La Vida de Doctor Caballeron

“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.”