He hurled himself across the room, the two soldiers with him. But Fray Felipe had been passive long enough. He went into action now. He did not stop to consider the consequences. He threw out one leg, and tripped Sergeant Gonzales. The two troopers crashed into him, and all went to the floor in a tangle.
Fray Felipe had gained some time for her, and it had been enough. For the señorita had rushed to the horse and had jumped into the saddle. She could ride like a native. Her tiny feet did not reach halfway to the sergeant’s stirrups, but she thought nothing of that.
She wheeled the horse’s head, kicked at his sides as a trooper rushed around the corner of the house. A pistol ball whistled past her head. She bent lower over the horse’s neck, and rode!
Now a cursing Sergeant Gonzales was on the veranda, shouting for his men to get to horse and follow her. The tricky moon was behind a bank of clouds again. They could not tell the direction the señorita was taking except by listening for the sounds of the horse’s hoofs. And they had to stop to do that—and if they stopped they lost time and distance.
XXXV
The Clash of Blades Again
Señor Zorro stood like a statue in the native’s hut, one hand grasping his horse’s muzzle. The native crouched at his side.
Down the highway came the drumming of horses’ hoofs. Then the pursuit swept by, the men calling to one another and cursing the darkness, and rushed down the valley.
Señor Zorro opened the door and glanced out, listened for a moment, and then led out his horse. He tendered the native a coin.
“Not from you, señor,” the native said.
“Take it. You have need of it, and I have not,” the highwayman said.
He vaulted into the saddle and turned his horse up the steep slope of the hill behind the hut. The animal made little noise as it climbed to the summit. Señor Zorro descended into the depression on the other side, and came to a narrow trail, and along this he rode at a slow gallop, stopping his mount now and then to listen for sounds of other horsemen who might be abroad.
He rode toward Reina de Los Angeles, but he appeared to be in no hurry about arriving at the pueblo. Señor Zorro had another adventure planned for this night, and it had to be accomplished at a certain time and under certain conditions.
It was two hours later when he came to the crest of the hill above the town. He sat quietly in the saddle for some time, regarding the scene. The moonlight was fitful now, but now and then he could make out the plaza.
He saw no troopers, heard nothing of them, decided that they had ridden back in pursuit of him, and that those who had been sent in pursuit of Don Carlos and the Doña Catalina had not yet returned. In the tavern, there were lights, and in the presidio, and in the house where his excellency was a guest.
Señor Zorro waited until it was dark, and then urged his horse forward slowly, but off the main highway. He circled the pueblo, and in time approached the presidio from the rear.
He dismounted now, and led his horse, going forward slowly, often stopping to listen, for this was a very ticklish business and might end in disaster if a mistake were made.
He stopped the horse behind the presidio, where the wall of the building would cast a shadow if the moon came from behind the clouds again, and went forward cautiously, following the wall as he had done on that other night.
When he came to the office window, he peered inside. Captain Ramón was there, alone, looking over some reports spread on the table before him, evidently awaiting the return of his men.
Señor Zorro crept to the corner of the building, and found there was no guard. He had guessed and hoped that the comandante had sent every available man to the chase, but he knew that he would have to act quickly, for some of the troopers might return.
He slipped through the door and crossed the big lounging-room, and so came to the door of the office. His pistol was in his hand, and could a man have seen behind the mask, he would have observed that Señor Zorro’s lips were crushed in a thin straight line of determination.
As upon that other night, Captain Ramón whirled around in his chair when he heard the door open behind him, and once more he saw the eyes of Señor Zorro glittering through his mask, saw the muzzle of the pistol menacing him.
“Not a move! Not a sound! It would give me pleasure to fill your body with hot lead!” Señor Zorro said. “You are alone—your silly troopers are chasing me where I am not.”
“By the saints—” Captain Ramón breathed.
“Not so much as a whisper, señor, if you hope to live. Turn your back to me!”
“You would murder me?”
“I am not that sort, comandante! And I said for you to make not a sound! Put your hands behind your back, for I am going to bind your wrists!”
Captain Ramón complied. Señor Zorro stepped forward swiftly, and bound the wrists with his own sash, which he tore from his waist. Then he whirled Captain Ramón around so that he faced him.
“Where is his excellency?” he asked.
“At Don Juan Estados’s house.”
“I knew as much, but wanted to see whether you prefer to speak the truth tonight. It is well if you do so. We are going to call upon the governor.”
“To call—”
“Upon his excellency, I said. And do not speak again! Come with me!”
He grasped Captain Ramón by the arm and hurried him from the office, across the lounging-room, out of the door. He piloted him around the building to where the horse was waiting.
“Mount!” he
