Chapter 16

As the sun sank low on the horizon, Don Sebastian had set his plan in motion. His vaqueros were all busy with chores on the other side of the hacienda by design. Earlier, he had issued firm orders that every saddle was to be given a good saddle soaping and every bridle was to be polished. The vaqueros had been provided with a nice variety of refreshments under shade trees on the opposite side of the house. Most had chosen, as he knew they would, to take their work there rather than work in the confines of the stables. He had taken the horses from his stables, one by one, into the adjacent corral. The building was now mostly cleared of its valuable contents.

Now he set about creating his own customized firetrap. Allowing for a specific escape route, he scattered lamp oil on straw scattered along pre-determined lines through the stables. His eyes kept a close watch on the ever-darkening horizon. Making sure that no one would have a chance to enter after him was the hardest part, so most of his efforts had been put into this. Straw and dry wood was heaped all around the entrance and at the windows. Surely it would make a wall of fire quickly.

Through the window, he saw the sun dip down low, leaving only a thin crescent peeping over the earth's edge, and he knew it was time. He looked about him one last tim, and then he began lighting his fire. He ran swiftly across the yard to the stash of clothing and began to change quickly. He could already smell the smoke. He had just finished adjusting the mask in place when he heard someone shout an alarm of "Fire!"

The vaqueros were coming around from the side of the hacienda as he made a show of flinging the cape and hat to the ground, preparing to rush inside. He shouted, "Stay back! I'll get the horses out!" Hoping silently that the shouting itself would disguise his voice enough to pass for Zorro's, he waved them to stop and he entered the burning building.

The smoke was thicker than he'd expected. As he ran through to the back, he helped the fire's destructive nature by knocking over even more of the bottles of lamp oil he'd previously placed throughout the path. The fire burned fast and furiously, and by the time he reached the rear door he had chosen for his escape, he had shed the last of the black clothing and was now dressed as Don Sebastian once more.

He ran around to the front of the burning stables. Many of the men were already throwing buckets of water at the blaze and some had even dipped bandannas in the water in preparation of trying to get inside to see what they could do. Flames licked out through every opening in the wood and the smoke was thick in the air.

"No, no, you mustn't! I will not have any of you risk your lives!"

"But, Sir! Zorro is in there."

Confusion reigned, as he had known it would. Vaqueros were yelling to one another. Everyone seemed to be running about shouting.

"Sir! He hasn't come out!"

Another man shouted, "He must've gotten the horses out. But I don't see him anywhere!"

The flames leapt higher.

"I am ordering you all! Do not go in there!" he shouted to his men. When he turned and saw their horrified faces, his words softened. "Perhaps he got out on the other side." And it was at that point that a large part of the roof caved in, sending sparks flying high.

One lone vaquero shook his head. "I don't see how, Don Sebastian. I don't see how."

The building burned. A solemn stillness settled on the watching crowd. They knew a hero had died.

But the black satin clad form of the hero was, at that moment, sitting elegantly on a brocade-covered love seat in the de la Vega hacienda. His eyes perusing the parchment signed by His most Catholic Majesty, the King of Spain.

"This is incredible," he said simply. "Why do you think the King would sign such a document?" He looked not at the lawyer but at Don Alejandro for an answer.

"I requested it for you, it is true. I had always thought it strange that my letters to Spain had never brought any results. The close friendship that has always existed between the de la Vegas and the royal family...well... I would think the King would trust my judgment enough to do this. I am just grateful that apparently one of my entreaties to the King made it past the alcalde and actually reached Spain."

"I thank you for this, Don Alejandro. Whatever happens, it is good to know that my slate has been cleaned. But, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I will leave the details of all this in your capable hands. Your expertise in such matters clearly exceeds mine, Señor Olvera. Con Permiso!" And with the salutation, Zorro abruptly left the room.

"Whatever happens'! What did he mean by that?" Sergeant Mendoza was the first to speak. "Doesn't he know what this means? He's free! I thought he'd be...happy!"

"He did seem to be in a rather dismal mood." Olvera stared at the floor.

Don Alejandro suspected Zorro's health, more than his mood, to be the reason for his behavior and he made excuses. "Gentlemen, you know how hard he took the death of the alcalde. I don't think he has come to terms with his part in the death yet on a personal level. Why don't I go talk to him. Will you excuse me?"

He found the young man face down across the bed.

"Zorro, are you awake?"

"Barely," came the whispered response. "I'm sorry, but I felt so..."

"Do you have a wound that needs tending?" Don Alejandro hovered.

"No, I just ... maybe it was something I ate...I..."

"Now, why don't I believe that?" Alejandro reached for a booted foot. Within minutes, before Zorro could manage to object, he was also reaching for his hands to pull off the gloves. He meant to ready the man properly for bed and to find the wound he knew existed. The right glove slipped off easily, but a tug on the left glove elicited a gasp from the prostrate man.

"Ahh, so this is it!" Alejandro kept a firm grasp on the hand and slowly peeled the glove from the hand. He could see the cuts in the leather that had been made and knew that the hand would be swollen before he actually saw it. But when he removed the soiled bandage, the discoloration was a shock. "Snakebite!" He shook his head in despair.

"Scorpion," came the voice from the bed.

"How long has it been?" Alejandro set about washing the hand with cool water from the pitcher on the stand.

"Almost a day. The worst is over. I will be fine."

"Yes, you will. But I'm sure you are not doing 'fine' at just this minute. I'll send Maria to you with —"

"Not some of that nasty medic—" Zorro stopped in mid protest. How could he slip like that! But his head was throbbing and his mind clouded. It was so hard to think clearly. Maybe his father hadn't noticed.

"Yes, exactly." If Alejandro had noticed, he made no sign of it. "Some of that nasty medicine! It will ensure that you get some good rest. By tomorrow, you'll be doing better. I'm going to leave it un-bandaged for now. The cuts have closed nicely. Tell me, where did you go last night? Were you out there helping us with that ill-conceived 'attack' on the hacienda?"

"No, they had Victoria. I had to—"

"Is she all right?"

"Yes, it was she who ended up rescuing me."

"A wonderful girl! Now that you are a free man, you will be able to keep your promise to her."

"Hmm. But there may be complications."

"Complications?" Alejandro sensed something wrong here. But it was clear the young man was not up to talking. "Well, I'll send Maria. Do you think you could eat something? I suspect you haven't had anything today."

But there was no answer. Zorro was now nicely tucked in bed for the night. Alejandro couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Well, I guess you escaped that nasty medicine for right now," he whispered to the sleeping man. "But I'll be back later tonight and give you a dose. Sleep is the best thing for you right now and you're going to have it whether you like it or not!"