No ownership or profit real or implied. This is just for fun.

I still feel bad about the long hiatus, so I am going to post this all at once. This is a comment-killer, of course, but I am committed to being okay with that.

Saving the fox 13: contra viento y marea

Friday, February 9, 1816

Felipe

It all started with the arrest of a poor farmer named Jose Rivas. Well, that wasn't when it started, but that was why Zorro got involved.

The reason Rivas got arrested was the murder of Sebastian Porfirio Valverde during an attempted robbery on a side road in the middle of nowhere. Felipe didn't know Senor Valverde very well; he lived some five hours outside of town and was very elderly. He and his wife didn't generally pay calls on their distant neighbors and they only rarely came to town.

They had come for market day that week because of the stock sale, and had spent two nights in the tavern. It was on the way home Thursday morning that Senor Valverde was killed. The new alcalde—leading a patrol himself to get to know the territory—came upon Rivas standing over the overturned cart with a recently fired pistol.

Don Sabastian was dead, but Doña Maria, though she had been shot, was still alive. Mendoza had brought her to the De le Vega hacienda—The doctor was at the mission vineyard where someone had been bitten by a snake, but Mendoza remembered that Father Benitez had gone out to visit with Diego that morning, and he had hoped the two of them might be able to do something.

Neither Diego nor the priest were surgeons—and most of the experience they had with injury (rather than illness) had been with animals. Still, between them they had removed the pistol ball and stopped the bleeding and bustled the poor senora into a guest room to be looked after by Nuela. Senora Sosa would have been preferable, but she was currently engaged at the Pascale house because Doña Amanda was in a family way.

Felipe missed all the excitement because he'd been in the pasture training Angel to come to whistle calls. The filly was harder to work with then Toronado. Or, no. Any fault surely lay with Felipe himself, not Angel. He did not have Diego's gift of making an animal immediately and totally love him. It was taking a long time to coax her loyalty and affection. The problem did not go both ways. Angel was intelligent and not the least lazy or mean. Felipe adored her.

He had played with Angel until midafternoon, and by then all the interesting activity was over, and Diego was resting with his feet up in the library. It was Father Benitez who told the story, but it was Diego Felipe scolded. "I cannot leave you alone for five minutes!"

Diego had laughed at that and tugged up his trouser leg to show Felipe how thin his ankles were. And that was more important to Felipe than dramatic stories about bandits and surgeries. It had been two weeks now since Father Benitez had finished his terrible cure and Diego had not relapsed at all. He still had no great stamina, but his color was good and nothing was puffy. This morning must have been very trying, but here was Diego, comfortable and awake.

In fact, the morning must have been truly awful. "Have you eaten? Either of you? Do you need anything?"

Father Benitez glanced at Diego. "We did eat, thank you. And I should be getting back to town. As grateful as I am that Doña Maria is doing so well, there is a funeral to prepare for. Diego, can you manage - "

The front door slammed open so violently the walls and floor shook and Don Alejandro stalked down the hallway to his office without pausing or even looking around. He was followed, a minute later by Gilberto, who was looking much more slowly and looking worried rather than enraged. "What in the world has happened?" Diego asked.

Gilberto took off his hat and fanned himself with it, though it was not a particularly warm day. "Oh. Well. The murder you know about. And the attempted robbery."

"Yes?" Diego pressed.

"Our new alcalde has arrested Jose Rivas for the murder and means to hang him tomorrow."

"That is not funny," Diego snapped.

"Don't think de Soto means it to be," Gilberto returned. "He wants to make a show of law and order, swift certain justice. What a good protector of our persons and property."

"Tomorrow!" Diego protested. "But—a trial!"

Gilberto shook his head.

"Jose Rivas…." Father Benitez said slowly. "I would not have expected it."

"Of course he didn't do it," Gilberto said. "Rivas? Robbing people on the road? Shooting people? Never!"

"Well, then." Father Benitez said, smoothing down his cassock. "I guess I am going into town to check in on the prisoner and have a word with the alcalde. I don't suppose you would allow Felipe to accompany me? In case I need to send a message back later?"

"That would be quite convenient. " Gilberto laid a hand on Felipe's shoulder while dropping a peso into his hand. "Stop by the tavern for something to eat, too. I imagine the rumors will be interesting." He sighed. "In the meantime perhaps I should go make sure that Father isn't thinking of doing anything rash."

No one in town thought Rivas had done it—except the alcalde, who was completely convinced. Even Father Benitez couldn't get him to move on the subject. After his interview with de Soto, the priest was angrier than Felipe had ever seen him, though he got no details other than 'stubborn' and 'condescending.'

So, naturally Zorro made plans to retrieve poor Rivas that night. He expected to find extra guards everywhere (given the history of interrupted executions), but he had a crafty plan to sneak in. The last time Gilberto had been a guest of the jail he had had plenty of time to consider the ceiling (or rather, the lack of a proper one) and was fairly sure he could shift some roof tiles and come straight down.

It wasn't necessary, though. There wasn't an extra guard. Mendoza was, in fact, waiting with the prisoner by the fountain. Startled, Zorro reined in, looking for a trap, but no. Mendoza shoved his prisoner toward Zorro and slipped back into the shadows.

Zorro hid the prisoner in the broken mill at Mule's Head and then came home and spent almost an hour pacing Diego's room and muttering. If the alcalde was up to something it was incredibly subtle….

The next morning the alcalde arrested Mendoza for dereliction of duty and ordered a firing squad—So Zorro had to rescue him too. It was (and Felipe saw everything from upstairs at Victoria's) a spectacular daylight rescue. They had no more of the noisemaker explosives. Those had been used up at the alaclde's party and Diego had not had time to make more. What Zorro had was a set of stink bomb experiments Diego had been working on the previous year.

Ramone would have known to expect Zorro for this. He would have laid a trap. But de Soto was caught completely flat-footed. It was a spectacular rescue with a clean getaway. Zorro took Mendoza to join Rivas at the mill. Laughing to himself as they rode out of town, Felipe wondered how long this would go on and who would be sent to the mill next.

Diego

It was almost painful, waiting at home while Mendoza was scheduled for public execution. If Diego had been in town, though, people might wonder why his more vigorous brother was not. And too, he did not want Mendoza seeing him there, calmly taking notes on his upcoming death for the newspaper. And besides all that, both an execution and a dramatic rescue would be more excitement than his heart was ready for.

The reasons for staying at home were compelling, but Diego was re-discovering that waiting was so much more difficult when he wasn't exhausted and weak.

Trying to fill the creeping minutes, he wrote an editorial he had been thinking about but hadn't been able to focus on, then went to check on Doña Maria. She still had not woken, but there was no sign of fever. He lifted aside the dressing, but the wound was scarcely inflamed at all. Perhaps it would heal cleanly.

Which was no guarantee she would survive; she had lost a great deal of blood.

Diego realized he was staring at a woman who was sleeping in her bedroom. Well, a guestroom. For purely medical reasons. But still. Acutely embarrassed -she was elderly, yes, but still! – he turned away. How did doctors do this? Tending an injured horse or even Gilberto was not nearly so complicated.

Diego retreated to a chair on the other side of the room, cleared his throat, and said to Nuela, "If she wakes, getting her to take a little broth is the most important thing."

Nuela gave the bed a worried glance, but nodded. "Everyone is most anxious that she wake up and identify the criminal…."

"And if she speaks, don't stop her. But it is essential that she drink -" There was a knock at the front door. "Perhaps that is Doctor Hernandez at last." Hurrying to get the door, Diego made it to the hallway before he realized he had not had to pause for a moment to let the worst of the vertigo pass. It was there, yes, but so mild there was no concern he would fall.

It was Doctor Hernandez at the door. When he saw Diego he took a half-step back in surprise. "Not you, then?"

Diego's brows shot up. "No. Doña Maria."

The answer produced even more surprise. "I heard she was dead."

"She has been shot. She is not dead."

"Good heavens," he said faintly, motioning Diego to lead the way. In the sickroom, he asked Nuela for more light and sent Diego to wait in the library.

Diego selected a book of poetry and tried – firmly – to turn his mind away from Doctor Hernandez's greeting. The last thing he wanted to think about was how bad things were three short weeks ago or … how precarious this recovery probably was.

The day following his last foray as Zorro he had slept until late afternoon and woken only because the sodden heaviness in his chest and limbs made sleep impossible. That evening and for the next two or three days he had obediently rested, taken the medicine they gave him, walked when they told him to walk, eaten what they gave him to eat. There was a great deal of dandelion. They brought the doctor. Gilberto and Father and took turns reading aloud. Teodoro sat beside him singing prayers in Latin. Father and Gilberto had helped him into a tepid bath. They had added cinchona into his medicine, though the whole family knew the dangers of that and it made them all nervous.

It didn't matter. Nothing lessened the weight in his chest or soothed the anxious feeling that this next breath would not quite be enough.

On Wednesday –Wednesday, he remembered, because Gilberto came home in the afternoon having made hash of The Guardian —the coughing had started. Diego was too tired and bad tempered to muster much fear at that, although he saw panic in everyone else's eyes. Diego had no idea how to comfort them. He refused to see Victoria when she came to visit that evening.

No. That was weeks ago, and he had been granted a reprieve. Maybe only a small one, true. But maybe a long one! And he would not spoil however much time he had with fretting over ugly memories or worrying over the ultimate future.

Today he could breathe. He could walk easily. He could retrieve a scrap of paper from the floor. He could concentrate on a column. He would enjoy that while it lasted.

However long it lasted.

He was saved from his moodiness by Felipe's exuberant arrival home. His graceful, fluid description of Zorro's arrival, the impact of the stink bombs, Mendoza's escape soon had Diego laughing. Gilberto really had a marvelous grasp of showmanship.

Poor Mendoza, though. His whole existence was being a sergeant in the Lancers. Could he possibly have thought he wouldn't get blamed for the prisoner's escape, even if he had managed to conceal his own active role?

When Diego mentioned this go Felipe, his comment was greeted with an eyeroll. "Of course he knew. Mendoza isn't such a coward."

Footsteps in the hall heralded the return of the Doctor. He set his bag aside and ran a hand through his hair. Diego poured him a glass of wine and sent Felipe for some food. "That bad?" he asked.

He passed a hand over his eyes. "Better than I expected. Your girl says you and the priest got the ball out? Not the tidiest job I've ever seen, but you stopped the bleeding." He shook his head. "Perhaps she has enough blood left." He sat down and sighed. "I suppose I better hear the whole story. Her husband is dead?"

So Diego repeated the story he had gathered from Mendoza, his father, and Felipe. He included the most likely bits of gossip and speculation—the doctor knew everyone, and Diego would find his insight as useful as the doctor would the situation.

"Well, that doesn't look good for Rivas." Doctor Hernandez nodded a thanks to Felipe who appeared with a plate of sausage and bread and a pitcher of lemonade.

"Surely, you don't think he did it!" Diego protested.

"I know he owed quite a bit of money to Valverde. But that is no proof of guilt, of course. I suppose Zorro will sort it out. "

Diego swallowed. "I hope Zorro or someone sorts it out. All I can do is document what is known—and that likely too late to do any good."

"Hm. Make sure you don't embarrasses the new alcalde too much, eh?"

"Tempting as it is, the newspaper doesn't need an open enemy," Diego agreed.

A sigh. A stern look. "And you, Don Diego? How are you feeling?"

"Better. As well as I've felt since – early fall, at least."

"And the dosage?"

"We have omitted the cinchona, and the foxglove tincture is now at one spoonful."

"How often?"

"Diluted in water and given in small doses over the course of the day."

"I shouldn't ask how the priest altered your treatment."

"It would horrify you," Diego admitted, wishing he were not having this conversation and marveling that he had managed to put it off this long.

"Hmmm. Still, you are very much improved and I am glad to see it. You took that quarrel with our new alcalde very badly." `

And didn't that rankle. The doctor wasn't the only one convinced that hot words with the alcalde on that Saturday night had been the cause of Diego's collapse Sunday. Even when, following Teodoro's desperate treatment, Diego had steadily improved, Father had been adamant that he avoid any sort of mental agitation. He had been set that Diego give up The Guardian, and Gilberto hadn't been able to change his mind.

It had taken Theodoro to bring Father around, and Diego was afraid the argument he used was that poor Diego needed a sense of purpose to give meaning to his life.

"I have no intention of repeating my performance that night," Diego said stiffly. He hated the doctor's pitying look.

Jamie

Toronado had incredible endurance and carried double weight much longer than Jamie would have credited, but eventually they had dismount and to walk and give him a rest.

Jamie, more comfortable on foot no matter how splendid the mount, rolled his shoulders and set himself to amble comfortably beside Toronado.

He snuck a glance across Toronado's nose and then looked away. Up close, Zorro was not so tall as he remembered. And yet, he loomed despite that. Really amazing…. He swallowed. "So. Thank you. For saving my life."

"You're welcome," Zorro said blandly.

Under the circumstances, Jamie thought something more might be required, but he was at a loss. "It was very nice of you, all things considered."

"Think nothing of it."

Jamie snuck another look. Was he amused? Zorro always came and went so quickly –

Embarrassed to be staring, Jamie looked away and realized where they were. "We are going west!" he gasped.

"Very good, Sergeant."

Jamie winced at that, feeling clumsy and obvious in comparison to the sleek and invincible bandit. "But we were headed west when we went out of town!"

"More or less," Zorro agreed.

Jamie thought about that. "Very clever."

"You know all my tricks now. Whatever shall I do?"

"I am the only one who knows, and I am out of a job."

"I imagine that is temporary."

They walked for several minutes in silence, then Jamie asked. "Where are we going?"

"The broken mill. Jose is hiding there. Let's hope Doña Maria wakes up and identifies her attacker before it runs out of room for de Soto's scapegoats."

Tentatively, Jamie protested, "I do not think he is looking for scapegoats. I think he honestly wants to right a wrong. He wants justice."

"Justice requires a trial," Zorro answered coldly.

"That is true," Jamie agreed. That had certainly been clear last night, when he had unlocked Rivas' cell. "The outlaws know more about justice than …." He found he couldn't finish the thought.

After a while they mounted again and rode on. When the mill came into sight, Zorro called out and a face peeked around the doorway. After a moment the rest of Rivas appeared. "And you are delivered to your refuge," Zorro said cheerfully. While Mendoza dismounted he produced from the saddlebag a woolen blanket, a canteen, and a bundle of jerky and sea biscuits. "No fires. I'm sorry, it is likely to be cold tonight."

Toronado spun and galloped south, leaving Jamie with the gloomy Rivas.

Gilberto

It was so easy to fall into old routines: Brushing down Toronado and giving him an extra carrot. Changing out of the black costume and setting it to air. A wet comb to conceal how badly the mask flattened his hair. One last look in the mirror before turning down the oil lamp and spying to see that the library was empty.

First he checked on Doña Maria. She was still unconscious, and it occurred to Gilberto that he and Diego needed to come up with a back-up plan—something better than "Mendoza and Rivas escape into the mountains and live like wild-men for the rest of their lives," for preference. He could not find Diego, though, anywhere in the house or yard, and when he asked Pepe the boy had no idea where he might be. "The doctor was here before, though," he added. "To see the lady."

"And what did he say?"

Pepe shrugged. "Dunno."

Gilberto sighed. "Do you know where Felipe or my father is?"

"Felipe is out at the corral. I don't think your father has come back from town yet."

It was a twenty minute walk out the corral, and when he got there Felipe didn't know where Diego was either. "Something wrong," he asked one handed while holding Angel's bridle with the other.

"No," Gilberto said shortly. "Nothing is wrong."

He had been back at the house pacing the library for only ten minutes when Diego blithely walked in. At Gilberto's expression, he paused. "Problem?" he signed.

Gilberto was fairly sure this was not a conversation that had to be kept secret, and he could not have reined in his temper enough to keep it silent anyway. "Where the hell have you been?"

Slightly puzzled, Diego answered, "I went for a walk."

"Not alone?"

Diego went very still. "'Berto."

"Don't pretend you are being reasonable. What if something had happened?"

"It was a walk, not a cross country race. And perhaps I should point out that if I am too frail for a walk to the creek I certainly cannot withstand the stress of a quarrel."

That was a cheap shot but true, and Gilberto's mouth snapped shut. After a moment, he had his temper under enough control to say, "It hasn't been a month! Not even three weeks! You need to take this slowly, for pity's sake-"And that was not his temper under control. He turned away and fixed his eyes on the books on the shelf. One in English. His English lessons had fallen to the side lately….

He must not berate Diego. Or pick a fight.

"I was being an ass," Diego said. "It is perfectly safe to yell at me. Whether or not I deserve it is another matter. I took a walk. I walked slowly. I stopped when I needed to."

Gilberto took a slow breath and rubbed his thumbnail over his mustache. "How many times was that?"

"Only three."

Gilberto turned around. "The creek, you said? You couldn't—you couldn't have done that last month."

"I could barely make it to the bunkhouse last month."

Gilberto closed his eyes.

Diego stepped closer. His shoulder was a warm pressure against Gilberto's own. Gilberto couldn't stop himself from trembling a little.

When he was sure his voice was steady, he cleared his throat and began, "Diego—"

Before he knew how to finish, Nuela burst into the room. "The senora is awake!" she gasped.

~Tbc