The Lone Ranger, Tonto, and el Zorro

Pound. Pound. Pound.

His head was going to explode. He felt like he was on fire.

Pound. Pound. Pound.

Someone was pulling on his arms, forcing him to move. Where were they going? How had he gotten here? Why wouldn't his eyes open? A pain in his leg reminded him what had happened.

. . .

It had been storming for nearly three days by this time. Tonto was tired of having his feet sink into the mud and having to yank himself back out. He was ready to go back east, to Texas, or simply the desert area they had crossed, and leave the perpetuating deluge of this far west country. But John said they needed to go out here.

When they finally came into a town, there wasn't a bit of clothing they owned that wasn't dripping soaked.

John gave the reins of his horse, Silver, to Tonto so he could secure a room for them. Tonto quickly got the elegant steed and his bully of a mule under the shelter of the hotel stables. He removed the saddles and rummaged through the leather bags to find blankets to put on the beasts. Clothing them, he made sure they both got two handfuls of wheat and corn before snatching up the damp satchels. He returned to the hotel entrance and found John talking to the host.

"Gracias," John said dismissively at the end of their conversation. He gestured to Tonto to hand him his own bag.

"What is 'gracias'?" Tonto asked.

"It's Spanish," John replied, heading for the staircase, "We're in a Latin town. I don't know much of the language, but I reckon we can get by with the few phrases I do understand."

Tonto hummed. He followed up the stairs to their room. There was something off about this town. He couldn't put words to it but he had a strange feeling.

. . .

John was grateful for the nice, closed-in space of the restaurant they were in. He leaned back in the thinly padded chair. The rain thundered against the roof so loudly that it could be heard through the floor above and splashing into the flooded street two floors below.

Tonto was not quite as grateful, or if he was he had a strange way of showing the sentiment. He was more concerned with the suspicious glances they were receiving from every corner of the room. Certainly, the people of this "pueblo" as they called it, were polite enough to only cast those mistrusting stares when John and Tonto weren't looking. He was unnerved until the food arrived. It was that white, creamy stuff John called "gravy" on top of fluffy, white bread. As soon as Tonto took in the first whiff of that wonderful stuff, he forgot all about the staring.

They enjoyed their meal in peace for a grand total of ten minutes before gunshots suddenly interrupted. From the floor above, the crack of discharges and the groan of splintered wood echoed loudly. A loud thudding and crash alerted the bewildered audience to a section of the ceiling in the middle of the room that had collapsed, sending splinters showering down. Amongst the falling debris, a figure dressed in black descended. He landed lightly despite the fall and hastily took note of the room. He was wearing a mask much like John wore on his escapades as the Lone Ranger. His hat had fallen back, held on by a loose cord and his cloak was tattered around the edges with bullet holes. He ran towards the door but was stopped by the Mexican military who appeared on the threshold. The man in black shuffled backward and headed for the windows on the opposite wall. He maneuvered himself like a leaf in the wind so the soldiers could not get an adequate line of fire. The projectiles fired missed him by inches.

The masked man barely took the time to unlatch and open the shutters. Just as he began to vault out of the window, John drew his weapon. In a split second, the bullet found its way into the man's right leg, ripping through the muscles of his thigh. He made no sound as he fell down the two stories into the street.

John huffed and returned his pistol to its holster. He pulled himself out of his reclined posture and stood.

Tonto scampered to the window. He could barely make out the man on the ground. He was unable to stand. The soldiers swarmed him.

Tonto shot a worried expression to John, "John-"

John shook his head, keeping his eyes on the barely visible scene below.

"Who was that man?" He asked the room.

There was a moment of silence before a young waitress answered him in a harsh, accusing tone.

"He is el Zorro," she said, "He was our hero. You've killed him."

. . .

"What are we going to do, kemo sabe?" Tonto asked nervously.

They had returned to their room and had been frustratedly contemplating the consequences of what had happened. John had been informed by the patrons of the restaurant that "el Zorro" was working on behalf of the people of the village. Evidently, Don Pablo, the governor, was an unfair, conceited abuser and the man in black was stealing from him, liberating unjustly detained prisoners, and causing general grief for him and his military support.

And John had shot him.

"I don't know, yet," John responded absently. He was sitting by the window, gazing at the courthouse across the street. He wondered why there was even a courthouse in this pueblo. If what the citizens said was true, this Zorro character didn't stand much of a chance surviving imprisonment.

Tonto sighed dramatically, "We need to save him. Mask up, break him out, what we do in Texas."

John nodded slowly. He considered how they might do that. They didn't know the town well and they didn't know where the soldiers had taken Zorro. Since John had been the one who shot him, he may have some leeway with Don Pablo. The first thing they would need to do is map the town.

"Tonto, I need you to take your mule and map this place. I'm going to see Don Pablo and hopefully get him to let his guard down enough to find out where they're keeping Zorro. Then we're going to need an escape plan."

…

Pound… Pound… Pound…

He felt like he was walking, but he knew there was no way he could be. Someone was carrying him. Whoever it was, they were talking. The words made no sense.

Pound… Pound…

He knew where he was all of a sudden. He was back home with Bernard. His head had stopped throbbing.

Why was he there?

...

Tonto was waiting outside the hotel for John to come back. He had scoped out every street in the pueblo. He knew the fastest way to get from one place to another. Now all he had to do was find out which place they had to start from.

The rain had finally stopped. People were walking around the soggy streets carrying boxes of stuff. They couldn't use the carts because half of them had sunk in the mud. The girl from the restaurant who had addressed John like a vile taste was sweeping the clumped bits of filth off the patios. She looked sad.

Tonto observed her for a moment before finding that the same downtrodden posture was on everyone in the town.

John needed to hurry up.

The sharpshooter was thinking the same thing after the third closed door in the governor's house was finally opened to him. He really didn't appreciate the ridiculous security that Don Pablo had set up. Annoying, thorough, and potentially a giant pain in the ass if he decided to make a daring escape. Fortunately, it was the last door he would have to walk through.

Don Pablo was sitting at a desk with his back turned to the doorway. He was an average sized fellow, though he looked to be carrying more mass underneath his loose clothing than most men. He heard John and the guard escorting him enter but did not turn to address them. He simply waved his hand and the guard retreated outside the study.

John regarded the back of the man's head awkwardly. He was caught between demanding the respect of the other man turning to face him and introducing himself politely like his mother always told him to.

"I suppose you are the one I have to thank for getting that irksome criminal under control?" Don Pablo asked. He still hadn't looked at John.

"Maybe," John said, eyes narrowing with irritation, "If you wouldn't mind, sir, enlightening me on what exactly I've done. It seems the townspeople say one thing and your soldiers another regarding this Zorro character."

Now he turned around. His face was deeply lined but surprisingly unweathered. He chewed his words almost maliciously, "El Zorro is a criminal. He has killed more of my soldiers than any other enemy I have had. He has stolen from me, destroyed my silver mines, derailed trains carrying supplies. He is violent and unreasonable. The only reason I have not been able to catch him until now is that he keeps his identity hidden. That, and he merited the title 'el Zorro'. I am impressed you were able to shoot him."

John rolled his shoulders and tried to stay relaxed, "Speaking of shooting him, what are you planning to have done with him?"

An evil grin spread across the old man's face. John had only imagined smiles as evil before but now he had seen it.

"What befits his crimes. He is a thief, so he will be whipped as one. He is also a murderer, so he will be hanged as one."

"You're going to whip a man and then hang him?"

"Yes, the people must know that this kind of insubordination will not be tolerated in my village," Don Pablo stood, "If you have issue with the law, stranger, I suggest you continue on your journey before the dawn."

...

"We have to do something now!" Tonto almost shouted.

John slapped one hand over his partner's mouth and used the other to push him out of sight of the street. They were inside the stables, which were still slogged and made their feet sink a good four inches.

"We will do something," John whispered, "But we can't very well bust a man out of prison if we don't know where the prison is."

"Someone will know where the governor is keeping him," Tonto reasoned, "Maybe one of the villagers will tell us."

"Maybe," John thought for a moment. He shook his head, "What if we get them involved and Don Pablo decides to start shooting them? Talking to the man earlier gave me the impression he cares more about keeping them under control than anything else. I think he's going to make a public spectacle of Zorro to discourage them."

Tonto wrinkled his nose, "Why is he still alive?"

"He has an army at his disposal."

"Why does he have an army? How do evil men always have armies?"

"I don't know," John threw his hands up, "Let's skip the philosophizing for now and concentrate! We can't get anyone in town involved in this, we can't snoop around because Don Pablo will get suspicious. Where can we find Zorro?"

Tonto thought. He snapped his fingers and said, "Oh! I saw gallows behind the courthouse! If he is to be hanged, he will be there."

John grimaced, "I think once he's hanging it's a little late to save him."

"No! Before that! We can stop them before he is killed."

"And how exactly are we going to save him from a yard full soldiers he's in the middle of?"

Tonto paused, "We could...um..."

John shook his head again. He rubbed the back of his neck. If only retrospect could change past actions. Now these poor people were going to have to watch their hero be beaten and killed... wait.

"That yard will be full of people," John thought out loud.

"So? We can't do anything to get them hurt. It's like an army of unarmed children: useless."

"Yeah..." John continued, "Suppose we could use that. We could blend into the crowd. Then I could cover you while you get Zorro and we could escape by blending back into the people."

Tonto frowned, "Crossfire?"

"Are there walls around the courtyard?"

"Yes,"

"Then I'll be up on the walls and the soldiers won't be shooting at the crowd."

"And how will you get down?" Tonto asked with more than a little doubt in his tone. John wasn't the most graceful.

"I'll come up with something, don't worry about it," John started to leave, "I'm going to make sure Don Pablo gets that yard packed full. I need you to find a wagon and spare clothes, a jacket and a hat. We'll put the wagon and the steeds at the start of our escape route. It needs to be inconspicuous enough that the Mexicans don't think anything of it."

"Wagon, clothes, inconspicuous," Tonto repeated, "Escape route. Don't get caught."

...

Securing a wagon was the most difficult part of his tasks. Tonto checked all of the roads and eventually found a quick way to the highway that wouldn't get them stuck in mud. His only issue was that none of the citizens wanted to lend their wagons to a stranger. He had only found two wagons that were the right size, anyway. He was considering finding a way to tie somebody onto the back of his mule.

He was brushing the temperamental creature when a voice behind him nearly stopped his heart.

"Excuse me?" A sweet, little voice practically cooed behind him.

Tonto jumped and whirled around to face the same girl from the restaurant. He stammered, "H-Ho... What?"

"What do you need a wagon for?" she asked bluntly, "You haven't got anything to carry."

"Not yet," Tonto answered, "Have you got a wagon?"

"No, but I can get one," she said, "If you tell me what you're going to be carrying."

Tonto eyed her sideways, "I think you already know."

Her face immediately lifted with a bright smile, "You are going to save him?"

"It's only fair, isn't it?"

The girl jumped up and down, spun around, and started running off, "I will get your wagon!"

...

There was this word John liked to use that meant you were doing something stupid. It started with a "b". What was that word? I would fit perfectly with what they were doing now. Tonto was shifting nervously in the crowd, thinking about what that word was.

Everyone around him looked like they were one ill-timed shout away from storming right through the ranks of soldiers standing on the wooden platform. This was going to go very wrong very quickly.

To be continued