La Vida de Doctor Caballeron

Chapters

Caballeron Returns
Rarity and Friends Enter the Fray
Confrontation at Santo Palomino

Caballeron Returns

In late summer, when the hot sun of the desert sinks behind the mesas in the distance, it brings the noches rojas - the red evenings - to the small, isolated town at Río de los Cólicos. With the soft glow of the crimson skies comes the gentle breezes and refreshing relief from the unrelenting desert heat. The laborers leave the haciendas, a lone armadillo scurries across the sands, and the melancholy chords of a single guitar resonate between the walls of rock and adobe, and off the heavy roofing tiles of the smallest, humblest houses and the few gargantuan mansions alike. A lone pony continues his siesta in the plaza by the trickling fountain, his face concealed by his wide sombrero. Above him, smoke from the stoves and chimneys climb into the evening air as a pair of hawks drift slowly through the plumes.

A young mare leans against the balustrade of her balcony, sighing dreamily yet morosely as she watches the hawks. She brushes aside the gossamer threads of the mantilla that hangs from the Spanish comb in her mane. She reflects upon another lonesome day in the small town between the river and the mesa. She knows that she must soon sleep, for the next day will bring another long haul at the guesthouse cantina, surrounded by the smell of cheap tequila and spicy tamales.

The earth pony steps away from the balustrade, and her dress again falls to cover the mark on her flank - a bouquet of thorny roses. She has grown tired of serving the cantina wastrels - her passion was her flowers. She was once responsible for tending the gardens of the Viceroy of Río de los Cólicos before he passed away and was replaced with a new stallion that dismissed her from her duties. She knows that she most likely will never have such an opportunity again, for the drive to pour her heart and soul into her cactus roses has long since faded away. It had been overcome by the sadness that took hold when her lover left Río de los Cólicos many months ago. The stabbing pain of separation that plagued her heart had grown stronger every day as she waited on her balcony at night and dreamed of his return. But the practice was growing old. It seemed that the waiting, wishing, and hoping had amounted to nothing but lost time. And time was precious - she could not afford to let more of her young life slip away.

A single tear fell from her cheek onto the weathered tiles of the balcony as she approached the doorway to her bedroom. But just as she went to grab the handle, she heard a voice - that same voice that she believed she would never hear again - speak her name from the street below.

“Rosita! Rosita, mi amor!”

And suddenly the lonely brown mare’s eyes went wide. Surely she was dreaming. So many times before, she believed she had heard his voice, only to turn and find nothing but the wind behind her. But this time, it seemed so real… So she turned back from the door, dashed to the balustrade, and looked down to the desolate street of her quiet quarter of the town.

A stallion in a dusty poncho stared up at her from the dirt road, eyes filled with passion, hoof at his chest. It was him - it was unmistakably him, for she could see the mark of the golden skull on his flank. After months and months, her wish had come true. Her lover - Caballeron - had returned.

“Augusto… Could it be?” Rosita asked, nearly on the verge of tears. “Have my prayers been answered?”

“Ay, Rosita, did you ever doubt that I would someday come running back to your open hooves?” Caballeron called to her with raging passion. “We were meant to be together, Rosita. What is a guitar without its strings? What is a bird without its wings? What is a succulent enchilada without sour cream? They are NOTHING! They are nothing… just as I am nothing... without you.”

“Oh, Augusto,” Rosita sighed dreamily as she leaned across the balcony.

“But I am not well, Rosita,” Caballeron shouted angrily, turning his head away and stomping his hoof. “For there is an inferno raging inside of me, and for months it has charred my fragile soul.”

“Pero… Augusto… por qué?”

“Because,” Caballeron said, slowly turning again and locking eyes with Rosita. “My loins… They are on fire.”

Rosita knew the only cure for fiery loins. She threw open the door to her boudoir, dashed through the room and down the staircase. She grabbed the handle and yanked open the door to the house to reveal Dr. Caballeron in a suggestive pose with a rose clenched tightly between his teeth. Rosita threw her hooves around him and rubbed against the stubble of his cheeks.

“You kept your other promise as well…” She cooed into his ear.

“Sí, por supuesto,” he answered. “I would never shave the hairs of true masculinity.”

Rosita dragged the rugged treasure-hunter into her vestibule, and the pair collapsed on a divan. Caballeron moved the flowing mantilla out of her scarlet eyes.

“Rosita… you know well the careful steps one must take to turn the maize into a fine tortilla…” Caballeron said, letting the rose drop to the floor. “You must take the kernels from the cob, grab the pestle… and, again and again, as if life depends on it… you must pound them.”

“Oh… Augusto… Of course I remember.”

“Then we must make haste, my little chimichanga!” Caballeron roared. “We must extinguish the fires of passion that have burned unchecked for months without end. For if a tamale is overcooked… it will become too crispy.”

“Come, Augusto,” Rosita begged as she jumped from the divan and pulled Caballeron to the stairs.

“No, no, mi amor,” Caballeron protested, “not here.”

Caballeron was promptly bitch-slapped by his companion, and groaned with romantic delight.

“It won’t be like the last time, Augusto! I don’t hide the flautas under the pillow anymore!”

“Not the flautas, Rosita!” Caballeron said as he grabbed the brown mare and held her close. “It is your bed! Far too firm. It does not properly yield to the force of our undying love… to the force of my masculinity…”

Caballeron was bitch-slapped again.

“No, Augusto. I refuse to use the kitchen table again,” Rosita cried dramatically with a hoof to her head. “I’ve had to replace it four times already.”

“Not the table, Rosita. I mean… I want you to come back to Dos Broncos. To my hacienda, to the very room where our love first began.” Caballeron gave Rosita a quick yet forceful kiss on the cheek.

“But Augusto… it is late… The streets are not safe at night… What about the banditos?”

“We need not fear the banditos, Rosita,” Caballeron explained as he ran a hoof through his lover’s mane. “My compadres are here. And they have brought the wagon.”

Sure enough, as Caballeron led Rosita out to the street, they found a small, broken-down wagon with peeling white paint waiting outside the house. Two mustachioed stallions - also in dusty ponchos - were already in the reigns, and another sat in the rear of the cart, with a guitar in his lap. The three ponies reeked of sangria so strong that Rosita could smell it from the front stoop of the house.

“Of course you remember the three Enricos,” Caballeron stated with a wave of his hoof.

“Of course I-” Rosita exclaimed, stopping in mid-sentence. “Wait, I thought there were four Enricos. What happened to the fourth Enrico?”

“Never made it back from the last expedition. Qué lástima, for his chest was nearly as hairy as mine,” Caballeron wept as he ushered Rosita into the wagon. Then, he climbed aboard himself, and shouted, “Vámonos, mis valientes!”

The two Enricos in the reigns reared up and started off, pulling the wagon behind them, as the third Enrico waved his horn and started belting out powerful chords on his guitar.

Dr. Augusto Caballeron serenaded his lover with a romantic song as the Enricos drove the wagon through the empty streets of Río de los Cólicos, making their way from Rosita’s barrio to the crumbling clay and stone walls of the town, through the gates, and down the desolate, agave-lined road to Caballeron’s hacienda.

“Andale, mis amigos!” Caballeron roared as the Enricos picked up the pace. The rickety wagon thundered into the night, as the red skies faded to the dark of night. “Any delay would be a crime… An insult to the hearts of two lovers.”

Caballeron and his entourage raced through the gates to the ranch, past the neglected, untilled fields and up to the grand porch that surrounded the building. There, the doctor and his lover hopped off the wagon as the Enricos bid them farewell and bolted off into the night. In the distance, the shaky notes of a lone trumpet player sounded through the desert as Caballeron and Rosita dashed through the front door, past the display cases of Caballeron’s countless stolen artifacts in the foyer, and up the staircase. His heart pounding with intense intimacy, Caballeron kicked the doors of his bedroom open with his hind legs and carried Rosita to the grand, king-sized bed at the center of the room. He sat her down on the edge of the bed, threw off his poncho, and tore open his signature tan shirt to reveal his inordinately hairy chest.

“So many months, Rosita… So long have I waited for this moment!” the doctor exclaimed as he stared into her eyes.

But to the treasure-hunter’s surprise, the passion he had seen in Rosita just minutes ago in her humble home seemed to have disappeared. Her eyes were dull, and they stared off into some corner of the room, rather than into his own. Her hooves quivered as she sat on the edge of the bed, her mind in an entirely different place.

“Rosita. Mi amor,” Caballeron began. “This is what we have waited for. The guitar has its strings… the bird has its wings… there is enough sour cream on the enchilada to cause severe coronary disease! Why do you shake like some skimpy chihuahua?”

Rosita was silent for a moment. She again brushed the veil out of her face, covered her mouth with her hooves, and said,

“I can’t.”

Caballeron was taken aback.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“There’s something I haven’t told you, Augusto,” Rosita mumbled. Her eyes met his now, but the flames of unrelenting love had died. They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds.

“What have you not told me?” Caballeron demanded. “Is there another!?”

Rosita was silent.

“Rosita! Digame! Is there ANOTHER?” Caballeron asked as his brow wrinkled in disgust. Further silence from Rosita only enraged the doctor further. He turned his back on Rosita and stomped away. “It’s that little creep from the cantina, isn’t it? The little jerk that rolls the cigarros at the plantation? Is it him? Or is it that little shmuck who rides with the Garrochistas who might… might have chest hair that rivals my own?”

Rosita only sat on the bed and quivered. Caballeron spun around and marched back toward her.

“Maybe it’s that guy in the distance who was playing the trumpet a couple minutes ago! Augh, the señoritas always fall for the musicians! Dios mío. Why must a ruggedly-handsome renegado like myself continually come second to the pretty-boys that devote themselves to the performing arts? Is his trumpet REALLY more enticing than my chorizo?”

“There isn’t another, Augusto,” Rosita finally managed to say, voice quivering uncontrollably.

“Well then if there isn’t another, what’s the problem?” Caballeron demanded. The muscles of his loins throbbed, displeased with his inactivity. “Are you REALLY still angry about the ONE LOUSY TIME I spoiled the pico de gallo?”

“No, Augusto. I don’t care about trivial things like that.”

“Then WHAT IS IT?” the doctor demanded.

Rosita sighed, stood up from the bed, and sulked over to the window. And as she looked up at the moon in the night sky, she answered,

“You aren’t the only one who has returned to Río de los Cólicos.”

Caballeron was silent.

“Two weeks ago, at the cantina… I saw him,” Rosita revealed.

“Saw who?”

“The face, the voice… unmistakable.”

“WHOSE face? WHOSE voice?”

Caballeron was right behind Rosita now. After a few moments, she finally said,

“Raúl Espada. He… he came back.”

With the mere mention of his name, Caballeron began foaming at the mouth. His eye twitched as he turned on his hooves, fell to his hinds, raised his forelimbs into the air, and screamed,

“POR QUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!?”

“You know why he’s back,” Rosita said. “He wants to settle the score with you, and somehow he knew you were headed back to town, and he’s ready and waiting for-”

“Rosita, are you that dense?” Caballeron grumbled, returning to all fours. “I know why he came back! When I said ‘por que,’ I meant 'why the hell didn’t you tell me this when we were at your place?' Why the hell did you wait for me to go through the whole below-the-balcony routine, do the thing with the rose in my mouth, go through the elaborate wagon ride, and let me get ready for a long, dirty, passionate lovemaking session, only to tell me now and kill the vibe?”

Rosita bitch-slapped Caballeron once again.

“I was caught up in the moment,” Rosita growled.

“Understandable,” Caballeron conceded as he glanced at his reflection in his bedroom mirror, flashed a toothy grin and flexed his muscles. “But unfortunately, none of that matters now. There will be time for romance luego. Right now, I need to plot my next move. If Raúl Espada wants to settle the score, then settle the score I will.”

The name Raúl Espada may seem innocuous enough. But anypony who lived in the isolated town by the mesa knew of the feud between Espada and Caballeron. In their younger days, they were Garrochistas - the soldiers that defended Río de los Cólicos from the banditos and outlaws from Appleloosa. But then came the day when they both left the law behind to become treasure-hunters. And for several years, they were notorious partners in crime, turning healthy profits from tomb-raiding, museum theft, and highway robbery. But at one point, something happened. Nopony knows what exactly the “something” is, but it caused the two outlaws to go their separate ways. Anypony in Río de los Cólicos could tell you that Espada and Caballeron are now sworn enemies.

“But Augusto!” Rosita cried. “Why? What happened those years ago? What made two lifelong compadres up and turn their backs on one another?”

“Rosita,” Caballeron said sternly, dropping his head and closing his eyes. “You know that I cannot say why. This matter is between myself and Raúl Espada alone.”

“Is there no way to make amends?”

“No. Raúl Espada insulted my honor… my machisimo,” Caballeron said as he shook a hoof. “What he did was unforgivable. We must finish what was started. And this time, only one of us can walk away.”

The unsettling, quivery notes of the lone trumpet began again. Caballeron caressed his temples, ran to the window, threw it open, and shouted into the night,

“Oye, pendejo! Shut the hell up!”

After slamming the window, Caballeron put his head to the wall.

“Rosita. Who is this idiot with the trumpet that follows us around all the time?”

“Don't be that way. I think he’s only trying to help. He’s adding to the severity of your-”

“No, he’s not,” Caballeron interjected. “He’s a little freak who couldn’t make it to the concert hall, so he comes out here and thinks he can set the mood during our personal affairs. It’s like he’s stalking us or something.”

Caballeron regained his posture, flexed a muscle, and took Rosita into his arms.

“But for now, we must not worry about the pendejo with the trumpet,” Caballeron continued. “We must find the Enricos, take the wagon back to town, and deliver you home safely. Then, I will come back here, to Dos Broncos, and make the plans to do what must be done.”

“But how are we supposed to find the Enricos after they’ve ridden off into the night?” Rosita asked.

“Hah, rode off into the night. That’s funny, Rosita,” the doctor answered. “Forty bits says they probably just ran to the far side of the property and started drinking sangria.”

* * *

The following evening, Rosita dragged her tired frame home after another long day at the cantina guesthouse. It was as typical as any other; the house tequila flew off the shelf despite its smelling like an old sock, Rosita’s apron was covered in green guacamole stains, and one of the cantina lowlives was impaled with a shiv during a card game. What was not typical, however, was Rosita’s returning to her house to find her front door slightly ajar.

Ever since the new Viceroy came to power and reduced the size of the town guard, crime had been on the rise in Río de los Cólicos. Rosita wrote off the unlocked door as simple forgetfulness, though proceeded into the house with caution. She saw a small, hoof-shaped dirt footprint on the rug in the vestibule, but also wrote that off - it was probably left by Caballeron during their meeting from the previous night. Continuing down the hallway, the brown mare entered her humble kitchen. She looked around the place and felt that something was not quite right, though couldn’t quite see anything specific that was out of the ordinary. She removed her stained apron and threw it onto the table. This particular table, of course, was the fourth replacement. For the previous tables were all destroyed during her steamy lovemaking sessions with Dr. Caballeron before his absence.

But when Rosita opened her icebox to take the dinner that she had prepared the day before, she knew that something was completely and utterly wrong.

“My flautas…” Rosita gasped. “Where are my flautas?” She knew that she could not possibly have misplaced such a delectable dinner. She slowly backed away from the icebox, gripped with overwhelming fear.

“Somepony must have broken in… maybe that somepony is still here! Ay, ayúdame, alguien!”

Rosita turned to run for the door, but was caught by a burly stallion whose face was masked by a bandana. There were two others behind him, who smirked as she fought to escape, but was unable to break her captor’s grasp.

“Please!” Rosita begged as she was dragged into the vestibule. “I’ll give you whatever you want! My money, my valuables-”

But when she saw who was leaning against her staircase, she shrieked in terror. It was the red stallion she had seen just weeks ago at the cantina. There was no mistake about it - there was the mark of the elaborate sword on his flank, the bushy, black beard beneath his dark brown eyes, and his morion - that crested metal helmet with the delicately-engraved comb. It was Raúl Espada, the sworn enemy of Dr. Caballeron. And to make matters worse, he was chewing vigorously as he held the remnant of a flauta in his hoof.

“Unfortunately, señorita, I’m afraid I do have to do this,” Raúl Espada said through a full mouth. “Oh, and by the way, these flautas are superb. Easily the best I’ve ever had. What’s the secret?”

“You let the jalapeños soak in a special brine of lime marinade for three days, and then you use the same marinade on the tortillas before you melt the cheese,” Rosita said. “And then you slice up part of a mango and throw that in, too. It was part of abuela’s traditional recipe.”

“Oh, see? I told you those were mangoes!” one of Espada’s goons added.

“These things are great,” Espada said, spitting bits of tortilla as he talked. “And very soon, you’ll have plenty of time to make them for us.”

“No, please!” Rosita screamed as she struggled again. All three of the bandana-wearing thugs restrained the frenetic mare.

“Caballeron must meet with me on my terms,” Espada grunted, stuffing the rest of the flauta into his mouth. “And unfortunately, taking you with us is the only way we can be sure he’ll do it.” Espada reached into the small bag slung across his back and pulled out a thin but sturdy rope. ”We don’t want you running away, now, do we?”

“You’re monsters, all of you!” Rosita spat.

“I’m only doing what must be done,” Espada said sternly as he threw the rope to his goons. Somewhere in the distance, the lone trumpeter began playing again, this time accompanied by the grating minor chords of a single guitar. Espada reveled in the haunting notes.

“Don’t tell me the trumpet guy is working with you idiots, too,” Rosita hissed as the three stallions tied her with the rope.

“Actually, no,” Raúl Espada admitted, turning to the open window of the house from which the music could be heard. “We’ve been trying to figure out who that is ourselves. He’s been following us around all day. Yeah, it’s kinda creepy. But he’s good. It’s a really nice touch.”

The three stallions finished the job and left Rosita by the stairs. One of them tied an old cloth around her muzzle to keep her from making too much noise.

“Leave the note, and let’s get out of here before the Garrochistas suspect something,” Espada ordered, approaching the mirror on the stairs by the wall. He observed his facial hair and nodded with approval. “We must make haste for the mission, and prepare for Caballeron’s arrival.” One of the henchmen made for the kitchen, while the others lifted Rosita onto their backs.

“You will pay for your grave insult to me, Caballeron,” Espada said through clenched teeth as a mischievous smile spread across his face. "You claim I insulted your honor, when the truth is that you insulted my honor. You believe that you are the greater stallion? That your cause is more noble? That your chest is hairier than mine? You’re a fool.”

“Hey, um, jefe,” one of the henchmen said quietly. “You’re doing that thing again where you stare into mirrors and talk to yourself.”

“I must rehearse for my meeting with Caballeron, you philistine!” Espada raged. “It must be… perfecto.”

Rarity and Friends Enter the Fray

“Here’s another one, Rarity,” Spike called as he unearthed another of the brilliant red stones from the crumbly earth of the desert. Resting in the blade of the dragon’s shovel was a refulgent gemstone. The desert dwellers called it Granate de Fuego - the Fire Garnet - for it formed just below the soils only during the most intense, sweltering heat of the summer. When moved about in the light, the stones appeared to have tiny flames burning inside them, though of course it was but an illusion that came from its unique physical properties.

Spike added the garnet to the small pile that had been amassed in a tiny wagon. Rarity, face masked in shadow from the brim of her massive sun hat, waved her horn, released her shovel from its aura, and dabbed at the beads of sweat on her forehead.

“Oh my, this heat is simply dreadful,” she moaned. “It only adds to the burden of such hard work.”

“Hard work?” Spike grumbled as he began to dig another hole. “You’ve been digging for about five minutes. Pinkie and I have been at it all morning.”

“Oh come now, Spikey-Wikey, you needn’t be so rude,” Rarity complained as she drew a tiny mirror from the lace-trimmed sack across her back and observed her eyeliner.

“Yeah, Spike!” Pinkie sang, unearthing another garnet from the scorched ground. She seemed pleasantly oblivious to the intense heat. “Digging for gems is fun!”

“We were supposed to go to Appleloosa with Applejack for a week and kick back while she visited her family,” the dragon grunted as he continued to work. “Nobody ever said anything about coming all the way out to the middle of nowhere to look for garnets for Rarity’s next fashion project. In this heat, to boot.”

But unfortunately for the little dragon, when word of these special desert stones caught Rarity’s ear at the trading post, she of course had to take a day to go out and get them. With only three shovels, a small wooden wagon in with which to collect the garnets, the “bare necessities” (which of course included Rarity’s make-up kit), and a basic yet accurate traveler’s map, the trio set off into the vast expanses of the desert. Spike’s mouth watered every time he saw one of the Fire Garnets, for he knew that they were likely one of the spicier, more delectable red gems, but Rarity instructed him not to eat a single one, for she needed as many as possible to take back with her to her design studio.

Even later in the day, the ferocity of the dry heat was virtually unchanged from that of high noon. It would be another few hours before the cooling night air would bring any relief. Unfortunately for Spike, Pinkie, and Rarity, however, heat was the least of their worries. In the distance, behind a jagged, sun-scorched rock, two hombres had been watching the trio for some time. They too had overheard the bit about the garnets, and, more importantly, Rarity’s excitement to venture out and collect them.

“We shouldn’t wait too much longer, Gaucho,” the black stallion in the sombrero said to his friend as he watched the mares and the dragon dig.

“The idea was to let them do the dirty work for us,” Gaucho responded as he wiped the sweat from his brow. “So let’s let them keep working. I don’t know about you, Vaquero, but to me, there’s no use in taking the risk if there isn’t much to gain.”

“What risk? Two dainty mares and their pipsqueak dragon,” Vaquero argued. “They won’t be a problem. But you know what will be a problem? Waiting around until one of the deputies from Appleloosa rides out here on patrol and then we’ll stand no chance. Or if not them, it’ll be the Garrochistas from Río de los Cólicos. They’ve been digging for a while; that wagon has to be half-filled by now!”

“Yeah. That tiny little wagon. Even half-filled, are there enough granates in there for us to even bother?”

“Of course there are,” Vaquero assured his friend as he ducked down behind the rock. He took a long gulp of water from his canteen before adding, “but if the law comes around, we won’t get any of them.”

Gaucho sighed and leaned against the shady side of the rock. “I don’t know. I just have a really bad feeling about this one.”

“We’ve missed out on a lot of good opportunities because of your second thoughts,” Vaquero hissed. “The money’s drying up. I’m not going to let this one slip out of my hooves.”

“Fine,” Gaucho huffed after a long pause. “We’ll strike while the iron is hot.”

Just then, a slow, dramatic trumpet tune was heard in the distance. Gaucho and Vaquero exchanged glances, blinked and looked about in search of the source of the music.

“What the hell was that?” Gaucho asked.

“I don’t… Look, forget about the music,” Vaquero said with a wave of his hoof. “We need to make our move. Now.”

* * *

Caballeron came to a halt on the dusty trail in the desert to again draw from his rucksack the message that he had found in Rosita’s home. As the sun beat down upon him, he scanned the page to be sure that he had not misread a single word:

“If the legendary Dr. Caballeron has again shown his face in Río de los Cólicos, then the score must be settled. I have Rosita. If you ever hope to see her or her delicious flautas again, you will meet me at the old mission of Santo Palomino. And you won’t bring anypony other than yourself.”

Rather than a signature, a small drawing of a sword - identical to Raúl Espada’s cutie mark - concluded the note.

Caballeron sighed as his heavy heart throbbed with anguish. He blamed himself. He questioned whether Espada had known about their relationship for a long while, or if he had followed Caballeron to her home the previous night. The doctor envisioned his lover in his mind as she toiled over a hot stove hour after hour, preparing endless batches of flautas for the gluttonous renegado. He feared Espada’s bushy beard; he feared that such masculinity could potentially win over the heart of his distressed Rosita.

“Ay, mi amor,” the doctor wept as he put the note back into his rucksack. “I am so heartfully sorry… but know that I am on my way at this very moment.” He began walking again. “I’m coming to save you from the grasp of that greaseball, Espada. For the blood of a true lover flows within my veins, and the tension from my hatred of that pendejo Espada still grips my chest and loins.”

A putrid blast of flatulence then forced its way through the cheeks of Caballeron’s rump.

“Dios mío. I guess that wasn’t the tension of hatred. It was the beans I ate this morning. Whew, that’s ripe.”

At that very moment, Caballeron heard a girlish scream in the distance - from the direction in which he was travelling.

“Could it be?” he asked. “Could it be my Rosita? Have they stopped in the desert to torment her? Espada, you spineless degenerate, you’ve now gone too far! I’m coming, Rosita!”

Caballeron leapt into action, bolting down the dusty road toward the rocks in the distance. As he picked up speed, the rapid chords of a Spanish guitar rippled through the air. When the doctor heard it, he stopped, and the guitar music stopped with him. Looking about in confusion, he again picked up the pace, and the guitar music returned to match it, until he stopped in his tracks again.

“Where the hell is that coming from?” he shouted. “Who keeps following me around all the time? Did the trumpet guy change instruments, or am I being stalked by an entire mariachi band?”

Another girlish scream snapped Dr. Caballeron out of his confusion.

“Oh right, yeah. Fear not, Rosita! You’ll soon be safe in my muscular arms!”

The doctor pressed on, and soon he could see figures in the distance. Another girlish scream made him beat the ground even harder with his hooves as he ran for his lover, to free her from the grimy clutches of Raúl Espada’s goons.

* * *

Vaquero spun around and bucked wildly as he tried to throw the tiny dragon off his back, but Spike’s sharp claws were well entrenched in the fabric of his dusty coat.

“Let go of me, you little freakshow!” the bandito growled. “Make me mad, and you’ll only make this worse for yourself!

Gaucho, meanwhile, was playing tug-of-war with Pinkie Pie over the garnet-filled wagon. Rarity, rather than help her reclaim the wagon, was far too busy running around in circles with her forelimbs swinging in the air as she shrieked and hollered for help.

“Vaquero, help me!” Gaucho yelled, again unsuccessfully trying to jostle the wagon out of Pinkie’s grasp.

“You help me get this little jerk off my back!” Vaquero seethed as Spike maintained his hold.

“Hey Rarity, help us!” Pinkie and Spike screamed in unison as the white unicorn continued to run in circles.

The struggle ensued for another minute without either side gaining any ground. But then, from the distance, an unexpected voice shouted,

“Here I come, al rescate!”

Vaquero stopped and turned toward the voice to see a pony in the distance with a cloud of dust trailing behind him, distorted by the wavy heat of the desert air.

“Garrochistas! Gaucho, imbécil, I told you we waited too long!” Vaquero shouted. The bandito suddenly flopped onto his back, landing right on top of Spike, who released his grasp and cringed in agony. Vaquero rolled over, stood up and bolted off. Gaucho, hooves still on the wagon of garnets, watched as his compadre made his escape, glanced at Pinkie, and sighed in defeat. He shoved the wagon back at Pinkie Pie, who toppled onto the ground as he dashed off after his partner. As the two banditos fled, Spike groaned and slowly brought his aching frame back to his feet. Rarity, oblivious to the turn of events, was still prancing about in terror.

By now, Caballeron had caught up to the group. He dashed over to the screaming mare, grabbed her tenderly, and looked into her eyes.

“Rosita, mi amor, you’re safe and sound, and these disgraceful kidnappers have-” Caballeron stopped as he realised that he was not holding his kidnapped lover. Rarity, still quivering from the previous episode, was wide-eyed in confusion. “Qué? You are not Rosita.” Caballeron shot a glance at Pinkie and Spike, who both appeared to be out-of-sorts and equally as confused as Rarity. “This is not the posse of Raúl Espada...”

The treasure-hunter let Rarity fall into the dirt. “But… this was exactly in the direction of Santo Palomino. You sounded just like… Dios mío. I didn’t see this one coming.”

Pinkie Pie, still sitting among the scattered garnets, shook of her confusion and gave the rugged stallion a hard stare.

“Hey, you look kinda familiar,” Pinkie said with a hoof to her chin. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?”

Rarity looked up at the stallion who only moments ago was holding her like a lost love. The muzzle stubble, the eyes, the grey strands in his mane, and the golden skull on his flank immediately brought the unicorn back to the shocking day at Daring Do’s home. She knew exactly who she was looking at. The unicorn gasped, jumped to her feet, and hid behind Pinkie Pie.

“Pinkie, it’s HIM!” Rarity squeaked. “Don’t you remember? It’s Dr. Caballeron!”

“How do you know my name?” the treasure-hunter asked, eying the two mares who he swore he had seen elsewhere.

“Oh my gosh!” Pinkie exclaimed. “You’re the guy that broke into Daring Do’s house!”

“Wait… THIS is the Caballeron guy you told me about back when?” Spike asked.

The doctor continued to give the mares a hard stare until he conjured up the memories of the tussle in Daring Do’s secluded home. Then, his eyes narrowed.

“So that’s where I’ve seen you before,” Caballeron spat as he stepped closer to Pinkie while Rarity cowered behind her. Spike ran over to join his two friends and stood between them and Caballeron. “I saw you walking back through the jungle after Daring Do and your cocky, rainbow-tailed friend nearly caused Ahuizotl to tear me limb from limb!”

“Okay, but obviously he didn’t,” Spike replied. “So let’s just go our separate ways and forget that we ever ran into each other out here.”

“Listen to me, pendejo,” Caballeron growled into Spike’s face. “Escaping from Ahuizotl was all fine and dandy, but do you know what happened to me after that?”

Pinkie, Rarity, and Spike all shook their heads nervously.

“My henchponies and I got lost in that infernal jungle, wandering around for days!” Caballeron seethed as he paced about. “We kept going in circles, retracing our steps over and over again, fighting off jungle cats left and right, and bucking with our muscular hinds in frustration as we arrived at the same landmarks again and again. But the worst part… was the sickness.”

“Sickness?” Pinkie asked.

“YES,” the doctor shouted. “We were without food and water. We were desperate, and ate and drank whatever we could find,” the doctor explained. “But we ended up drinking out of a stream that was too close to the old temple… a stream that was ripe with the much-feared parasite… The explorers call it… Ahuizotl’s Revenge.”

“Ahuizotl’s Revenge?” Spike questioned.

“I would not wish it on my worst enemy,” Caballeron confessed. “The stomach pains, the fever, the unrelenting diarrhea… It’s a good thing I hadn’t been wearing any pants, for I’d have soiled them time and time again!”

The doctor was inching closer to the mares and the dragon again.

“Do you know what it’s like?” Caballeron asked. “No! You could not possibly know how it feels to have bowel movement after bowel movement for days and days! And worse, you practically never knew when it was coming, so before you even feel anything, you’ve already crapped yourself! And the smell… Ay, dios, por qué… The smell…”

Caballeron suddenly put his diatribe on hold and scanned the desert around him.

“Hey, this is going to sound strange and all, but... I need to ask you three…” the doctor added, “Were any of you playing a guitar out here before?”

Pinkie, Rarity, and Spike, eying Caballeron with suspicion, all shook their heads no.

“Really? What about a trumpet?”

Again, the answer was no.

“Did you see or hear anypony else playing anything?”

The trio shook their heads again.

“Diablos!” Caballeron shouted. “Who has been playing all the music?”

* * *

Looking through his spyglass from a number of furlongs away, one of Espada’s goons let a dissatisfied grunt escape his muzzle. His two compadres turned to face him.

“What’s the matter?” asked another of the outlaws as his ears perked up.

The three stallions that had aided Raúl Espada in the kidnapping of Rosita were now tasked with spying on Caballeron as he made the long trek through the desert to the mission at Santo Palomino. Espada had given them such orders to ensure that Caballeron was making the journey alone.

“Looks like the good doctor arranged to meet some friends at the halfway mark,” the stallion with the spyglass sighed.

“Who are they?” asked the pegasus of the group. “Garrochistas? Or is it the Three Enricos?”

“Have a look for yourself.”

The pegasus grabbed the spyglass and peered through. In the distance, he could see Caballeron talking to two other ponies and what appeared to be a tiny dragon.

“They’re not the three Enricos,” the pegasus said, lowering the spyglass. “Heck, they don’t look like Garrochistas either.”

“If they’re talking to Caballeron, they must be up to something,” the third henchpony asserted.

“Of course,” said the first. “Which is why Espada told us… If we see Caballeron doing anything with anypony else, we take them all in, and ask questions later.”

“Three on four,” the pegasus reminded his two counterparts. “You think that dragon could put up a fight?”

“Maybe,” the first pony said. “But remember, mis amigos, we have the element of surprise.”

* * *

“What exactly do you mean?” Rarity asked. Caballeron sighed and shook his head.

“Very long story. No vale la pena,” the doctor said in disgust. “There must be an entire mariachi band following me around, because I keep hearing all this dramatic music, and I just… I can’t… I don’t even…”

At a loss for words, Caballeron stomped his hoof and spat.

“I have no time for this right now. Lucky for you three, I have more important matters to attend to than the compadres of rainbow-tail and this little shrimp with the scales,” Caballeron said with a dismissive wave of his hoof. Spike rolled his eyes. “But rest assured, should our paths cross again-”

Caballeron stopped in mid-sentence and was looking directly at Rarity. He had not noticed, until just then, her expertly-applied eyeshadow. As he looked into her eyes, shaded by the brim of the sun hat, he realized just how beautiful they were. Despite being covered by the dirt and sand of the desert, Caballeron could tell that Rarity’s hooves were perfectly and exquisitely manicured. And the way she quivered behind her friend in fear… it seemed so helplessly attractive to the rugged treasure-hunter. Dr. Caballeron’s heart began beating wildly as a small fire began to burn in his loins.

“Well?” Pinkie asked. “What happens if our paths cross again?”

Dr. Caballeron did not respond. Her merely raised a hoof and very slowly put it over his heart as his scowl turned into a pleasant smile.

“Hey… are you okay?” Spike asked, waving a hand in front of the doctor’s face. Caballeron was still staring intensely at Rarity.

“What, is there something on my face?” the white unicorn asked.

Just then, Caballeron was thrown into a burlap sack by a muscular stallion in a dusty coat and bandana. Two other bandana-wearing outlaws, who had jumped out from behind the nearby rocks just seconds prior, threw Pinkie Pie and Rarity into another two burlap sacks. Just as before, Spike jumped onto the back of one of the three goons to try and bring him down. But once the others had finished tying up the sacks, they subdued the dragon and tied him up with a rope.

Rarity and Pinkie shouted and hollered as they tried to kick and punch their way out of their captors’ bags, but they could not manage to break the thick fabric.

“Let me out of here! You’ll pay for this, whoever you are!” Dr. Caballeron roared as he struggled in the tied sack.

“Silencio,” one of the outlaws said with a condescending tone. “We told you to go to Santo Palomino alone. But you didn’t listen. So now we’ll be taking you there ourselves.”

“Santo Palomino?” Caballeron gasped from within the bag. “Then that means you’re… Wait, stop! It’s not what you think! These three weren’t coming with me to the mission! This is all a big mistake!”

“What the heck is going on out there?” came the muffled voice from Pinkie’s bag.

“I wish I knew myself,” Spike grunted as he wiggled around, trying to free his arms and legs from the coils of the rope.

“Do not worry, Caballeron,” one of the goons laughed. “We’ll be at Santo Palomino in an hour. Raúl Espada is waiting.”

The slow, melancholy notes of the trumpet began again, drifting slowly through the steamy desert air. When Caballeron heard them, he practically had a conniption.

“See? That’s what I was talking about!” the doctor screamed from within the burlap sack. “I was telling the truth! The trumpet guy is still out there somewhere! And his shmuck guitarist friend is probably with him!”

“Why yes, I hear it, too!” Rarity said.

“He’s pretty good,” Pinkie added.

“Go back and get the wagon,” one of the henchponies said. “Then we’ll saddle up and take this merry band to the mission. And let’s take these garnets as well. They’ll fetch a good price.”

“Sí,” said another. “Lo haré.”

Confrontation at Santo Palomino

When the first pioneers ventured out into the desert many years ago, the mission at Santo Palomino was constructed. It served as a shelter, a hospital, a market, a place of residence. It was a temporary destination for the caravans and settlers that were making their way to what at the time were infant desert cities. But as these cities grew, as the roads and trails were established, Santo Palomino slowly began to wither away. First, it saw fewer travelers. Then, trade suffered. Eventually, the cost of supplying Santo Palomino outgrew the need, and the remainder of the inhabitants left for Appleloosa, Río de los Cólicos, and Las Pegasus. Santo Palomino was not forgotten, but it was left to decay.

Throughout the years, control of Santo Palomino changed time and time again. First, it was taken by the Garrochistas, who used it as center of operations during their campaign to stop the banditos that terrorized the region. Later, a battle was fought between the Garrochistas and the irregulars from Appleloosa over a dispute for claim to the land. It was at this famous battle that Antonio Gallopez, the famous general of the Lusitano Brigade, lost his leg when he was struck by a cannonball. After being abandoned by the Garrochistas in the years after, it became a hideout for the criminal element of the desert. It changed hands from one posse to another. The law knew what had become of the old mission, but refused to waste any further time, energy, or horsepower to keep it out of the wrong hooves. It was considered to be a lost cause.

Now, the resident renegados of Santo Palomino were none other than Raúl Espada and his merry band of outlaws.

At the very center of the mission, in the largest structure within the walls - once the center of Garrochista field operations - Dr. Caballeron, Rarity, Pinkie Pie, and Spike found themselves tied to the thick, wooden posts that supported the crumbling roof. Espada’s bandana-wearing thugs reclined happily in the creaky wooden seats at one of the room’s many tables as the counted the garnets that they had taken from the site of the ambush. Small crates of food and supplies sat in various places about the room. On the far wall was the old weapon rack that still held a few rusty Esperanto Lances - the standard arms of the Garrochistas. Light streamed weakly through the holes in the ceiling as the sun was setting in the late afternoon. Small oil lamps were already lit in preparation for the darkness of night. The light of the flames danced and flickered, reflecting off the old amber-colored tequila bottles on the counters.

Caballeron had yet to see Rosita in the compound. He struggled against the ropes that bound him to the posts, but to no avail. Rarity and friends had long since given up struggling. They sat solemnly, wondering how a seemingly innocent trek into the desert had not only brought them face to face with Daring Do’s rival, but too landed them in the clutches of dangerous outlaws.

“I wouldn’t call it a jackpot, but it’s something,” the bandana-wearing pegasus said pleasantly as he pushed his pile of garnets to the center of the table. “And for such an easy job, I can’t complain.”

“What did you plan on doing with these things anyway, Caballeron?” asked another of Espada’s stallions. “Buy the freedom of your precious Rosita?”

“That’s Doctor Caballeron to you, pendejo,” the treasure-hunter seethed as he continued to struggle.

“Oye, se me olvidó,” the brown stallion laughed. “I completely forgot, we’re dealing with a doctor, here.” The other two outlaws cackled at the remark. The brown stallion approached Caballeron and presented one of his hind legs. “I came up lame left hind last week, Doctor Caballeron. Maybe you could give me a physical.”

“I’ll snap your leg in two,” Caballeron growled.

“You know you can’t buy Espada off,” the stallion snapped. “So what were these for? Planned on buying yourself a few new lances?”

“I keep telling you, I wasn’t the one looking for garnets!” Caballeron protested. “It was these three jokers, over here. Those pebbles are nothing to a stallion of my archeological prowess.”

The pegasus with the bandana stood up and stepped over to Rarity and Pinkie Pie.

“Two frail little schoolgirls,” the pegasus said with a grin, shaking his head. “And their pipsqueak pet. Is that really the best you could do?”

“I have no idea who they are, and I have no idea why they wanted these garnets,” Caballeron sighed in defeat. “I left for Santo Palomino by myself. I didn’t plan on running into anypony along the way, save for a couple of banditos, maybe.”

“Don’t give us that,” the third outlaw spoke up. “We saw you talking for a good long time.”

“We didn’t expect to see him, either! Caballeron came out of nowhere and saved us from two bandits!” Rarity argued.

“Yeah, and he only did it by accident,” Spike grunted.

“You know how idiotic that whole story sounds, verdad?” the pegasus with the bandana asked. “The three of us may not be ‘doctors,’ but we’re not total idiots, either.”

“You’re making a mistake!” Rarity said in desperation.

The large, wooden doors at the front of the room began to creak open.

“We’ll let Espada decide who’s making the mistake,” one of the outlaws laughed as he turned toward the door frame.

Sporting his metal helmet and a lance across his back, the red stallion with the bushy beard stepped into the room, shadow preceding him. Raúl Espada eyed his captives one by one and nodded in approval.

“Muy bien hecho,” Espada said to his henchponies. “I figured Caballeron wouldn’t play by the rules.”

“What have you done with my Rosita?” the rugged treasure-hunter spat. “If I find so much as a scratch on her busty form, I swear I’ll-”

“Put a sock in it, Caballeron,” Raúl Espada interrupted after a roll of the eyes. “Your precious Rosita is getting along just fine. She’s been making flautas for us all morning. And, might I add, they’re absolutely delicious.” Espada drew one of the savory wraps from the bag on his back and stuffed it into his mouth.

“Diablos!” the doctor seethed. “Those flautas are far too exquisite for a palate such as yours!”

“Look at this!” Espada laughed to his henchponies. “Dr. Caballeron fancies himself a gourmet. But he probably cooks his burritos in the microwave when nopony’s looking.”

“How dare you!” Caballeron shouted.

“Enough,” Espada barked. The mysterious guitar music floated in from the windows as Espada did a short yet agile salsa dance.

“I knew the shmuck with the guitar was working for you!” Dr. Caballeron said.

Ending on his hinds with a hoof on his hip and another on his forehead, Raúl Espada rebutted, “As I explained to Rosita, I know not of the strange hombre who plays the music. But unlike you, I can appreciate his artistic touch. Amigos! It’s time.”

The three outlaws with the bandanas slowly proceeded through the doorway and shut it behind them, leaving the four captives alone with Raúl Espada.

“Will somebody PLEASE tell us what’s going on?” Spike asked.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Espada asked as he approached the tiny dragon. “Why don’t you tell me what Caballeron wanted with you three, before I have to beat it out of you?”

“Caballeron didn’t want anything to do with us!” Spike protested. “We ran into him in the desert by accident, and then those other guys captured us and brought us in here!”

“Likely story,” Raúl Espada retorted. “What were the precious gems for?”

“They were for my newest project,” Rarity explained. “I’m a clothing designer from Ponyville, and when I heard about the Fire Garnets, I wanted to come out here and find them. If I knew that any of this would have happened, I’d have just stayed in Appleloosa with my friends. This is all just a big misunderstanding.”

“While that sounds very outlandish,” Espada remarked, examining Rarity and Pinkie Pie closely, “I must admit that you three certainly don’t seem like you’re from anywhere around here. And you definitely don’t look like anyone that would ride with Caballeron.”

“Because they don’t,” the doctor stated.

“We only know who Dr. Caballeron is because we ran into him a long time ago in a jungle when our friend went looking for Daring Do,” Pinkie Pie explained.

“Oho, so you have seen the doctor before,” Espada said with a grin. Caballeron, Rarity, and Spike all shot Pinkie Pie an angry glance.

“Great going, Pinkie,” Spike sighed.

"Silence is golden, darling," Rarity added.

“But that’s all! That’s the truth!,” Pinkie squealed.

“I’ll decided what the truth is later,” Espada went on, returning to Caballeron’s side. “Right now, there are bigger fish to fry. Or, should I say, larger flautas to cook.”

“You sound all high-and-mighty now, but that’s because I’m tied to a post,” Caballeron laughed. “You’re a coward, Espada. Why don’t you untie me and then we can settle the score like real stallions?”

Raúl Espada closed his eyes and thought for several moments as the loose boards of the ceiling voiced their occasional moans and creaks.

“Yes, of course, there is the old score to settle, for your grave insult to me those years ago.”

“You mean YOUR insult to ME!” Caballeron roared.

“As I said, Caballeron, your insult to me,” Espada corrected. “But you must know that I brought you here today for more than simply the rift between us.”

“And what does that mean?”

“You see, Augusto,” the bearded stallion explained, “I am not the only one who has a bone to pick with the famous Dr. Caballeron. There is another. And he has made a very long journey from home in hopes of meeting you again.”

Caballeron raised an eyebrow and watched Espada carefully as the stallion walked to one of the tables in the room and took a seat.

“To be honest, my quarrel with you was on the back-burner for quite some time,” Espada sighed as he rested his lance and backpack on the table. “But a short while ago, I was approached by another… somepony that has been looking for you for almost as long. And when he asked whether I would cooperate with him… such that we may both be able to settle our respective scores with Augusto Caballeron… And more importantly, with the reward he offered for your capture... I of course agreed to help.”

“And who is this?” Caballeron asked.

As the doors to the old building were pushed open again, Raúl Espada said,

“If you honestly don’t remember, then you’re about to find out.”

Two green-uniformed soldiers had pushed open the heavy doors and stood at attention on either side. The figure that remained outside was hidden by the shadow of the setting sun. He proceeded through the doorway hastily, with purpose. The mystery stallion sported a sharp-looking green coat with a pristine pair of jackboots. The red epaulettes on his shoulders matched the crimson star on his flank. An inordinate amount of medals hung from the fabric of the uniform - a display of extensive awards and honors. The massive visor on the stallion’s head bore a golden pin at the very center of the band. The entire getup was unmistakably that of Soviet Equestria. And as the decorated gray stallion walked toward Caballeron, the treasure-hunter gasped in surprise, for he knew exactly who it was.

“Trotsky!” Caballeron exclaimed. The Soviet stopped just a few feet away from Dr. Caballeron and flashed a toothy grin. Rarity, Pinkie, and Spike had no idea what to think about any of what was transpiring around them. “It can’t be!”

“Has been many of years, comrade Caballeron.” Trotskiy answered in his broken Equestrian, with a thick Equusian accent. He took another couple of steps closer, medals clinking together jovially as he walked. “You think we simply let you walk away for stunt you pulled in Soviet republic of Trotterstan?”

“Will somebody PLEASE tell me what the heck is going on?” Spike asked. An unnerving silence followed as Trotsky slowly turned his head toward the little dragon. As the Soviet’s eyes narrowed, Spike gulped and wished he hadn’t asked.

“Comrade Espada. Who these three are?” Trotskiy asked as Raúl Espada reclined in his seat.

“We’re still trying to figure that out,” Espada answered. “They were with Caballeron in the desert, but we still haven’t figured out why.”

“It was an ACCIDENT!” Rarity and Pinkie shouted in unison. Trotskiy rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Cut to the chase, Trotsky,” Caballeron insisted. “What do you want?” Trotsky’s expression immediately soured.

“You KNOW what I want!” Trotsky raged, storming back over to Dr. Caballeron. “You play some game with me, da? You play dumb, or you actually are idiot? Where is the priceless Mustangi vase?”

“I’ve stolen a lot of things over the years, including the hearts of many beautiful mares,” Caballeron informed the Soviet. “You expect me to remember one particular piece?”

“WHO ARE YOU ALL AND WHAT THE HECK IS THIS?” Spike asked. Trotsky grunted in disgust, mumbling under his breath in his native Equusian that nopony in the room (except the Soviet soldiers) could understand.

“Many of year ago, this capitalist swine,” Trotsky seethed as he pointed a hoof at Dr. Caballeron, “stole from glorious museum of ethnography in Chymkanter, Trotterstan. As museum director and commissar of Red Army, is my duty to reclaim artifacts he steal. Most valuable of these artifacts was oldest known artisan craft from Soviet republic of Mustangistan - the priceless Mustangi vase.”

“Did you really follow Caballeron all the way from Soviet Equestria because of ONE VASE?” Spike asked.

“Believe me, dragon,” the Soviet said with a scowl, “This not only about simple theft of vase. Caballeron and his posse did many of unspeakable thing in Trotterstan. He enter without documents, he insult glorious Premier of Soviet Equestria, and make love to many married mares of Chymkanter!”

“Make love to married mares?” Pinkie and Rarity asked in unison. Even Raúl Espada seemed surprised by the remark.

“You’re even more of a jerk than I thought!” Spike shouted at Dr. Caballeron.

“Hey, it was only two or three!” Caballeron protested. “And they were all named Natasha and not a single one of them told me they were married!”

“But now you will spend many years in potassium mines in Trotterstan for your crime against Motherland, comrade Caballeron,” Trotsky said, turning and pacing away from the group of captives. “You will finally pay for what you do those many years ago… I remember as if were yesterday…”

“Spare us the flashback,” Caballeron begged.

“No!” Trotskiy barked. “You are of get flashback whether like or not.”