The New Adventures of the Whirlwind

By Pro Se Press

Johnston McCulley, the author responsible for Zorro, also created the mysterious avenger known as The Whirlwind. A young man leaves behind a life of wealth and privilege in Spain and journeys to california. He builds a new life with a new name, Pedro Garzos. As he settles into his new home, the man known as Pedro discovers tyrant, bandits, and other dangers that threaten the weak and powerless! Rising to the challenge, he assumes one last alias and dons the mask of El Torbellino- The Whirlwind!

The Whirlwind now returns and continues his crusade for justice!

From out of the past comes new tales of the Wily Whirlwind! Pro Se Productions in conjunction with Altus Press presents a new volume in its Pulp Obscura line!

Bringing adventures and heroes lost in yesterday blazing to life in New Pulp Tales Today! Exciting new stories of blazing justice and heroic adventure from Teel James Glenn, Nancy A. Hansen, and Allan Gilbreath!

Join the Whirlwind as he takes on new adventures with his friends, Juanita Lazaga, daughter of Carlos the innkeeper, and Friar Marcos, as they fight for the people of Old California!

Pulp Obscura Proudly Presents The New Adventures of the Whirlwind!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Aug 26, 2014

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

THE NEW ADVENTURES OF THE WHIRLWIND

Copyright © 2014 Pro Se Productions

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

A Volume of the Pulp Obscura imprint

The stories in this publication are fictional. All of the characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

The Whirlwind’s Nightmare copyright © 2014 Teel James Glenn

El Torbellino copyright © 2014 Allan Gilbreath

The False Don copyright © 2014 Nancy A. Hansen

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE WHIRLWIND’S NIGHTMARE

By Teel James Glenn

EL TORBELLINO

By Allan Gilbreath

THE FALSE DON

By Nancy A. Hansen

ALIAS THE WORDSMITHS

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

THE WHIRLWIND’S NIGHTMARE

By Teel James Glenn

Prologue

Night Blades

An elegant carreta traveled south along El Camino Real, moving with a relaxed but steady pace, for the moon was full and gibbous and illuminated the highway almost as clearly as day.

The carreta was not the regular carriage from Reina de Los Angeles. It was a special one, more elegant and larger with six horses pulling it. The driver was a portly man, a Californio, most likely an ex-soldier who had chosen not to sit on a porch and waste away but ran the length of the Camino Real. Beside the driver was an Indio that was everything in contrast, thin, young and poorly dressed. He also clutched a coach gun to his chest as if it was his dearest possession.

Both men scanned the shadows along the side of the road, alert for highwaymen or natives that still, on occasion, preyed on conveyances along the dirt artery.

El Camino Real was the Royal Road that stretched for six hundred miles from Mission San Francisico Solona south to San Diego de Alcala. It passed through twenty-one missions, many pueblos and four presidios of Alta California. Tradition has it that the padres sprinkled mustard seeds along the trail in order to mark it with bright yellow flowers.

Heavy freight movement was practical only via water, but the highway was the human connection. It was the lifeline of the province, the major means for man and beast to move up and down the territory.

Coaches traveled it regularly with news and Royal Mail. The long and lonely road was patrolled irregularly by lancers of the King, so coaches seldom traveled it at night lest they tempt highwaymen or the chance of a broken axle.

I worry, senor, the Indio said with a high squeaky voice. What if the horses step in a hole? I think we should stop for the night.

The horses have more sense than you do, Juan, the portly driver said. The fine lady or the Don would not like to spend the night on this road; if we had not become mired in that bog we would have been in the San Diego de Alcala already.

I am hungry, Juan said. Can’t we stop to make some soup?

Silence, the driver said raising the whip as if he might lash the boy. You think I am not hungry? We will be in the village in-.Whoa!

The driver abruptly pulled back on the reins as the coach rounded a wide bend. Ahead a tree had fallen across the road, its roots clearly visible where it had upended from the soft earth.

The rains have softened the earth, the driver said. Go and see if you can move it.

The boy set his gun down in the boot and jumped down to race over to the tree. It was not old growth, but it was no sapling either. After two attempts to heave it up, the boy called, You must help me.

Aiya! The driver exclaimed as he laboriously climbed down. I think we may need more help.

I will assist you, another voice said. I need to stretch my legs. The speaker was a lancer officer in dress uniform. His blue coat was resplendent with gold lace edged scarlet collar, cuffs and lapels. He also wore blue knee breeches. He removed his gold-laced tricorn and handed it to one of the occupants of the coach who reached out to take it.

Thank you, Fray Luis, the Colonel said.

A tonsured head nodded, the moon illuminating a cheerful, smiling face. You are welcome, my son. Would you like me to take that as well? He pointed to the rapier on the Colonel’s hip.

I think I shall keep it, Father, the officer said. I feel unbalanced without it.

Thank you, senor, the driver said. I am sure once we have removed this we will be in the pueblo in less than an hour.

The three men bent to move the tree then froze as one when a voice came from the shadows. Do stand where you are, Senors or this pistol will make a very unpleasant noise.

A figure all in black, his face hidden behind a mask, stepped from the shadows near the roots of the fallen tree. He led a great black horse whose fiery nature could be read in the stamp of its feet and toss of its head, yet he gentled it with a quiet word.

In his left hand the masked man held a charged pistol.

El Torbellino! The driver said. Senor Whirlwind!

I am pleased to be known, the masked man said with humor in his tone. It will make this simpler. I wish your pesos for the peons; a tariff for passage. From all, except, of course, the good father.

But we do not have money, Senor Whirlwind. The driver said. This is not the regular coach from Reina de Los Angeles but a private—

You, brigand! The Colonel called, boldly stepping before the driver. It is to destroy such as you that I have come to San Diego de Alcala. Face a real man and we would see how brave you are.

A real man? The masked highwayman said. So, your sword it itches for a little exercise? Mine too has a cramp. Perhaps we can help each other? He set his pistol to half cock, slipped it in his sash and drew his own rapier.

Yes, the Colonel said. I can help you to a sackcloth shroud.

The masked man released the horse’s reins and the two swordsmen moved toward each other. The masked man’s blade whirled as if hungry for blood and then the two were joined in mortal combat.

Chapter One:

Things in the Night

The clashing of sword blades in the moonlight was like lightning and thunder at a human scale. The two men holding the swords were somehow raised to demi-god status by their actions. They flowed and fought across the midnight terrain of the countryside. Their blades wove a cyclone of steel between the two men.

One of the men was masked and moved with the grace and power of liquid steel while his opponent fought with the ferocity of the desperate. In the distance the lights of Madrid Spain could be seen through the dense trees.

The unmasked man was older and looked heavyset. He had full mustachios and sideburns to compliment his bushy eyebrows. His features were noble and his eyes intense with concentration.

You must always keep a supple wrist as you advance, boy, the elder said. And never give ground to your opponent without a plan. As he spoke he drove the masked man backward with determined and powerful thrusts from his rapier. This is the secret of our family style, the torbellino, the whirlwind attack! He made a sudden, startlingly swift advance and the masked man was forced to withdraw.

I know, father, the masked man said. Why must you always say the obvious as if I were half-witted? He parried a robust cut at his head but slipped on a stone, falling backward.

The elder swordsman stepped over the fallen man, beating the other’s sword aside and stepping on the blade to pin it to the ground. No, I do not think you are half-witted; no son of mine could be. Our family is descended from Catalonian royalty. But you are as stubborn as your mother and have her selective hearing. I raised you to be a great man, to uphold the principles of honor and justice, not to waste your life as a wastrel and commit acts that bring disgrace on this family.

I am not a wastrel, the fallen man said. I just could not face your continued displeasure over—

Stop! the elder said. I will not listen to your excuses any more; you have brought shame to our family. The elder stepped back and began to waver as if he were smoke in the wind. "You need to remember all