very funny. He was caught in his laughter when Diego, feeling something amiss, turned around to look at him.
Leaning sideways with one hand on the table and gesturing with the other, Diego said, “Oh. I see you too find amusement in my troubles?” Bernardo tried mightily to straighten his face, but seeing Diego standing there in half of a muddy, chocolate brown Zorro costume was too much, and the silent laugher would not be denied. He bent over, holding his middle as he laughed.
At first, Diego was inclined to be angry. After all, he had been laughed at first by Monastario and then by his own horse. And now his servant and “friend” was laughing at him too! But seeing Bernardo laughing so hard, it finally came to him just how funny the whole situation really was. Soon he and Bernardo were both laughing and wiping tears. When it seemed that they might compose themselves, Bernardo would mime the big splash and set them off again. After what seemed like forever, when he was able to speak again, Diego slapped Bernardo on the shoulder with a big smile and said, “We both needed that. It is said that laughter is as good as a medicine for the soul. Sometimes we get too serious about what it is that we do and it is good to find something to laugh about.” Bernardo wiped the last tears from his eyes and nodded his complete agreement, the smile still on his face as well. “Now help me off with the rest of these clothes and draw a bath for me. I want to be clean again!” Bernardo made a face and some gestures to agree that Diego was a general mess and something to be held at arm’s length, lest he, Bernardo, should be soiled also.
“You think so, do you?” said Diego. “Well, just remember this. It falls to you to clean all of this and Tornado’s tack as well.” With that he opened the secret door to his bedroom and went out laughing again, leaving Bernardo standing there with his hands full of dirty, muddy Zorro clothing, a suffering look on his face. He did not reflect long; however, as Diego called impatiently to him, “Bernardo, my bath if you please!”
“Some days you just have to wonder,” he thought as he hurried to take care of his young master’s needs.
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* (Author’s note: Zorro could not know this, but this little dog would carry a bit of a grudge against him from now on. They would meet again at the apothecary’s shop on another dark night when the shadow from the Eagle’s wings hovers over Los Angeles.)
Table of Contents
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
