“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.
XXXIX
“Meal Mush and Goat’s Milk!”
They crowded forward—troopers, natives, caballeros, surrounding Don Diego Vega and the señorita who clutched at his arm and looked up at him from proud and glistening eyes.
“Explain! Explain!” they cried.
“It began ten years ago, when I was but a lad of fifteen,” he said. “I heard tales of persecution. I saw my friends, the frailes, annoyed and robbed. I saw soldiers beat an old native who was my friend. And then I determined to play this game.
“It would be a difficult game to play, I knew. So I pretended to have small interest in life, so that men never would connect my name with that of the highwayman I expected to become. In secret, I practiced horsemanship, and learned how to handle a blade—”
“By the saints, he did!” Sergeant Gonzales growled.
“One half of me was the languid Don Diego you all knew, and the other half was the Curse of Capistrano I hoped one day to be. And then the time came, and my work began.
“It is a peculiar thing to explain, señores. The moment I donned cloak and mask, the Don Diego part of me fell away. My body straightened, new blood seemed to course through my veins, my voice grew strong and firm, fire came to me! And the moment I removed cloak and mask I was the languid Don Diego again. Is it not a peculiar thing!
“I had made friends with this great Sergeant Gonzales, and for a purpose.”
“Ha! I guess the purpose, caballeros!” Gonzales cried. “You tired whenever this Señor Zorro was mentioned, and did not wish to hear of violence and bloodshed, but always you asked me in what direction I was going with my troopers—and you went in the other direction and did your confounded work.”
“You are an excellent guesser,” said Don Diego, laughing, as did the others about him. “I even crossed blades with you, so you would not guess I was Señor Zorro. You remember the rainy night at the tavern! I listened to your boasts, went out and donned mask and
