The horses ridden by the troopers were fresh, too, and the most of those belonging to the men of his excellency’s escort were magnificent beasts as swift as any in the country, and able to endure many miles of travel at a terrific pace.
But now the highwayman thought only of getting all the speed possible out of his own mount, and of making as great as he could the distance between himself and those who followed; for at the end of his journey he would need quite a little time, if he was to accomplish what he had set out to do.
He bent low over the señorita, and felt his horse with the reins, making himself almost a part of the animal he rode, as any good horseman can. He reached the crest of another hill, and glanced back before he began the descent into the valley. He could see the foremost of his pursuers.
Had Señor Zorro been alone, no doubt the situation would have caused him no uneasiness, for many times he had been in a position more difficult, and had escaped. But the señorita was on the saddle before him now, and he wanted to get her to a place of safety, not only because she was the señorita and the woman he loved, but also because he was not the sort of man to let a prisoner he had rescued be recaptured. Such an event, he felt, would be a reflection on his skill and daring.
Mile after mile he rode, the señorita clinging to him, and neither speaking a word. Señor Zorro knew that he had gained some on those who followed, but not enough to suit his purpose.
Now he urged his horse to greater effort and they flew along the dusty highway, past haciendas where the hounds barked in sudden alarm, past the huts of natives where the clamor of beating hoofs on the hard road caused bronze men and women to tumble from their bunks and rush to their doors.
Once he charged through a flock of sheep that were being driven to Reina de Los Angeles and the market there, and scattered them to either side of the road, leaving cursing herders behind him. The herders gathered the flock again, just in time to have the pursuing soldiers scatter it once more.
On and on he rode, until he could see, far ahead, the mission buildings at San Gabriel glistening in the moonlight. He came to a fork in the road, and took the trail that ran to the right, toward the hacienda of Fray Felipe.
Señor Zorro was a reader of men, and he was trusting to his judgment tonight. He had known that the Señorita Lolita would have to be left either where there were women, else where there was a robed Franciscan to stand guard over her, for Señor Zorro was determined to protect his lady’s good name. And so he was pinning his faith to old Fray Felipe.
Now the horse was galloping over softer ground, and was not making such good speed. Señor Zorro had little hope that the troopers would turn into the San Gabriel Road when they arrived at the fork, as they might have done had it not been moonlight and they had been unable to catch sight now and then of the man they pursued. He was within a mile of Fray Felipe’s hacienda now, and once more he gave his horse the spurs in an effort to obtain greater speed.
“I shall have scant time, señorita,” he said, bending over her and speaking into her ear. “Everything may depend upon whether I have been able to judge a man correctly. I ask only that you trust me.”
“You know I do that, señor!”
“And you must trust the man to whom I am carrying you, señorita, and listen well to his advice upon all matters concerned with this adventure. The man is a fray.”
“Then everything will be well, señor,” she replied, clinging to him closely.
“If the saints are kind, we shall meet again soon, señorita. I shall count the hours, and deem each one of them an age. I believe there are happier days ahead for us.”
“May Heaven grant it!” the girl breathed.
“Where there is love, there may be hope, señorita.”
“Then my hope is great, señor.”
“And mine!” he said.
He turned his horse into Fray Felipe’s driveway now, and dashed toward the house. His intention was to stop only long enough to leave the girl, hoping that Fray Felipe would afford her protection, and then ride on, making considerable noise and drawing the troopers after him. He wanted them to think that he was merely taking a shortcut across Fray Felipe’s land to the other road, and that he had not stopped at the house.
He reined in his horse before the veranda steps, sprang to the ground and lifted the señorita from the saddle, hurrying with her to the door. He beat against it with his fist, praying that Fray Felipe was a light sleeper and easily aroused. From the far distance there came a low drumming sound that he knew was made by the hoofs of his pursuers’ horses.
It seemed to Señor Zorro that it was an age before the old fray threw open the door and stood framed in it, holding a candle in one hand. The highwayman stepped in swiftly and closed the door behind him, so no light would show outside. Fray Felipe had taken a step backward in astonishment when he had beheld the masked man and the señorita he escorted.
“I am Señor Zorro, fray,” the highwayman said, speaking swiftly and in low tones. “Perhaps you may feel that you owe me a small debt for certain things?”
“For punishing those who oppressed and mistreated me, I owe you a
