Captain Ramón could not force him to give way now. His blade seemed to be a score. It darted in and out, trying to find a resting place in the captain’s body; for Señor Zorro was eager to have an end of this and be gone. He knew that the dawn was not far away, and he feared that some trooper might come to the house with a report for the governor.
“Fight, insulter of girls!” he cried. “Fight, man who tells a falsehood to injure a noble family! Fight, coward and poltroon! Now death stares you in the face, and soon you’ll be claimed! Ha! I almost had you then! Fight, cur!”
Captain Ramón cursed and charged, but Señor Zorro received him and drove him back, and so held his position. The perspiration was standing out on the captain’s forehead in great globules. His breath was coming heavily from between his parted lips. His eyes were bright and bulging.
“Fight, weakling!” the highwayman taunted him. “This time I am not attacking from behind! If you have prayers to say, say them—for your time grows short!”
The ringing blades, the shifting feet on the floor, the heavy breathing of the combatants and of the two spectators of this life-and-death struggle were the only sounds in the room. His excellency sat far forward on his chair, his hands gripping the edges of it so that his knuckles were white.
“Kill me this highwayman!” he shrieked. “Use your good skill, Ramón! At him!”
Captain Ramón rushed again, calling into play his last bit of strength, fencing with what skill he could command. His arms were as lead; his breath was fast. He thrust, he lunged—and made a mistake of a fraction of an inch!
Like the tongue of a serpent, Señor Zorro’s blade shot in. Thrice it darted forward, and upon the fair brow of Ramón, just between the eyes, there flamed suddenly a red, bloody letter Z!
“The Mark of Zorro!” the highwayman cried. “You wear it forever now, comandante!”
Señor Zorro’s face became more stern. His blade shot in again and came out dripping red. The comandante gasped and slipped to the floor.
“You have slain him!” the governor cried. “You have taken his life, wretch!”
“Ha! I trust so! The thrust was through the heart, excellency! He never will insult a señorita again!”
Señor Zorro looked down at his fallen foe, regarded the governor a moment, then wiped his blade on the sash that had bound the comandante’s wrists. He returned the blade to its scabbard, and picked up his pistol from the table.
“My night’s work is done!” he said.
“And you shall hang for it!” his excellency cried.
“Perhaps—when you catch me!” replied the Curse of Capistrano, bowing ceremoniously.
Then, without glancing again at the twitching body of him who had been Captain Ramón, he whirled through the door and was in the hall, and rushed through it to the patio and to his horse.
XXXVI
All Against Them
And he rushed into danger!
The dawn had come; the first pink streaks had appeared in the eastern sky, and then the sun had risen quickly above the heights to the east, and now the plaza was bathed in brilliance. There was no mist, no high fog even, and objects on the hillsides far away stood out in relief. It was no morning in which to ride for life and freedom.
Señor Zorro had delayed too long with the governor and comandante, else had misjudged the hour. He swung into his saddle and urged his beast out of the patio—and then a full realization of his imminent peril came to him.
Down the trail from San Gabriel came Sergeant Pedro Gonzales and his troopers. Down the Pala road came another detachment of soldiers that had been trailing the caballeros and Don Carlos and had given up in disgust. Over the hill toward the presidio came the third body of men, who had been in chase of those who had rescued the Doña Catalina. Señor Zorro found himself hemmed in by his foes.
The Curse of Capistrano deliberately stopped his horse and for a moment contemplated the outlook. He glanced at the three bodies of troopers, estimated distance. And in that instant one with Sergeant Gonzales’s detachment saw him, and raised the alarm.
They knew that magnificent horse, that long purple cloak, that black mask and wide sombrero! They saw before them the man they had been pursuing throughout the night, the man who had made fools of them and played with them about the hills and valleys. They feared the rage of his excellency and their superior officers, and in their hearts and minds was determination to capture or slay this Curse of Capistrano now as this last chance was offered them.
Señor Zorro put spurs to his horse and dashed across the plaza, in full view of some score of citizens. Just as he did that, the governor and his host rushed from the house, shrieking that Señor Zorro was a murderer and should be taken. Natives scurried like so many rats for shelter; men of rank stood still and gaped in astonishment.
Señor Zorro, having crossed the plaza, drove his horse at highest speed straight toward the highway. Sergeant Gonzales and his troopers rushed to cut him off and turn him back, shrieking at one another, pistols in their hands, blades loosened in their scabbards. Reward and promotion and satisfaction were to be their lot if they made an end of the highwayman here and now.
Señor Zorro was forced to swerve from his first course, for he saw that he could not win through. He had not taken his pistol from his belt, but he had drawn his blade, and it dangled from his right wrist in such fashion that he could grip the hilt of it instantly and put it into play.
He cut across the plaza again, almost running down several men of rank who were in the way. He passed
