The Mark of Zorro (34 page)

“His excellency is wise not to waste breath renewing it. He grows fat and his breath is short!”

“What can you expect to gain by resistance, save death?” Gonzales asked. “How can you hope to offstand a score and a half of us?”

“It has been done before, loud one!”

“We can batter in the door and take you!”

“After a few of you have been stretched lifeless on the floor,” Señor Zorro observed. “Who will be the first through the door, my sergeant?”

“For the last time—”

“Come in and drink a mug of wine with me,” said the highwayman, laughing.

“Meal mush and goat's milk!” swore Sergeant Gonzales.

There was quiet then for a time, and Señor Zorro, glancing through the window cautiously, so as not to attract a pistol shot, observed that the governor was in consultation with the sergeant and certain of the troopers.

The consultation ended, and Señor Zorro darted back from the window. Almost immediately, the attack upon the door began. They were pounding at it with heavy timbers, trying to smash it down. Señor Zorro, standing in the middle of the room, pointed his pistol at the door and fired, and as the ball tore through the wood and somebody outside gave a shriek of pain, he darted to the table and started loading the pistol again.

Then he hurried across to the door, and observed the hole where the bullet had gone through. The plank had been split, and there was quite a crack in it. Señor Zorro put the point of his blade at this crack, and waited.

Again the heavy timber crashed against the door, and some trooper threw his weight against it, also. Señor Zorro's blade darted through the crack like a streak of lightning, and came back red, and again there was a shriek outside. And now a volley of pistol balls came through the door, but Señor Zorro, laughing, had sprung back out of harm's way.

“Well done,
señor!”
Señorita Lolita cried.

“We shall stamp our mark on several of these hounds before we are done!” he replied.

“I would that I could aid you,
señor.”

“You are doing it,
señorita.
It is your love that gives me my strength.”

“If I could use a blade—”

“Ah,
señorita,
that is for a man to do. Do you pray that all may be well!”

“And at the last,
señor,
if it is seen that there is no hope—may I then see your dear face?”

“I swear it,
señorita,
and feel my arms about you, and my lips on yours! Death will not be so bitter then!”

The attack on the door was renewed. Now pistol shots were coming through it regularly, and through the one open window also, and there was nothing for Señor Zorro to do except stand in the middle of the room and wait, his blade held ready. There would be a lively few minutes, he promised, when the door was down and they rushed in at him.

It seemed to be giving way now. The
señorita
crept close to him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and grasped him by the arm.

“You will not forget?” she asked.

“I'll not forget,
señorita.
”

“Just before they break down the door,
señor!
Take me in your arms, and let me see your dear face, and kiss me! Then I can die with good grace, too.”

“You must live—”

“Not to be sent to a foul
cárcel, señor!
And what would life be without you?”

“There is Don Diego—”

“I think of nobody but you,
señor!
A Pulido will know how to die! And perhaps my death will bring home to men the perfidy of the governor. Perhaps it may be of service!”

Again the heavy timber struck against the door. They could hear his excellency shouting encouragement to the troopers, could hear the natives shrieking, and Sergeant Gonzales crying his orders in his loud voice.

Señor Zorro hurried to the window again, chancing a bullet, and glanced out. He saw that half a dozen troopers had their blades ready, were prepared to rush over the door the moment it was down. They would get him—but he would get some of them first! Again the ram against the door.

“It is almost the end,
señor!”
the girl whispered.

“I know it,
señorita!”

“I would we had had better fortune, yet I can die gladly since this love has been in my life! Now—
señor
—your face and lips! The door—is crashing in!”

She ceased to sob, and lifted her face bravely. Señor Zorro sighed, and one hand fumbled with the bottom of his mask.

But suddenly there was a tumult outside in the plaza, and the battering at the door ceased, and they could hear loud voices that they had not heard before.

Señor Zorro let go of his mask, and darted to the window.

Twenty-three horsemen were galloping into the plaza. The beasts they rode were magnificent, their saddles and bridles were heavily chased with silver, their cloaks were of the finest materials, and they wore hats with plumes, as if this was somewhat of a dress affair and they wished the world to know it. Each man sat straight and proud in his saddle, his blade at his side, and every blade had a jeweled hilt, being at once serviceable and a rich ornament.

They galloped along the face of the tavern, between the door and the soldiers who had been battering it, between the building and the governor and assembled citizens, and there they turned and stood their horses side by side, facing his excellency.

“Wait! There is a better way!” their leader cried.

“Ha!” screeched the governor. “I understand! Here we have the young men of all the noble families in the southland. They have come to show their loyalty by taking this Curse of Capistrano! I thank you,
caballeros!
Yet it is not my wish to have any of you slain by this fellow. He is not worthy of your blades,
señores!

“Do you ride to one side and lend the strength of your presence, and let my troopers deal with the rogue. Again I thank you for this show of loyalty, for this demonstration that you stand for law and order and all it means, for constituted authority—”

“Peace!” their leader cried. “Your excellency, we represent power in this section, do we not?”

“You do,
caballeros,”
the governor said.

“Our families say who shall rule, what laws shall be termed just, do they not?”

“They have great influence,” the governor said.

“You would not care to stand alone against us?”

“Most assuredly not!” his excellency cried. “But I pray you, let the troopers get this fellow. It is not seemly that a
caballero
should suffer wound or death from his blade.”

“It is to be regretted that you do not understand.”

“Understand?” queried the governor, in a questioning tone, glancing up and down the line of mounted men.

“We have taken counsel with ourselves, Excellency. We know our strength and power, and we have decided upon certain things. There have been things done that we cannot countenance.

“The
frailes
of the missions have been despoiled by officials. Natives have been treated worse than dogs. Even men of noble blood have been robbed because they have not been friendly to the ruling powers.”

“Peace, Excellency, until I have done! This thing came to a crisis when a
hidalgo
and his wife and daughter were thrown into a
cárcel
by your orders. Such a thing cannot be countenanced, Excellency.

“And so we have banded ourselves together, and here we take a hand! Be it known that we ourselves rode with this Señor Zorro when he invaded the
cárcel
and rescued the prisoners, that we carried Don Carlos and the Doña Catalina to places of safety, and that we have pledged our words and honors and blades that they shall not be persecuted more.”

“I would say—”

“Silence, until I have done! We stand together, and the strength of our united families is behind us. Call upon your soldiers to attack us, if you dare! Every man of noble blood up and down the length of El Camino Real would flock to our defense, would unseat you from your office, would see you humbled! We await your answer, Excellency!”

“What—what would you?” his excellency gasped.

“First, proper consideration for Don Carlos Pulido and his family. No
cárcel
for them! If you have the courage to try them for treason, be sure that we will be on hand at the trial, and deal with any man who gives perjured testimony, and with any
magistrado
who does not conduct himself properly. We are determined, Excellency!”

“Perhaps I was hasty in the matter, but I was led to believe certain things,” the governor said. “I grant you your wish. One side now,
caballeros,
while my men get at this rogue in the tavern.”

“We are not done!” their leader said. “We have things to say regarding this Señor Zorro. What has he done—actually—Excellency? Is he guilty of any treason? He has robbed no man except those who robbed the defenseless first. He has whipped a few unjust persons. He has taken sides with the persecuted, for which we honor him. To do such a thing, he took his life in his own hands. He successfully evaded your soldiers. He resented insults, as any man has the right to do!”

“What would you?”

“A complete pardon, here and now, for this man known as Señor Zorro!”

“Never!” the governor cried. “He has affronted me personally! He shall die the death!” He turned around and saw Don Alejandro Vega standing near him. “Don Alejandro, you are the most influential man in this south country!” he said. “You are the one man against whom even the governor dare not stand! You are a man of justice! Tell these young
caballeros
that what they wish cannot be granted. Bid them retire to their homes, and this show of treason will be forgotten.”

“I stand behind them!” Don Alejandro thundered.

“You—you stand behind them?”

“I do, your excellency! I echo every word they have spoken in your presence. Persecution must cease. Grant their requests, see that your officials do right hereafter, return to San Francisco de Asis, and I take my oath that there shall be no treason in this southland.

“I shall see to it myself. But oppose them, Excellency, and I shall take sides against you, see you driven from office and ruined, and your foul parasites with you!”

“This terrible, willful southland!” the governor cried.

“Your answer?” Don Alejandro demanded.

“I can do nothing but agree,” the governor said. “But there is one thing—”

“Well?”

“I spare the man's life if he surrenders, but he must stand trial for the murder of Captain Ramón!”

“Murder?” queried the leader of the
caballeros.
“It was a duel between gentlemen, Excellency. Señor Zorro resented an insult on the part of the
comandante
to the
señorita.
”

“Ha! But Ramón was a
caballero
—”

“And so is this Señor Zorro. He told us as much, and we believe him, for there was no falsehood in his voice. So it was a duel, Excellency, and between gentlemen, according to the code, and Captain Ramón was unfortunate that he was not a better man with a blade. That is understood? Your answer!”

“I agree!” the governor said weakly. “I pardon him, and I go home to San Francisco de Asis, and persecution ceases in this locality. But I hold Don Alejandro to his promise—that there be no treason against me here if I do these things.”

“I have given my word!” Don Alejandro said.

The
caballeros
shrieked their happiness and dismounted. They drove the soldiers away from the door, Sergeant Gonzales growling into his mustache because here was a reward gone glimmering again.

“Within there, Señor Zorro!” one cried. “Have you heard?”

“I have heard,
caballero!”

“Open the door and come out amongst us—a free man!” There was a moment's hesitation, and then the battered door was unbarred and opened, and Señor Zorro stepped out with the
señorita
on his arm. He stopped just in front of the door, removed his sombrero and bowed low before them.

“A good day to you,
caballeros!”
he cried. “Sergeant, I regret that you have missed the reward, but I shall see that the amount is placed to the credit of you and your men with the landlord of the tavern.”

“By the saints, he is a
caballero!”
Gonzales cried.

“Unmask, man!” cried the governor. “I would see the features of the person who has fooled my troopers, has gained
caballeros
to his banner, and has forced me to make a compromise.”

“I fear that you will be disappointed when you see my poor features,” Señor Zorro replied. “Do you expect me to look like Satan? Or, can it be possible, on the other hand, that you believe I have an angelic countenance?”

He chuckled, glanced down at the Señorita Lolita, and then put up a hand and tore off his mask.

A chorus of gasps answered the motion, an explosive oath or two from the soldiers, cries of delight from the
caballeros,
and a screech of mingled pride and joy from one old
hidalgo.

“Don Diego, my son—my son!”

And the man before them seemed to droop suddenly in the shoulders, and sighed, and spoke in a languid voice.

“These be turbulent times! Can a man never meditate on music and the poets?”

And Don Diego Vega, the Curse of Capistrano, was clasped for a moment in his father's arms.