The Partnership Restored

A/N: 1) I wrote this story because I put poor Diego through so much in "The Marriage of Three Hearts" that I felt I owed it to him to get him healthy and back in the saddle as Zorro.

2) Trio despreciable means "nasty trio" in Spanish

Chapter 1: Plans

Don Gregorio Pérez had always thought of himself as a fair man. He was gracious and even-handed in his dealings with family, friends, and those who worked for him. Most of his retainers agreed with this. However, one who did not was Carlos Saboto. Carlos had a taste for wine, and very poor judgment as to when and where he should — or, more importantly, should not — be drinking it. When for the third time Carlos was found asleep on the range near the carcass of a steer that had been killed by wolves, Don Gregorio gave him his wages due plus an extra month's wage and dismissed him. Although this was more than generous, Carlos still felt himself mistreated. Instead of heading north or south to other ranchos, he remained in Los Angeles doing such odd jobs as he could find, nursing his grudge, and drinking his way through most of his money.

At one point he had three days' work loading timber with two other drifters. The evening of the third day found the three of them the inn's taberna, where they had just poured out the last of their third bottle of wine. The tall drifter, Paco Hernandez, was gripping the glass very hard, hoping to squeeze a few more drops into his cup.

"I think there is nooo more," offered Carlos, the wine having the expected effect on his speech. "Can we afford another bottle, mis amigos?"

Paco set the bottle down and fumbled his way through his pockets. "Naaa-urp-da, " he burped. The other drifter, Jorge Diaz, was luckier. He produced a small handful of coins. "Is that the last of it?" asked Paco.

", it is the last of the dog money," replied Jorge.

"Dog money?" echoed Carlos. His wine-addled brain then produced what seemed to him a perfectly logical question: "A dog gave you money?"

"No, baboso, a man gave us money for finding his dog."

"So the man had lossht his dog?" asked Carlos, slurring his s's. At this his companions began to laugh loudly. This puzzled Carlos and he asked, "What is ssso funny about looosing your dog?"

"Well, he didn't exactly lose the dog," offered Jorge. "We — hic —lost it for him." Louder laughter. Seeing total confusion on Carlos' face, Jorge continued. "You see, amigo, we had four months work running cattle up near San Fernando. The head vaquero, he had this big black dog that he had trained to work the cattle. And he had trained it well. It was a goood dog."

"A verrry good dog," interjected Paco.

Jorge elbowed his partner and then continued. "So one day we managed to corner the dog away from the herd, and we penned it up in a cave. Thhhe cave, it had a spring. We didn't want to be mean to the dog, you see, we just wanted to trap it."

Paco, bleary-eyed and staring at nothing in particular, asked, "Was the dog black or brown?...I forget..." Jorge kicked him under the table.

When the dog failed to come in the first night, the head vaquero was not concerned. The dog sometimes roamed for a while at night. But when the dog failed to appear all the next day and into a second night, he began to worrry. And on the third day he offered a reward."

"A rewarrrd!" echoed Carlos, now very interested in the dog. "How much of a reward?"

"Thirty pesos," replied Jorge. "So on the fourth evening we went out and freed the dog and brought him back. The head vaquero was overjoyed to see him, and," here Jorge held up a finger and stabbed into the air at each of his next words, "he paid us thirty pesos. Each!"

"Thirty pesos," repeated Carlos and Paco, simultaneously.

"!" said Jorge. "A man will pay much for what he loves much."

This statement planted an nasty seed in Carlos' brain.

It would be unthinkable for anyone at the De la Vega hacienda to note that Bernardo had become very quiet recently. The muzo was mute — he was always quiet. But a thoughtful observer might be inclined to notice that Diego's manservant had indeed become subdued lately. Because since his patròn's marriage their camaraderie had ebbed. Of course since Don Diego had a lovely new wife, this was only natural. If Don Diego wanted to ride, he rode out with Doña Margarita. If they went into the pueblo for market day, he drove her and accompanied her around the stalls. Given that Bernardo had, with good reason, never formed a close relationship with any of the other servants, Diego's muzo had no one to share his day with.

In addition, Los Angeles seemed to have become a very law-abiding community recently. There were no banditos roaming the hills for Zorro to capture, no thefts at the inn, and, with Sergeant Garcia as acting comandante, there were no victims of unjust punishment to rescue. Bernardo greatly missed their shared mission of fighting injustice. And so he had to content himself with his muzo duties: brushing Don Diego's clothes, replacing the occasional lost button, cleaning Diego's boots, and taking care of Tornado and his saddlery in the cave. He also continued to drive Rosa into the pueblo with the supply wagon.

But his experience as Zorro's eyes and ears was not entirely wasted. Over time, Bernardo had become an astute judge of human behavior. Thus on a supply run about a month or so earlier the behavior of three rather loud vaqueros attracted Bernardo's attention. He could not say exactly what it was that he found disturbing about them — it was just a feeling. So he began to watch for them whenever he was in Los Angeles, and, sure enough, the more he saw them, the less he liked them.

One afternoon, soon after he had first noticed them, he had positioned himself a little too close to their table on the inn's patio. The tallest one noticed Bernardo noticing them. He came over to Bernardo's table and began yelling, telling Bernardo to mind his own business. Receiving Bernardo's standard response — pushing his lips together and shaking his head, indicating that he could not speak, and then folding his ears over and shaking his head, indicating that he could not hear — the man grabbed him, pulled him to his feet, and began roughing him, all the while yelling that he and his friends didn't like being spied on.

Bernardo was saved by the Señor Pacheco the innkeeper who was bringing food out to another table. He ran over to the two of them and began yelling at the assailant. "What do you think you are doing?! This is the servant of Don Diego De la Vega! He can neither hear not speak! He is a gentle man and perfectly harmless!" It took a moment for all that to sink in, but at last Bernardo was released and the man made his way back to his two friends. Without anything resembling an apology, of course.

From then on, Bernardo was careful to position himself just within earshot of the trio — sometimes at a table, sometimes leaning against a post, sometimes standing just outside a doorway. And always with his back to them.