This is what he wrote:
Your intelligences regarding this highwayman, Señor Zorro, as he is known, have come to hand. I regret that I am unable at this writing to report the rogue’s capture, but I trust that you will be lenient with me in the matter, since circumstances are somewhat unusual.
I have the greater part of my force in pursuit of the fellow, with orders to get him in person or to fetch me his corpse. But this Señor Zorro does not fight alone. He is being given succor at certain places in the neighborhood, allowed to remain in hiding when necessary, given food and drink, and, no doubt, fresh horses.
Within the past day he visited the hacienda of Don Carlos Pulido, a caballero known to be hostile to your excellency. I sent men there, and went myself. While my soldiers took up his trail, the man came from a closet in the living room at Don Carlos’s house and attacked me treacherously. He wounded me in the right shoulder, but I fought him off until he became frightened and dashed away, making his escape. I may mention that I was hindered somewhat by this Don Carlos in pursuing the man. Also, when I arrived at the hacienda, indications were that the man had been eating his evening meal there.
The Pulido hacienda is an excellent place for such a man to hide, being somewhat off the main highway. I fear that Señor Zorro makes it his headquarters when he is in this vicinity, and I await your instructions in the matter. I may add that Don Carlos scarcely treated me with respect while I was in his presence, and that his daughter, the Señorita Lolita, scarcely could keep from showing her admiration of this highwayman and from sneering at the efforts of the soldiery to capture him.
There are also indications of a famous and wealthy family of this neighborhood wavering in loyalty to your excellency, but you will appreciate the fact that I cannot write of such a thing in a missive sent you by courier.
With deep respect,
RAMÓN, Comandante and Captain, Presidio,
Reina de Los Angeles.
Ramón grinned again as he finished the letter. That last paragraph, he knew, would get the governor guessing. The Vega family was about the only famous and wealthy one that would fit the description. As for the Pulidos, Captain Ramón imagined what would happen to them. The governor would not hesitate to deal out punishment, and perhaps the Señorita Lolita would find herself without protection, and in no position to reject the advances of a captain of the army.
Now Ramón addressed himself to the task of making a second copy of the letter, intending to send one by his courier and preserve the other for his files, in case something came up and he wished to refer to it.
Having finished the copy, he folded the original and sealed it, carried it to the soldiers’ lounging-room, and gave it to the man he had selected as courier. The soldier saluted, hurried out to his horse, and rode furiously toward the north, toward San Fernando and Santa Barbara, and on to San Francisco de Asis, with the orders ringing in his ears that he should make all haste and get a change of horses at every mission and pueblo in the name of his excellency.
Ramón returned to his office and poured out a measure of wine, and began reading over the copy of the letter. He half wished that he had made it stronger, yet he knew that it were better to make it mild, for then the governor would not think he was exaggerating.
He stopped reading now and then to curse the name of Señor Zorro, and frequently he reflected on the beauty and grace of the Señorita Lolita, and told himself she should be punished for the manner in which she had treated him.
He supposed that Señor Zorro was miles away by this time, and putting more miles between himself and Reina de Los Angeles, but he was mistaken in that. For the Curse of Capistrano, as the soldiers called him, had not hurried away after leaving the house of Don Diego Vega.
CHAPTER 15
AT THE PRESIDIO
Señor Zorro had gone a short distance through the darkness to where he had left his horse in the rear of a native’s hut, and there he had stood, thinking of the love that had come to him.
Presently he chuckled as if well pleased, then mounted and rode slowly toward the path that led to the presidio. He heard a horseman galloping away from the place, and thought Captain Ramón had sent a man to call back Sergeant Gonzales and the troopers and put them on the fresher trail.
Señor Zorro knew how affairs stood at the presidio, knew to a man how many of the soldiery were there, and that four were ill with a fever, and that there was but one well man now besides the captain since one had ridden away.
He laughed again, and made his horse climb the slope slowly so as to make little noise. In the rear of the presidio building he dismounted and allowed the reins to drag on the ground, knowing that the animal would not move from the spot.
Now he crept through the darkness to the wall of the building, and made his way around it carefully until he came to a window. He raised himself on a pile of adobe bricks and peered inside.
It was Captain Ramón’s office into which he looked. He saw the comandante sitting before a table reading a letter which, it appeared, he had just finished writing. Captain Ramón was talking to himself, as does many an evil man.
“That will cause consternation for the pretty señorita,” he was saying. “That will teach her not to flaunt an officer of his excellency’s forces! When her father is in the cárcel charged with high treason, and his estates have been taken away, then perhaps she will listen to what I have to say!”
Señor Zorro had no difficulty in distinguishing the words. He guessed instantly that Captain Ramón had planned a revenge, that he contemplated mischief toward the Pulidos. Beneath his mask the face of Señor Zorro grew black with rage.
He got down from the pile of adobe bricks and slipped on along the wall until he came to the corner of the building. In a socket at the side of the front door a torch was burning, and the only able-bodied man left in the garrison was pacing back and forth before the doorway, a pistol in his belt and a blade at his side.
Señor Zorro noted the length of the man’s pacing. He judged the distance accurately, and just as the man turned his back to resume his march, the highwayman sprang.
His hands closed around the soldier’s throat as his knees struck the man in the back. Instantly they were upon the ground, the surprised trooper now doing his best to put up a fight. But Señor Zorro, knowing that a bit of noise might mean disaster for him, silenced the man by striking him on the temple with the heavy butt of his pistol.
He pulled the unconscious soldier back into the shadows, gagged him with a strip torn from the end of his serape, and bound his hands and feet with other strips. Then he drew his cloak about him, looked to his pistol, listened a moment, to be sure the short fight with the soldier had not attracted the attention of any inside the building, and slipped once more toward the door.
He was inside in an instant. Before him was the big lounging-room with its hard dirt door. Here were some long tables and bunks and wine mugs and harness and saddles and bridles. Señor Zorro gave it but a glance to assure himself that no man was there, and walked swiftly and almost silently across to the door that opened into the office of the comandante.
He made sure that his pistol was ready for instant use, and then threw the door open boldly. Captain Ramón was seated with his back toward it, and now he whirled around in his chair with a snarl on his lips, thinking one of his men had entered without the preliminary of knocking, and ready to rebuke the man.
“Not a sound, señor!” the highwayman warned. “You die if as much as a gasp escapes your lips!”
He kept his eyes on those of the comandante, closed the door behind him, and advanced into the room. He walked forward slowly, without speaking, the pistol held ready in front of him. Captain Ramón had his hands on the table before him, and his face had gone white.
“This visit is necessary, señor, I believe,” Señor Zorro said. “I have not made it because I admire the beauty of your face.”
“What do you want here?” the captain asked, disregarding the ord
er to make no sound, yet speaking in a tone scarcely above a whisper.
“I happened to look in at the window, señor. I saw an epistle before you on the table, and I heard you speak. ’Tis a bad thing for a man to talk to himself! Had you remained silent I might have gone on about my business. As it is—”
“Well, señor?” the captain asked, with a bit of his old arrogance returning to him.
“I have a mind to read that letter before you.”
“Does my military business interest you that much?”
“As to that, we shall say nothing, señor. Kindly remove your hands from the table, but do not reach toward the pistol at your side unless you wish to die the death instantly. It would not grieve me to have to send your soul into the hereafter.”
The comandante did as he had been directed, and Señor Zorro went forward cautiously and snatched up the letter. Then he retreated a few paces again, still watching the man before him.
“I am going to read this,” he said, “but I warn you that I shall watch you closely, also. Do not make a move, señor, unless it is your wish to visit your ancestors.”
He read swiftly, and when he had finished he looked the comandante straight in the eyes for some time without speaking, and his own eyes were glittering malevolently through his mask. Captain Ramón began to feel more uncomfortable.
Señor Zorro stepped across to the table, still watching the other, and held the letter to the flame of a candle. It caught fire, blazed, presently dropped to the floor a bit of ash. Señor Zorro put one foot upon it.
“The letter will not be delivered,” he said. “So, you fight women, do you, señor? A brave officer and an ornament to his excellency’s forces! I doubt not he would grant you promotion if he knew of this. You insult a señorita because her father, for the time being, is not friendly with those in power; and because she repulses you as you deserve, you set about to cause trouble for the members of her family. Truly, it is a worthy deed!”
He took a step closer and bent forward, still holding the pistol ready before him.
“Let me not hear of you sending any letter similar to the one I have just destroyed,” he said. “I regret at the present time that you are unable to stand before me and cross blades. It would be an insult to my sword to run you through, yet would I do it to rid the world of such a fellow!”
“You speak bold words to a wounded man!”
“No doubt the wound will heal, señor. And I shall keep myself informed regarding it. And when it has healed and you have back your strength, I shall take the trouble to hunt you up, and call you to account for what you have attempted doing this night. Let that be understood between us!”
Again their eyes blazed, each man’s into those of the other, and Señor Zorro stepped backward and drew his cloak closer about him. To their ears there came, suddenly, a jangling of harness, the tramp of horses’ feet, the raucous voice of Sergeant Pedro Gonzales.
“Do not dismount!” the sergeant was crying to his men at the door. “I but make my report, and then we go on after the rogue! There shall be no rest until we take him!”
Señor Zorro glanced quickly around the room, for he knew escape by the entrance was cut off now. Captain Ramón’s eyes flashed with keen anticipation.
“Ho, Gonzales!” he shrieked before Zorro could warn him against it. “To the rescue, Gonzales! Señor Zorro is here!”
And then he looked at the highwayman defiantly, as if telling him to do his worst.
But Señor Zorro had no desire to fire his pistol and let out the captain’s life-blood, it appeared, preferring to save him for the blade when his shoulder should have healed.
“Remain where you are!” he commanded, and darted toward the nearest window.
The big sergeant had heard, however. He called upon his men to follow, and rushed across the large room to the door of the office and threw it open. A bellow of rage escaped him as he saw the masked man standing beside the table, and saw the comandante sitting before it with his hands spread out before him.
“By the saint, we have him!” Gonzales cried. “In with you, troopers! Guard the doors! Some look to the windows!”
Señor Zorro had transferred his pistol to his left hand, and had whipped out his blade. Now he swept it forward and sidewise, and the candles were struck from the table. Zorro put his foot upon the only one that remained lighted, and extinguished it in that manner—and the room was in darkness.
“Lights! Bring a torch!” Gonzales shrieked.
Señor Zorro sprang aside, against the wall, and made his way around it rapidly while Gonzales and two other men sprang into the room, and one remained guarding the door, while in the other room, several ran to get a torch, and managed to get in one another’s way.
The man with the torch came rushing through the door finally, and he shrieked and went down with a sword-blade through his breast, and the torch fell to the floor and was extinguished. And then, before the sergeant could reach the spot, Señor Zorro was back in the darkness again and could not be found.
Gonzales was roaring his curses now and searching for the man he wished to slay, and the captain was crying to him to be careful and not put his blade through a trooper by mistake. The other men were storming around; from the other room, one came with a second torch.
Zorro’s pistol spoke, and the torch was shot from the man’s hand. The highwayman sprang forward and stamped upon it, putting it out, and again retreated to the darkness, changing his position rapidly, listening for the deep breathing that would tell him the exact location of his various foes.
“Catch the rogue!” the comandante was shrieking. “Can one man thus make fools of the lot of you?”
Then he ceased to speak, for Señor Zorro had grasped him from behind and shut off his wind, and now the highwayman’s voice rang out above the din.
“Soldiers, I have your captain! I am going to carry him before me and back out the door. I am going to cross the other room and so reach the outside of the building. I have discharged one pistol, but I am holding its mate at the base of the captain’s brain. And when one of you attacks me, I fire, and you are without a captain!”
The captain could feel cold steel at the back of his head, and he shrieked for the men to use caution. And Señor Zorro carried him to the doorway and backed out with the captain held in front of him, while Gonzales and the troopers followed as closely as they dared, watching every move, hoping for a chance to catch him unaware.
He crossed the big lounging-room of the presidio, and so came to the outside door. He was somewhat afraid of the men outside, for he knew that some of them had run around the building to guard the windows. The torch was still burning just outside the door, and Señor Zorro put up his hand and tore it down and extinguished it. But still there would be grave danger the moment he stepped out.
Gonzales and the troopers were before him, spread out fan-fashion across the room, bending forward, waiting for a chance to get in a blow. Gonzales held a pistol in his hand—though he made out to despise the weapon—and was watching for an opportunity to shoot without endangering the life of his captain.
“Back, señores!” the highwayman commanded now. “I would have more room in which to make my start. That is it—I thank you! Sergeant Gonzales, were not the odds so heavy, I might be tempted to play at fence with you and disarm you again.”
“By the saints—”
“Some other time, my sergeant! And now, señores, attention! It desolates me to say it, but I had only the one pistol. What the captain has been feeling all this time at the base of his brain is naught except a bridle buckle I picked up from the floor. Is it not a pretty jest? Señores, á Dios!”
Suddenly he whirled the captain forward, darted into the darkness, and started toward his horse with the whole pack at his heels and pistol flashes splitting the blackness of the night and bullets whistling by his head. His laughter came back to them on the stiffening breeze that blew in from the distant sea.
CHAPTER 16
>
THE CHASE THAT FAILED
Señor Zorro urged his horse down the treacherous slope of the hill, where there was loose gravel and a misstep would spell disaster, and where the troopers were slow to follow. Sergeant Gonzales possessed courage enough, and some of the men followed him, while others galloped off to right and left, planning to intercept the fugitive when he reached the bottom and turned.
Señor Zorro, however, was before them, and took the trail toward San Gabriel at a furious gallop, while the troopers dashed along behind, calling to one another, and now and then discharging a pistol with a great waste of powder and ball and no result so far as capturing or wounding the highwayman was concerned.
Soon the moon came up. Señor Zorro had been anticipating that, and knew that it would make his escape more difficult. But his horse was fresh and strong, while those ridden by the troopers had covered many miles during the day, and so hope was not gone.
Now he could be seen plainly by those who pursued, and he could hear Sergeant Gonzales crying upon his men to urge their beasts to the utmost and effect a capture. He glanced behind him as he rode, and observed that the troopers were scattering out in a long line, the stronger and fresher horses gaining on the others.
So they rode for some five miles, the troopers holding the distance, but not making any gain, and Señor Zorro knew that soon their horses would weaken, and that the good steed he bestrode, which gave no signs of fatigue as yet, would outdistance them. Only one thing bothered him—he wanted to be traveling in the opposite direction.
Here the hills rose abruptly on either side of the highway, and it was not possible for him to turn aside and make a great circle, nor were there any trails he could follow; and if he attempted to have his horse climb, he would have to make slow progress, and the troopers would come near enough to fire their pistols, and mayhap wound him.
The Mark of Zorro Page 13