I am likely the only person to ever call el Tigre a pendejo and still be alive.

William-Adolphe Bouguereau Marta was up early, long before everyone else, and so as not to disturb their slumber, resolved to wash her own hair out in the clear cool of the veranda. She liked washing outside. Felt like she was camping, roughing it. She’d soaped up and was full of lather when she heard the thundering hooves of a significant army and worked diligently to rinse her hair when she felt the presence of a stranger beside her. She squinted enough to see dusty black boots and big Mexican spurs. They were big, the big feet, the big boots of a big man.

She felt about for a towel and could see the man was helping, but not helping, teasing her and other men were quietly laughing all around her. She was barely dressed, barefoot and, in her haste to rinse the soap, had wetted her petticoat quite thoroughly. Now she stood on the veranda and the audience of the little army could easily see all the gifts given to her by the almighty. She was losing patience very quickly.

“Pendejo, you might think this is funny, but I don’t like soap in my eyes. Hand me my towel, now!”

“Ah, but you must say please, Señorita.”

“Please, pendejo. Please!”

“That’s better.” The big man handed her the towel and she was now able to see. She looked down at her naked form pressing through the sheer wet fabric and blinked twice. She recognized him immediately.

“Emiliano Zapata, at your service.” He laughed and the army laughed and Marta gave him a coy smile.

“I am likely the only person to ever call el Tigre a pendejo and still be alive.” The Mule Tamer III, Marta's Quest