By Julia Brooks
Thunder crashed as lightening split the sky. A Spanish soldier stood as sentry in the watch room built into the thick wall of the army garrison located in the small pueblo of Los Angeles, keeping a wary eye out at the wild night’s light show. There was no rain however. In the brief brilliance of the lightening, the soldado glimpsed a man running across the plaza. Then he heard the clang of metal against metal. He ran out of the booth into the cuartel’s yard shouting.
“Sergeant! Sergeant! Someone is fighting in the plaza! Sergeant! Sergeant! Get up! Come quick!”
Doors opened as sleepy lancers and foot soldiers came out of their barracks. A rumpled Sgt. Garcia came out of the comandanté’s office. “What is it, Lugo? What is this about fighting?”
A sudden lightening bolt lit the night and Garcia winced involuntarily at the ensuing thunderclap.
“Sí, Sargento. I think it might be Zorro!”
“Zorro!” replied the sergeant, fully awake now. “Lancers! To arms! To arms! It is Zorro.”
Lancers scurried everywhere, running in to each other in their haste to dress and ready their horses all at the same time. Garcia disappeared back into the office to grab his coat and hat and then joined them. “Open the gates! Open the gates!” he cried when they were all mounted and ready. The foot soldiers complied and then watched as the contingent of lancers rushed out of the gate, across the plaza, and then out of the plaza.
A certain black-robed bandito also watched them ride away. He turned to the man standing next to him, and said with amazement, “Bernardo, that worked better than I could have hoped.”
Bernardo was holding his sides as his mute laughter was causing him spasms.
“I wonder how long it will take Sgt. Garcia to realize that he is not chasing anything?” Zorro shook his head in wonder.
“Come,” he clapped his servant on the shoulder, “time for you to play your part with the soldiers. Wait for the alarm to sound first. Remember – Sgt. Garcia is out there searching for Zorro, so be careful my friend. I have more to do here and then I will meet you back at the cave.” He helped his servant pull a black mask over the mozo’s still laughing features. “¡Hasta luego!”
Bernardo saluted in return, and ran off to get his horse.
Zorro emerged from the darkness of their temporary hiding spot and ran back across the plaza. Hugging to the wall of the garrison, he quietly made his way to the narrow window of the watch room. When he was certain that the soldier, Lugo, had returned to his post, Zorro peered in. Suddenly a flash of lightening illuminated the night and Lugo saw, not six inches from his face, the face of the bandit Zorro. Then it disappeared.
Lugo, in his fright, dropped his rifle in the room and ran out yelling “Zorro is here! Zorro is here!”
The other foot soldiers had just gotten to bed when Lugo’s cries roused them again. They emerged from their rooms a little more slowly. Lugo was standing in the middle of the yard staring at the gates.
“Lugo,” one of the soldiers called out, clearly annoyed, to his immobile comrade. “I thought Sgt. Garcia went after Zorro. How could he be here, now?”
“I saw him Gonzales!” Lugo was insistent. “He looked at me through the watch room window.”
Just then the soldiers heard a horse galloping madly through the plaza, and a voice cry out “¡Hola, soldatos!” They ran to the gates and opened them, only to see a fleeting glimpse of a black-cloaked rider exiting the plaza.
“He is just playing tricks on us, Lugo.” Said another soldier, Martinez.
Gonzales began to swing the heavy gates shut. “Or it is the storm,” he replied. As if to emphasize the point, another flash of lightening lit the sky.
“Look!” cried the soldier Gomez. “Zorro! On the stable roof!” They all turned in unison to see the masked man salute them and disappear from the rooftop.
“Gonzales, open the gate again. Let us go catch him before the sergeant gets back.” They started yelling. And to a man, they ran out of the cuartel, thoughts of collecting the 2000 peso reward for El Zorro’s capture, urging them on.
The garrison was completely abandoned. Zorro dropped down from the roof by the comandanté’s office and let himself into the office. Proceeding to Sgt Garcia’s bed, he lifted the pillow and, using the foodstuffs the corpulent sergeant stored underneath to stave off midnight hunger, formed the letter “Z” on top of the bed coverings. Laughing silently to himself Zorro walked out of the office, and stole across the cuartel’s yard to the weapons room. He unlocked it using the keys he found in Sgt. Garcia’s room. Taking three lances, he brought them to the middle of the yard and formed yet another “Z”.
Satisfied with his night’s practical jokes, Zorro ran up the stairs to the second story of the barracks, swung himself onto the stable roof, and crouching down, tried to ascertain where the foot soldiers were. Finally, he heard their annoyed grumbling as they reentered the cuartel. Taking this as his cue to exit, he whistled softly to call Tornado out of hiding. The bandito leaped down from his rooftop perch onto the back of his mighty black stallion and rode back around to the entrance of the garrison.
“Have a good night, amigos!” Zorro called out to the soldiers through the still open gate. Tornado reared. Lightening again lit the sky.
Once more it was pitch black, and once more the soldiers heard a horse galloping furiously through the plaza. However, this time, El Zorro’s hearty laughter floated back to them on the wild night’s air.
Shorty Story Table of Contents Part Two
Table of Contents
