PEDRO THE BOASTER.
Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, a giant of a wine-guzzling soldier whose
heart was as large as his capacity for liquor, was known as “Pedro the
Boaster.” When there were military duties to be done he was to be found
at his post in the _presidio_, but at other times one found him at the
village _posada_, sitting before the big fireplace and remaking the
world with words.
On this moonlight night, Sergeant Pedro Gonzales crossed the plaza
with a corporal and a couple of soldiers, entered the inn, and called
in a loud voice for the landlord to fetch wine and be quick about it.
The sergeant had learned long since that the fat landlord held him in
terror, and did he but act surly and displeased he received excellent
service.
“Landlord, you are as fat as your wine is thin!” Sergeant Pedro
declared, sprawling at one of the tables. “I have a suspicion now and
then that you keep a special wineskin for me, and mix water with my
drink.”
“_Señor!_” the landlord protested.
“We honest soldiers are stationed here to protect you from liars and
thieves and dishonest travelers up and down El Camino Real, and you
treat us like the dirt beneath your boots.”
“_Señor!_ I have the greatest respect――”
“One of these fine days,” Gonzales interrupted, “there will be trouble.
Some gentleman of the highway will approach you with an idea of
robbery, and you’ll shriek for the soldiery. And then, fat one, I may
remember the watered wine, and be busy elsewhere!”
“But I protest――” the landlord began.
“More wine!” the sergeant shouted. “Must I get out my blade and carve
your wineskins――or your own skin? More wine of the best, and you’ll
get your pay when I get mine, if it is an honest score you keep. If my
friend, Don Diego Vega, was here――!”
“That same friend of yours makes merry a little later in the evening,”
the landlord said, as he went to fill the wine cups. “To-morrow he is
to take a bride.”
“Pig, do you suppose I do not know it?” Gonzales screeched. “Think you
that I have been asleep these past few months? Was I not in the thick
of it when Don Diego Vega played at being Señor Zorro?”
“You were in the thick of it,” the corporal admitted, with a touch of
sarcasm in his voice.
“Ha!” cried the sergeant. “There was a turbulent time for you! Here in
this very room I fought him, blade to blade, thinking that he was some
stinking highwayman. And just as I was getting the better of it――”
“How is this?” the corporal shrieked.
“Just as I was getting the better of the blade match,” Gonzales
reaffirmed, glaring at the corporal, “back he went and dashed through
the door! And thereafter he set the town about its own ears for some
time to come.”
“It occurs to me that I saw that fight,” the corporal declared. “If you
were getting the best of it at any stage, then were mine eyes at fault.”
“I know a man,” said the sergeant, darkly, “who will do extra guard
duty for a score of days.”
“Ha!” the corporal grunted. “You do not like plain speech!”
“I do not like a soldier to make mock of his superiors,” the sergeant
replied. “It were unseemly for me to make remarks, for instance,
concerning our _commandante_, Captain Ramón, but let it be said
that he fought this Señor Zorro, too. And Captain Ramón wears on his
forehead Zorro’s mark. You will notice that there is no carved Z on my
face!”
“Ha!” the corporal grunted again. “It were best, sergeant, to voice
such remarks inwardly. The _commandante_ is not proud of the mark he
wears.”
Gonzales changed the subject. “The wine!” he thundered. “It goes well
on a moonlight night, the same as on a stormy one. But moonlight is a
poor business save for lovesick swains. ’Tis no night for a soldier.
Would one expect thieves to descend through the moonlight?”
“There be pirates,” the corporal said.
“Pirates!” Gonzales’s great fist descended and met the table with a
crash, sending the wine cups bouncing. “Pirates! You have noticed no
pirates in Reina de Los Angeles, have you? They have not been playing
around the _presidio_, have they? I am not saying that they know I am
stationed here, however―― Meal mush and goat’s milk! Pirates is my
dish!”
“The town grows wealthy, and they may come,” the corporal said.
“You fear? You tremble?” Gonzales cried. “Are you soldier or _fray_?
Pirates! By the saints, I would that they came! My sword arm grows fat
from little use.”
“Talk not of pirates!” the landlord begged. “Suppose they did come?”
“And what if they did?” Gonzales demanded. “Am I not here, dolt? Are
there not soldiers? Pirates? Ha!”
He sprang to his feet, those same feet spread wide apart. His hand
darted down, and he whipped out his blade.
“That for a pirate!” he shouted, and made a mighty thrust at the
wall. “This for a pirate!” And he slashed through the air, his blade
whistling so that the corporal and soldiers sprang backward, and the
four or five natives who happened to be in the inn cringed in a corner.
“Pirates!” cried Gonzales. “I would I could meet one this very night!
We grew stale from inaction. There is too much peace in the world! Meal
mush and goat’s milk!”
The door opened suddenly. Sergeant Gonzales stopped in the middle of
a sentence, and his blade stopped in the middle of an arc. And then
the sergeant and the other soldiers snapped to attention, for the
_commandante_ was before them.
“Sergeant Gonzales!” Captain Ramón commanded.
“_Sí!_”
“I could hear you shouting half way across the plaza. If you wish to
meet a pirate, perhaps you may have your wish. Rumors have been brought
by natives. Mount your men and proceed along El Camino Real toward the
south. Search the country well, once you are four or five miles from
the town. It is a bright moonlight night, and men may be seen at a
great distance.”
“It is an order!” the sergeant admitted.
“Leave but one man at the _presidio_ as guard. Return before dawn. Have
my best horse made ready, as I ride out to a _hacienda_ for a visit.
Go!”
“_Sí!_” Sergeant Gonzales grunted. He motioned to the soldiers, and
they hurried through the door. He sheathed his sword, and when the back
of Captain Ramón was turned for an instant he tossed off the wine that
had been before him, and hurried after his men. The _commandante_ drew
off his gloves and sat at one of the tables.
Gonzales led the way across the plaza and toward the _presidio_. He was
growling low down in his throat.
“This is a fine state of affairs!” he said. “Ride all night and kick up
the dust! Back before dawn with nothing done!”
“But you wanted pirates,” the corporal protested.
“Think you they will stand in the middle of El Camino Real and await
our pleasure?” Gonzales growled. “What pirate would be abroad a night
like this? Could we but meet some――ha! There is a special reward for
pirates!”
Even before they had reached the entrance of the _presidio_, he began
shouting his orders. Torches flared, and men ran to prepare the horses.
Fifteen minutes later, with Gonzales at their head, they rode across
the plaza and out upon El Camino Real, their mounts snorting, their
sabers rattling.
From the crest of a slope a few hundred yards away, Barbados and his
evil crew watched them depart upon their mounts.