Earlier that day

Storm clouds gathered against the horizon, dark and ominous against the evening sky. A cloud of dust streaked toward them, across the hard packed clay of the desert, stirred by the hooves of a large black stallion. Zorro laughed as Tornado leapt over a large tumbleweed, clearing the obstacle with ease and striking the ground with a renewed burst of speed. The air was charged and alive, the warm winds carrying the scent of rain, sage and ozone. His father was predicting the storm to be a strong one, claiming that his old shoulder wound was never wrong. Whenever it began to ache, Don Alejandro went into battle mode, dictating orders to prepare the hacienda against the approaching threat.

He'd barely managed to escape the flurry of last minute tasks by ducking into the passage in the library. Tornado required exercising if the storm was to be as bad as his father thought. A bored horse was not a happy horse. For anyone involved. Particularly true of Tornado. It had taken weeks to set everything right again after the last time a storm had plagued the pueblo, and to order a new leather bridle to replace the one the stallion had used as a chew toy. He hoped that if he wore Tornado down with a long run that the horse might be content to enjoy a peaceful rest. If nothing else, it allowed Bernardo time to remove all temptations from the main cavern.

Movement caught his eye in the distance and Zorro slowed the stallion to a walk, easing them closer to edge of the cliff, a wide grin sliding across his face.

"Look there, Tornado. It appears that Sergeant Garcia and Corporal Reyes have returned from San Diego." Mischief danced in his dark eyes. "Shall we go and welcome them home?"

Tornado tossed his head, as if in agreement, and his master laughed. They turned away from the edge, toward the path which led to the canyon. Behind them, and far below, a second cloud of dust appeared, a single rider racing in the direction of the soldiers with great haste.


Sergeant Garcia studied the storm with weary gaze. It had been a long day, a very long day, and his back hurt and his seat was sore from riding so long. He had hoped to reach Los Angeles with enough time to enjoy a warm meal and perhaps a bottle of wine at the tavern, but it didn't look likely. He had witnessed many storms in his years at the garrison in Los Angeles, some were small and good, and some not so small and not so good. By appearances, this storm looked to be the later.

He was not looking forward to the days to come. Their new Commandante was a good man. A man who believed that the army should help and protect the people, which was a good thing; however, at the moment, it likely meant a very long and wet and muddy night. He cast a glance over his shoulder at his lancers. Corporal Reyes was studying the distant clouds with distrust in his droopy eyes. He too had witnessed many such storms. Privates Mendoza and Sanchez, in contrast to their superior officers, watched the building clouds with the eagerness and excitement characteristic of the young, before it was dulled by time and experience. It made Garcia feel very old and very tired.

"I think we should hurry, Sergeant." Reyes called out above the wind, clutching his hat to his head as a fresh gust of wind assailed the men.

Garcia studied the horizon, and he nodded in agreement with his second.

"We will return along the canyon road." He ordered. "If it is not flooded." He added under his breath.

Even from a distance, the rains could cause the dry stream beds in the canyons to rise into raging torrents. If there was any chance for trouble, it would be at the place where the main highway dipped into the bed of the Snake Canyon. It was safe enough to travel in the dry season when the river was only a small stream and could easily be crossed, but when the storm season came, even the best of riders chose to take the longer road through the foothills, though it nearly doubled the journey.

"Sergeant!"

Garcia turned to face the road, following Reyes gesture to a small cloud of dust on the trail ahead. As it grew nearer, a lanky brown mule emerged with a small boy clinging to its broad back. The boy was barefoot and dressed as a peon. His eyes were wide and fearful beneath a mop of dark hair, and he struggled against Garcia as the man caught the reigns, the rest circling the two.

"Easy, little one, we will not harm you." Garcia soothed. "Where are your parents? You should not be out here on your own, especially not when a storm is coming."

"My family needs help, soldier! Please, you must help them! The water came up and caught the wagon!" The boy tugged at the reigns. "My mother and sister are trapped! You must come!"

Garcia's great heart sank at the boy's words, but he hid it well as he released the reigns and waved forward. "Lead us to them, NiƱo. Lancers, advance."

The boy turned the mule and urged it into a lope, glancing back once to see if the soldiers were following before plunging down into the canyon. Garcia urged his horse into a run and prayed they were not too late.