ON THE HEELS OF THE STORM
In came a gust of wind and rain and a man with it, and the candles
flickered and one was extinguished. This sudden entrance in the midst
of the sergeant's boast startled them all; and Gonzales drew his blade
halfway from its scabbard as his words died in his throat. The native
was quick to close the door again to keep out the wind.
The newcomer turned and faced them; the landlord gave another sigh of
relief. It was not Señor Zorro, of course. It was Don Diego Vega, a
fair youth of excellent blood and twenty-four years, noted the length
of El Camino Real for his small interest in the really important things
of life.
"Ha!" Gonzales cried, and slammed his blade home.
"Is it that I startled you somewhat, _señores_?" Don Diego asked
politely and in a thin voice, glancing around the big room and nodding
to the men before him.
"If you did, _señor_, it was because you entered on the heels of the
storm," the sergeant retorted. "'Twould not be your own energy that
would startle any man!"
"H-m!" grunted Don Diego, throwing aside his sombrero and flinging off
his soaked serape. "Your remarks border on the perilous, my raucous
friend."
"Can it be that you intend to take me to task?"
"It is true," continued Don Diego, "that I do not have a reputation
for riding like a fool at risk of my neck, fighting like an idiot with
every newcomer, and playing the guitar under every woman's window
like a simpleton. Yet I do not care to have these things you deem my
shortcomings flaunted in my face!"
"Ha!" Gonzales cried, half in anger.
"We have an agreement, Sergeant Gonzales, that we can be friends, and I
can forget the wide difference in birth and breeding that yawns between
us only as long as you curb your tongue and stand my comrade. Your
boasts amuse me, and I buy for you the wine that you crave--it is a
pretty arrangement. But ridicule me again, _señor_, either in public or
private, and the agreement is at an end. I may mention that I have some
small influence--"
"Your pardon, _caballero_ and my very good friend!" the alarmed
Sergeant Gonzales cried now. "You are storming worse than the tempest
outside, and merely because my tongue happened to slip. Hereafter, if
any man ask, you are nimble of wit and quick with a blade, always ready
to fight or to make love. You are a man of action, _caballero_! Ha!
Does any dare doubt it?"
He glared around the room, half drawing his blade again, and then
he slammed the sword home and threw back his head and roared with
laughter, and then clapped Don Diego between the shoulders; and the
fat landlord hurried with more wine, knowing well that Don Diego Vega
would stand the score.
For this peculiar friendship between Don Diego and Sergeant Gonzales
was the talk of El Camino Real. Don Diego came from a family of blood
that ruled over thousands of broad acres, countless herds of horses
and cattle, great fields of grain. Don Diego, in his own right, had a
_hacienda_ that was like a small empire, and a house in the _pueblo_
also, and was destined to inherit from his father more than thrice what
he had now.
But Don Diego was unlike the other full-blooded youths of the times. It
appeared that he disliked action. He seldom wore his blade, except as
a matter of style and apparel. He was damnably polite to all women and
paid court to none.
He sat in the sun and listened to the wild tales of other men--and now
and then he smiled. He was the opposite of Sergeant Pedro Gonzales
in all things, and yet they were together frequently. It was as Don
Diego had said--he enjoyed the sergeant's boasts, and the sergeant
enjoyed the free wine. What more could either ask in the way of a fair
arrangement?
Now Don Diego went to stand before the fire and dry himself, holding
a mug of red wine in one hand. He was only medium in size, yet he
possessed health and good looks, and it was the despair of proud
_dueñas_ that he would not glance a second time at the pretty
_señoritas_ they protected, and for whom they sought desirable
husbands.
Gonzales, afraid that he had angered his friend and that the free wine
would be at an end, now strove to make peace.
"_Caballero_, we have been speaking of this notorious Señor Zorro,"
he said. "We have been regarding in conversation this fine Curse of
Capistrano, as some nimble-witted fool has seen fit to term the pest of
the highway."
"What about him?" Don Diego asked, putting down his wine mug and hiding
a yawn behind his hand. Those who knew Don Diego best declared he
yawned tenscore times a day.
"I have been remarking, _caballero_," said the sergeant, "that this
fine Señor Zorro never appears in my vicinity, and that I am hoping the
good saints will grant me the chance of facing him some fine day, that
I may claim the reward offered by the governor. Señor Zorro, eh? Ha!"
"Let us not speak of him," Don Diego begged, turning from the fireplace
and throwing out one hand as if in protest. "Shall it be that I never
hear of anything except deeds of bloodshed and violence? Would it be
possible in these turbulent times for a man to listen to words of
wisdom regarding music or the poets?"
"Meal-mush and goat's milk!" snorted Sergeant Gonzales in huge disgust.
"If this Señor Zorro wishes to risk his neck, let him. It is his own
neck, by the saints! A cutthroat! A thief! Ha!"
"I have been hearing considerable concerning his work," Don Diego went
on to say. "The fellow, no doubt, is sincere in his purpose. He has
robbed none except officials who have stolen from the missions and the
poor, and punished none except brutes who mistreat natives. He has
slain no man, I understand. Let him have his little day in the public
eye, my sergeant."
"I would rather have the reward!"
"Earn it!" Don Diego said. "Capture the man!"
"Ha! Dead or alive, the governor's proclamation says. I myself have
read it."
"Then stand you up to him and run him through, if such a thing pleases
you," Don Diego retorted. "And tell me all about it afterward--but
spare me now!"
"It will be a pretty story!" Gonzales cried. "And you shall have it
entire, _caballero_, word by word! How I played with him, how I laughed
at him as we fought, how I pressed him back after a time and ran him
through--"
"Afterward--but not now!" Don Diego cried, exasperated. "Landlord, more
wine! The only manner in which to stop this raucous boaster is to make
his wide throat so slick with wine that the words cannot climb out of
it!"
The landlord quickly filled the mugs. Don Diego sipped at his wine
slowly, as a gentleman should, while Sergeant Gonzales took his in two
great gulps. And then the scion of the house of Vega stepped across to
the bench and reached for his sombrero and his serape.
"What?" the sergeant cried. "You are going to leave us at such an
early hour, _caballero_? You are going to face the fury of that beating
storm?"
"At least, I am brave enough for that," Don Diego replied, smiling. "I
but ran over from my house for a pot of honey. The fools feared the
rain too much to fetch me some this day from the _hacienda_. Get me
one, landlord."
"I shall escort you safely home through the rain!" Sergeant Gonzales
cried, for he knew full well that Don Diego had excellent wine of age
there.
"You shall remain here before the roaring fire!" Don Diego told him
firmly. "I do not need an escort of soldiers from the _presidio_ to
cross the plaza. I am going over accounts with my secretary, and
possibly may return to the tavern after we have finished. I wanted the
pot of honey that we might eat as we worked."
"Ha! And why did you not send that secretary of yours for the honey,
_caballero_? Why be wealthy and have servants, if a man cannot send
them on errands on such a stormy night?"
"He is an old man and feeble," Don Diego explained. "He also is
secretary to my aged father. The storm would kill him. Landlord, serve
all here with wine and put it to my account. I may return when my books
have been straightened."
Don Diego Vega picked up the pot of honey, wrapped his serape around
his head, opened the door, and plunged into the storm and darkness.
"There goes a man!" Gonzales cried, flourishing his arms. "He is my
friend, that _caballero_, and I would have all men know it! He seldom
wears a blade, and I doubt whether he can use one--but he is my friend!
The flashing dark eyes of lovely _señoritas_ do not disturb him, yet I
swear he is a pattern of a man!
"Music and the poets, eh? Ha! Has he not the right, if such is his
pleasure? Is he not Don Diego Vega? Has he not blue blood and broad
acres and great storehouses filled with goods? Is he not liberal? He
may stand on his head or wear petticoats, if it please him--yet I swear
he is a pattern of a man!"
The soldiers echoed his sentiments since they were drinking Don Diego's
wine and did not have the courage to combat the sergeant's statements,
anyway. The fat landlord served them with another round since Don Diego
would pay. For it was beneath a Vega to look at his score in a public
tavern, and the fat landlord many times had taken advantage of this
fact.
"He cannot endure the thought of violence or bloodshed," Sergeant
Gonzales continued. "He is as gentle as a breeze of spring. Yet he has
a firm wrist and a deep eye. It merely is the _caballero's_ manner of
seeing life. Did I but have his youth and good looks and riches-- Ha!
There would be a stream of broken hearts from San Diego de Alcála to
San Francisco de Asis!"
"And broken heads!" the corporal offered.
"Ha! And broken heads, comrade! I would rule the country! No youngster
should stand long in my way. Out with blade and at them! Cross Pedro
Gonzales, eh? Ha! Through the shoulder--neatly! Ha! Through a lung!"
Gonzales was upon his feet now, and his blade had leaped from its
scabbard. He swept it back and forth through the air, thrust, parried,
lunged, advanced and retreated, shouted his oaths and roared his
laughter as he fought with shadows.
"That is the manner of it!" he screeched at the fireplace. "What have
we here? Two of you against one? So much the better, _señores_! We love
brave odds! Ha! Have at you, dog! Die, hound! One side, poltroon!"
He reeled against the wall, gasping, his breath almost gone, the
point of his blade resting on the floor, his great face purple with
the exertion and the wine he had consumed, while the corporal and the
soldiers and the fat landlord laughed long and loudly at this bloodless
battle from which Sergeant Pedro Gonzales had emerged the unquestioned
victor.
"Were--were this fine Señor Zorro only before me here and now!" the
sergeant gasped.
And again the door was opened suddenly and a man entered the inn on a
gust of the storm!