The Mark of Zorro (18 page)

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 order 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.

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.

So he rode straight ahead, gaining a bit now, knowing that two miles farther up the valley there was a trail that swung off to the right, and that by following it he would come to higher ground and so could double back on his tracks.

He had covered one of the two miles before he remembered that it had been noised abroad that a landslide had been caused by the recent torrential rain and had blocked this higher trail. So he could not use that even when he reached it; and now a bold thought came to his mind.

As he topped a slight rise in the terrain, he glanced behind once more and saw that no two of the troopers were riding side by side. They were well scattered, and there was some distance between each two of them. It would help his plan.

He dashed around a bend in the highway, and pulled up his horse. He turned the animal's head back toward whence he had come, and bent forward in the saddle to listen. When he could hear the hoof-beats of his nearest pursuer's horse, he drew his blade, took a turn of the reins around his left wrist, and suddenly struck his beast in the flanks cruelly with his sharp rowels.

The animal he rode was not used to such treatment, never having felt the spurs except when in a gallop and his master wished greater speed. Now he sprang forward like a thunderbolt, dashed around the curve like a wild stallion, and bore down upon the nearest of Señor Zorro's foes.

“Make way!” Señor Zorro cried.

The first man gave ground readily, not sure that this was the highwayman coming back, and when he was sure of it, he shrieked the intelligence to those behind, but they could not understand because of the clatter of hooves on the hard road.

Señor Zorro bore down upon the second man, clashed swords with him and rode on. He dashed around another curve, and his horse struck another fairly, and hurled him from the roadway. Zorro swung at the fourth man, and missed him, and was glad that the fellow's counterstroke missed as well.