An Ambush For Zorro - Figure Out Trap

There he visited for a time with aged Fray Felipe, the tenderhearted Franciscan who attended to all religious matters for the Vega family. When their talk ended, the padre went with Diego to the door and stood there with him. He had christened Diego and watched him grow to manhood, and being Diego’s confessor knew things about him which other men did not know.

As they talked, there was a sudden commotion at the corner of the plaza. In from the south along the muddy highway rolled four lumbering ox-drawn carts piled high with goods. Some trader’s outfit, Diego supposed, that had been caught on the highway by the storm. The oxen and the high solid wooden wheels of the carts were plastered with mud. The men who goaded the oxen were wet and muddy also.

Ahead of this small caravan rode the trader on a good horse. He was yelling, and his long whip cracked, not at the patient laboring oxen, but at the backs of four men who staggered along a few feet ahead of him.

Diego and the padre saw at a glance that the four men were peons or natives dressed in rags, their feet bare. Even the continual application of the whip did not make them flinch and shiver more than the damp cold that had penetrated to their bones. They plodded along like dumb cattle, their heads bent, their countenances indicative of a state of utter hopelessness.

“What beast in human form is this?” Diego muttered, as he watched the infuriated face of the trader.

The carts were coming slowly along the side of the plaza, past the tavern. The man on the horse was berating the four he kept on the move by flogging, his shouts ringing around the plaza.

“Kick the mud, dogs! …I’ll strip the hide from your dirty backs! I’ll soon have you in the cell room at the barracks!”

Men were emerging from the tavern and other buildings to see what was causing the commotion. The caravan came on toward the chapel, the leader shouting and the whiplash cracking.

[...]

The rider raised his whip, but Sergeant Garcia motioned for him not to strike, and strode forward.

“Your name?” he demanded of the trader.

“I am known as José Vallejo.”

“Vallejo is an honored name in Alta California, señor, and you will do well not to disgrace it – especially since I feel certain the name is not really your own.”

Garcia had been appraising the rider carefully, and the latter grinned down at him. It seemed to Diego and Fray Felipe that the sergeant’s manner changed slightly, and that he became a little respectful.

“Señor Vallejo, as you term yourself, it will be a fortunate thing for you if Zorro does not learn of your brutality to these men,” Garcia said.

“Zorro? Ha! The masked man who rides a black horse and gallops around being chased by troopers who always fail to catch him!” Vallejo scoffed. “Sometimes I have thought you fail purposely.”

Garcia’s eyes glittered. “Such talk about the soldiery may get you into difficulties,” he declared. “Where go you from here?”

“I intend to put these cattle in the prison room at the barracks for safekeeping, then take the carts to a camping spot a mile out the San Gabriel road,” José Vallejo declared. “There I shall leave my oxen goaders on guard and return to the tavern for food and refreshment and mayhap some fun with dice and cards. After a day of rest, I shall take my caravan on toward Monterey!”

“Very pretty, señor. But first of all you will go to the barracks and report to the comandante and get his approval of your fine plans.”

“Rather than bother traders continually with reports and such, you soldiers would do better to catch this Zorro,” Vallejo said.

“If Zorro learns of your cruelty to these men, he may ignore the soldiers and punish you, señor. You will learn you cannot mistreat even peons and natives in such a manner with impunity,” Garcia said. “I’ll lead the way to the barracks, and do you give your arm a rest from wielding that whip.”

Garcia strode off. The four unfortunates followed him, and José Vallejo rode behind them, cracking his long whip at intervals. Then came the carts, passing slowly, the oxen pulling with heads lowered, plopping great hoofs down into the deep mud.

Diego and Fray Felipe were left alone, standing side by side. Others who had been watching and listening went back into the buildings.

“Did you give this Señor José Vallejo particular attention?” Diego asked.

“Not particularly. What have you observed, Diego?”

“Notice how he rides. Is his seat in the saddle that of an ordinary trader? Or is it the seat of a military officer who cannot disguise the fact even out of uniform?”

Fray Felipe’s eyes gleamed an instant. “Ah!”

“And observe those carts, padre. The third one in line, in particular. There is not the slightest breeze at the moment, eh? Those carts seem to be packed with bales of hides on the way to market, do they not?”

“So it would seem, Diego.”

“Then why should the bales in the third cart move slightly, especially at the end? With no wind, what would lift the corner of the covering a few inches?”

“What is your conjecture, my son?”

“That we have been watching a drama, padre. The trader is an army officer, perhaps on the personal staff of His Excellency the Governor. And the third cart has men in hiding, possibly soldiers, beneath that upper layer of hides.”

“And the purpose?”

“Is plain, padre. The fellow mistreats men who are unable to resist. That is a thing for which Zorro punishes men. There was mention of Zorro during the talk. The drama occurred where men could see and hear. Anybody who is friendly to Zorro’s work would speak about it to others. And if Zorro hears of it, he may seek to punish this pseudo trader.”

“Ah!” Fray Felipe said, his eyes twinkling again. “You think this is a trap to catch or slay Zorro?”

“I do, padre. Nor is that all. I saw a signal of a sort pass between José Vallejo and Sergeant Garcia, and after that the big sergeant treated Vallejo with more civility, though keeping up a pretense of censure. Possibly our comandante here, and Garcia, his second in command, know of a plot and were waiting Vallejo’s coming.”

“If Zorro should make a move, then, he might find himself in difficulties,” Fray Felipe hinted. “Soldiers with guns would pop out of that cart, and the trader would become an officer most proficient with a blade. And our local troopers might be on the scene also.”

“Quite true,” Diego replied. “And if Zorro does not attack and punish the trader after his mistreatment of those unfortunates, those who now look to Zorro for help will lose faith in him.”

“And what does Zorro intend to do?” the padre asked, looking straight at him.

“Zorro will take thought on it,” Diego Vega said, smiling slightly.

Fray Felipe’s reply was a whisper: “May good fortune attend you, Zorro, my son. . . .”


- An Ambush For Zorro