Chapter 7

Night and Day 3

Bernardo was eating his evening meal alone in the inn at Santa Barbara. Even though he had departed Monterey before the priests said he should, the manservant had been restless after his patrón had left without him. He felt responsible for Don Diego and not just because he happened to be his manservant. Despite the master/servant relationship, there was still a camaraderie that transcended their stations in life. They had been through much together and had each saved the other's life several times. Bernardo rubbed his temples, trying to get rid of the slight headache threatening his concentration.

He had a nagging, gnawing feeling of impending doom. He couldn't explain it. It didn't happen often, but when it did, something had happened. Therefore he had left a day and a half after his patrón, taking the speediest stage available to the Pueblo de Los Angeles. So far, the coach had made good time. Bernardo secretly hoped he might meet Don Diego at one of the inns along the stage route, but so far that hadn't happened.

A tap on his shoulder brought Bernardo out of his reverie. The innkeeper was pointing in an exaggerated manner to his tankard asking about a refill. Even though he could hear very well, it suited his and Don Diego's purposes for him to pretend to be deaf. But there was no faking the fact he was mute, and had been since birth. He shook his head, no. Sometimes his ruse made people believe he was an idiot. Even though it exasperated him at times, this too, served a greater purpose. From time to time he even acted the fool. People were very quick to believe that because he had no tongue, he also had no brains. The benefit was that people often said things in front of a foolish deaf-mute they would never say in front of a hearing man.

Mulling over the last few sips of wine, he was astonished to hear about a raid El Zorro had made against the rancho of Don Paulo Wheeler, two nights previous. By the Saints, what in the world would Don Diego want to stop and do that for, Bernardo thought in wonderment? Don Diego sometimes had a penchant for impetuosity that not only worried him, but sometimes scared the mozo to death. This was one time he wished he had not packed Don Diego's costume.

Some of the speakers were indignant, but others seemed to indicate that this Don Paulo was a sadistic tyrant who had gotten his pesos from the backs of slaves and El Zorro had done the peons a great service. Bernardo smiled to himself, and knowing that was something Don Diego would get himself involved in. Then he heard more comments that sent fear shooting into his heart.

"I do not think Señor Zorro will get away with this venture," one man at the next table commented sadly to his companion. "Between Don Paulo's dogs and his famous tracker, Manuel, it is my humble opinion that the devil himself could not escape. And on top of that, Comandante Gregorio sent out twenty lancers to find Zorro, too," the man explained. "I tell you, Pablo, this Zorro is a dead man, whoever he is."

With great anxiety in his heart, Bernardo paid for his meal and retired to his room where he spent a restless night worrying about El Zorro.

Zorro also spent a restless night, but not from worry. It was the cold. The temperatures in the drier regions would often get quite low by early morning, and in his haste, he had left his blanket in the thicket where the dogs had attacked. The cape, unfortunately, didn't offer much warmth except during the day. Several times, he woke up shivering. Zorro finally gave up trying to sleep and sat up to reconnoiter. His abraded wrist was throbbing slightly and he was also stiff and sore from six days of steady and hard riding.

The moon was three quarters full and the soft light allowed the outlaw to see the trail he had come along. Zorro was eager to get this confrontation over with. Riding slowly for almost two hours, he finally spied the soft, ghostly glow of embers from a campfire. He left the mare to graze a safe distance from the campsite and stealthily crept close. Zorro marveled at their arrogance. The vaqueros must have assumed they had him totally beaten to have made a fire of such magnitude. He had been able to see its glow for some distance. Zorro moved closer to listen to two vaqueros. He recognized Manuel, the tough and testy vaquero who had ordered him from the mountain trail more than two days ago.

"Manuel," his companion asked, "When are we going to catch this devil? You promised we would have him yesterday." The voice sounded weary.

At least I am not the only one tired from this hellacious chase, Zorro thought.

Manuel answered, "The saints or the devil must be looking after this one or I have totally misjudged his abilities. Despite the flaw on the horse's shoe, it has been harder than I thought to catch up to him."

Zorro's eyes flashed astonishment at the vaquero'sstatement. So that was how he has been able to find me! This was something he hadn't even considered. He conceded Manual was very good, with a great eye for detail. Again he turned his attention back to the tracker.

"But mind you, we will catch him!" Manuel vehemently asserted. "Another hour's rest and then we go." The other vaquero grunted an affirmative.

Oh, you will catch me all right, Zorro thought with grim humor. You'll catch more of me than you really want to. You will wish you had never ventured from your hidden valley.'

He slipped back down the ridge and returned to the patient mare. Taking out a short knife that he kept hidden in his sash, he pried off each of the horse's shoes, one by one. It was hard using a knife not meant for this purpose and he broke the tip off before he was through. Finally he managed to get them all off. Throughout the ordeal, the mare was very patient. When Zorro straightened his stiff and aching back he had acquired a new appreciation for blacksmiths. "I know that this will be hard on you, little one," Zorro said softly, "but you will make your way safely back to the hacienda and then you can rest."

He took off the saddle and bridle, and using the saddle blanket, quickly rubbed the mare down. "You have been faithful and strong; enjoy your freedom, even if it's for a short while." Zorro rubbed the horse's nose, gathered up his knife and sword and walked back towards the vaqueros' camp.

The outlaw returned just as the camp was stirring. He waited for his opportunity while the men ate a quick breakfast. Zorro's stomach growled; his provisions had been spoiled in the river the day before. Great patience was one of the things that had kept him alive the past few years, so he ignored the grumblings of his stomach and continued to watch. One of the vaqueros left the camp and Zorro saw the chance to make the odds a little better. The man had not taken ten steps beyond the campsite when Zorro grabbed him and knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword. Dragging him behind a boulder, he sat him upright against it. This will cause a little bit of consternation if someone investigates. He put the man's hat back on his head.

Zorro crept around the other side of the camp where the horses were tethered. They snorted but he soothed them with his reassuring voice. He cut the tethers of all of the horses but one. A saddle blanket and saddle were lying nearby; Zorro carried the tack over to the waiting horse. He stood quietly while he was saddled.

Undoing the final horse's tether, he gathered the reins, and swung into the saddle. With almost no noise, Zorro guided the horse away from the camp to determine how responsive he would be. The gelding reacted to his leg commands and Zorro was satisfied this horse would serve him all the way to Los Angeles. Gripping the pistol in one hand and his sword in the other, he kicked the horse into a gallop and yelling like a demon from an All Hallow's Eve celebration, charged into camp toward his pursuers, looking, he hoped, like some fiend from hell.

Laughing out loud, he realized that he felt like one. His yelling caused the remaining horses to scatter in all directions. One of the vaqueros was so startled he tripped over his saddle and fell among the embers of the dying fire. Screaming in pain, he stumbled out of camp. That left only three men to deal with. Zorro smiled broadly, the odds just kept getting better and better. The man closest to him reached for his pistol, but was unable to use it as Zorro slashed his arm with his sword. The other vaquero fired his pistol but the ball whizzed harmlessly past Zorro's head. Throwing his pistol away the vaquero drew his sword, as did Manuel.

The sporting thing, thought Zorro, would be to fight them on foot, but he didn't feel very sporting at the moment and he let the horse continue its wild rush. Catching Manuel's sword with his own he tossed it into the brush near the camp. The other vaquero lay in a heap where the horse had bowled him over. Zorro leaped from the horse and gathered up the two loaded pistols the vaqueros hadn't had a chance to use.

In desperation, Manuel grabbed another sword. He lunged and parried and pressed the outlaw back towards the fire. Zorro stumbled on the same saddle the vaquero had, but he caught himself. Leaping up, the outlaw began pressing Manuel, his sword flashing so fast that it became a blur in the early morning light.

Zorro realized, as he supposed Manuel had, that he was in no position to carry on a prolonged duel. The endless days in the saddle and the sleepless nights had taken their toll. This confrontation had to end quickly. He knew Manuel would probably never yield, but he had respect for the vaquero who had persisted in the chase all this time. Disengaging for a moment, Zorro paused for breath, "You are a worthy opponent, Señor. Let us each go our own way."

Manuel smiled. "Señor Zorro," he replied. "You have been a thorn in my flesh, but I still salute you, because you are the only man who has ever eluded me. You are indeed a fox." With that he continued the fight with increased vigor, advancing with the desperation of one who knows he can't win. Manuel lunged at the beleaguered bandit and that was when Zorro saw his chance. Parrying the vaquero's thrust just slightly, he lunged forward and pierced his opponent's shoulder with his blade, ending the fight. Manuel slid silently to the ground in shock, clutching the wound that bled between his fingers.

Zorro stood quietly, catching his breath for a few minutes. "Señor," he finally said, "I cannot kill one possessed of such honor, tenacity and sense of duty. I leave you to the care of your men." He cleaned and sheathed his sword, put the two pistols in his sash and mounted the horse. Making a quick salute, he rode in the direction of the Pueblo de Los Angeles.