“Sergeant Garcia!” Arturo snapped from his horse while he and Garcia rode through the quiet countryside of California. They dragged Juan behind them, ropes tied around his wrists.
Jumping, Garcia opened his eyes and quickly asked, “Sí, comandante?” He almost fell off his horse but caught himself before he could.
“Were you sleeping, you buffoon?” Arturo questioned as he twirled his mustache around his finger some more.
“Oh! Absolutely not!” Garcia argued with a nervous chuckle. “I was just… um… thinking about how this plan to capture Zorro will play out. Yeah, yeah.”
“Estúpido,” Arturo said. “I should’ve chosen Corporal Reyes over you.”
“I should warn you, comandante, he’s stupider than me,” Garcia admitted. “The de la Vega’s servant is still comfortably behind us.” He tugged on the rope he held to pull Juan close to him and Arturo. “A thousand apologies, señor,” Garcia said when he accidentally dragged Juan into a cactus in the middle of the dirt road.
Little to the men’s knowledge, Zorro was already waiting for them further up the road. Still trapped in a never-ending smile, he propped one knee on Tornado’s neck and held his sword in his left hand. Thanks to his uniform and Tornado’s coat, they blended well with the midnight scenery.
The second Garcia and Arturo, still arguing, stepped onto his turf, Zorro said, “Buenas noches, señores.”
“Zorro!” Arturo said, shocked.
“Ah, Señor Zorro!” Garcia cheered. “We knew you’d come.”
“I always come, Sergeant,” Zorro laughed. “Young de la Vega came to me and said he was missing his servant. So, tell me, what are you and the comandante doing with Mr. Juan there?”
“Please, señor,” Juan begged, putting his hands together, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Zorro said nothing. Instead, he gave Juan a quick Diego wink.
Garcia glanced at Juan and explained, “Oh, Señor Zorro, we were hoping we could use him as bait to capture you.”
“Estúpido!” Arturo screamed. “We weren’t supposed to tell him that!”
“Oh!” Garcia said, blushing under his beard. “I mean—if you want this man back, Señor Zorro, you’re going to have to go through me!” He flimsily released his sword from its scabbard and held it up to Zorro, but Zorro merely smacked it out of his hand, and the sword landed beside Garcia’s mount.
“I must say, Arturo,” Zorro admitted, “you’re executing a very poor trap here. I would think you would choose someone smarter to back you up.”
“Hey,” Garcia whined, patting his big belly.
“Shut up!” Arturo snapped at him. He stole Juan from Garcia and forced him to stand beside him. “Actually, Zorro, this is all going exactly as planned.” Arturo drew his sword with his free hand and aimed straight for Tornado’s chest. At the same time, he pushed Juan into the fray.
Zorro’s instincts to protect himself and his mount kicked in. He threw his sword at Arturo’s, but Arturo dropped his weapon at the last second, leaving Juan an open target.
Zorro’s sword went right through Juan’s chest cavity and emerged on the other side of it, covered in warm, red liquid.
“No!” Diego, not Zorro, yelled. Instantly, he let his sword go right when Juan collapsed to the ground—both hands clutching the sword hilt. “No,” Diego repeated, a bit quieter that time. His breathing intensified to the point he hyperventilated. His chest cavity hurt as an invisible arrow stabbed his heart, but it did not resemble the pattern of Cupid’s heart.
Arturo smirked. “Well, thank you, señor, for letting me use that worthless servant as a shield. Garcia did his part well.”
“You… you,” Diego stammered, glancing at Garcia.
“I’m sorry, Señor Zorro,” he said, “but we had to find your weakness.” He gave him a feeble smile. “It looks like we did.”
“We have you surrounded, El Zorro,” Arturo growled. “What are you going to do?”
Shaking his head, Zorro said, “I’m just going to say one thing, capitán. The world does not deserve people like you.” His breathing still unsteady, he lifted his hand and rubbed his eye.
“Hee, hee, hee,” Arturo giggled, and he nudged Garcia. “We definitely found his weakness, Garcia.”
“Sí,” Garcia said in a low voice.
Tornado whinnied. He leaped onto his back legs and kicked at Arturo, causing Zorro to fall off. He did not attempt to stay on.
Tornado backed Arturo and Garcia away from him until their backs hit a small cluster of cactuses off the side of the road.
While his horse distracted them, Zorro crawled to the dying Juan. His gloved hand clutched his friend’s bare one, and he said, “I’m sorry, Juan. I-I didn’t mean to.”
“Diego,” Juan sputtered, resting his hand on Zorro’s cheek, “thank you… for everything you did for me. Te-Tell my family I lo-love them.” Just like that, his hand dropped from Diego’s cheek and hit the blood-smeared path.
Tornado peered over his shoulder at his rider and gave one last whinny. He cantered away from Garcia and Arturo, picked up Diego with his nose, and tossed him onto his back. The horse and his rider rushed off the scene and back into the shadowy curtain they emerged from before.
“Should we go after him?” Garcia asked Arturo.
“Nah,” he giggled, twirling his mustache again. “Our work here is done, Garcia. I doubt California will see their Zorro ever again.”
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