“By the saints! It is too much! I shall fight against you and your men as long as there is breath in my body!”
“And that will not be for long, Don Carlos, if you attempt to give battle. I am but carrying out my orders.”
“My beloved wife placed under arrest like a native wench! And on such a charge! What are you to do with her, Sergeant?”
“She goes to cárcel!”
“My wife in that foul place? Is there no justice in the land? She is a tender lady of noble blood—”
“Enough of this, señor! My orders are my orders, and I carry them out as instructed. I am a soldier, and I obey.”
Now Doña Catalina came running to the veranda, for she had been listening to the conversation just inside the door. Her face was white, but there was a look of pride in it. She feared Don Carlos might make an attack on the soldier, and she feared he would be wounded or slain if he did, and knew that at least it could only double the charge held against him.
“You have heard?” Don Carlos asked.
“I have heard, my husband. It is but more persecution. I am too proud to argue the point with these common soldiers, who are but doing as they have been commanded. A Pulido can be a Pulido, my husband, even in a foul cárcel.”
“But the shame of it!” Don Carlos cried. “What does it all mean? Where will it end? And our daughter will be here alone with the servants. We have no relatives, no friends—”
“Your daughter is Señorita Lolita Pulido?” the sergeant asked. “Then do not grieve, señor, for you will not be separated. I have an order for the arrest of your daughter, also.”
“The charge?”
“The same, señor.”
“And you would take her—”
“To cárcel!”
“An innocent, high-born, gentle girl?”
“My orders, señor,” said the sergeant.
“May the saints blast the man who issued them!” Don Carlos cried. “They have taken my wealth and lands. They have heaped shame upon me and mine. But, thank the saints, they cannot break our pride!”
And then Don Carlos’s head went erect, and his eyes flashed, and he took his wife by the arm and turned about to enter the house, with the sergeant at his heels. He broke the news to the Señorita Lolita, who stood as if stricken dumb for an instant, and then burst into a torrent of tears. And then the pride of the Pulidos came to her, and she dried her eyes, and curled her pretty lips with scorn at the big sergeant, and pulled aside her skirts when he stepped near.
Servants brought the carreta before the door, and Don Carlos and his wife and daughter got into it, and the journey of shame to the pueblo began.
Their hearts might be bursting with grief, but not one of the Pulidos showed it. Their heads were held high, they looked straight ahead, they pretended not to hear the low taunts of the soldiers.
They passed others, who were crowded off the road by the troopers, and who looked with wonder at those in the carreta, but they did not speak. Some watched in sorrow, and some grinned at their plight, according to whether those who passed were of the governor’s party or of the honest folk who abhorred injustice.
And so, finally, they came to the edge of Reina de Los Angeles, and there they met fresh insult. For his excellency had determined that the Pulidos should be humbled to the dust; and he had sent some of his troopers to spread news of what was being done, and to give coins to natives and peons if they would jeer the prisoners when they arrived. For the governor wished to teach a lesson that would prevent other noble families from turning against him, and wished it to appear that the Pulidos were hated by all classes alike.
At the edge of the plaza they were met by the mob. There were cruel jeers and jests, some of which no innocent señorita should have heard. Don Carlos’s face was red with wrath, and there were tears in Doña Catalina’s eyes, and Señorita Lolita’s lips were trembling, but they gave no other sign that they heard.
The drive around the plaza to the cárcel was made slow purposely. At the door of the inn there was a throng of rascals who had been drinking wine at the expense of the governor, and these added to the din.
One man threw mud, and it splashed on Don Carlos’s breast, but he refused to notice it. He had one arm around his wife, the other around his daughter, as if to give them what protection he could, and he was looking straight ahead.
There were some men of blood who witnessed the scene, yet took no part in the tumult. Some of them were as old as Don Carlos, and this thing brought to their hearts fresh, yet passive, hatred of the governor.
And some were young, with the blood running hot in their veins, and they looked upon the suffering face of Doña Catalina and imagined her their own mother, and upon the lovely face of the señorita and imagined her their sister or betrothed.
And some of these men glanced at one another furtively, and though they did not speak they were wondering the same thing—whether Señor Zorro would hear of this, and whether he would send word around for the members of the new league to gather.
The carreta stopped before the cárcel finally, the mob of jeering natives and peons surrounding it. The soldiers made some pretense of holding them back, and the sergeant dismounted and forced Don Carlos and his wife and daughter to step to the ground.
Uncouth and intoxicated men jostled them as they walked up the steps to the door. More mud was thrown, and some of it spattered upon Doña Catalina’s gown. But if the mob expected an outburst on the part of the aged caballero it was disappointed. Don Carlos held his head high, ignoring those who were striving to torment him, and so led his ladies to the door.
The sergeant beat against it with the heavy hilt of his sword. An aperture was opened, and in it appeared the evil, grinning face of the jailer.
“What have we here?” he demanded.
“Three prisoners charged with treason,” the sergeant replied.
The door was thrown open. There came a last burst of jeers from the mob; and then the prisoners were inside, and the door had been closed and bolted again.
The jailer led the way along an evil-smelling hall and threw open another door.
“In with you!” he directed.
The three prisoners were thrust inside, and this door was closed and barred. They blinked their eyes in the semigloom. Gradually they made out two windows, some benches, some human derelicts sprawled against the walls.
They had not even been given the courtesy of a clean, private room. Don Carlos and his wife and daughter had been thrust in with the scum of the pueblo, with drunkards and thieves and dishonored women and insulting natives.
They sat down on a bench in one corner of the room, as far from the others as possible. And the Doña Catalina and her daughter gave way to tears, and tears streamed down the face of the aged don as he tried to comfort them.
“I would to the saints that Don Diego Vega were only my son-in-law now!” the don breathed.
His daughter pressed his arm.
“Perhaps—my father—a friend will come,” she whispered. “Perhaps the evil man who caused this suffering will be punished!”
For it seemed to the señorita that a vision of Señor Zorro had appeared before her, and she had great faith in the man to whom she had given her love.
CHAPTER 29
DON DIEGO FEELS ILL
One hour after Don Carlos Pulido and his ladies had been incarcerated in the cárcel, Don Diego Vega, dressed most fastidiously, made his way slowly on foot up the slope to the presidio to make his call on his excellency, the governor.
He walked with swinging stride, gazing both to right and left as if at the hills in the distance, and once he stopped to observe a blossom that bloomed beside the path. His rapier was at his side, his most fashionable one with its jeweled hilt, and in his right hand he carried a handkerchief of flimsy lace, which he wafted this way and that like a dandy, and now and then touched it to the tip of his nose.
He bowed ceremoniously to two or three caballeros who passed him,
but spoke to none beyond the necessary words of greeting, and they did not seek conversation with him. For, remembering that they had thought Don Diego Vega was courting the daughter of Don Carlos, they wondered how he would take the matter of her imprisonment along with her father and mother. They did not care to discuss the matter, for their own feelings were high, and they feared they might be betrayed into utterances that might be termed treasonable.
Don Diego came to the front door of the presidio, and the sergeant in charge called the soldiers to attention, giving Vega the salute due his station in life. Don Diego answered it with a wave of his hand and a smile, and went on to the comandante’s office, where the governor was receiving such caballeros as cared to call and express their loyalty.
He greeted his excellency with carefully chosen words, bowed over his hand, and then took the chair the governor was kind enough to indicate.
“Don Diego Vega,” the governor said, “I am doubly glad that you have called upon me to-day, for in these times a man who holds high office would know his friends.”
“I should have called sooner, but I was away from my house at the time you arrived,” Don Diego said. “You contemplate remaining long in Reina de Los Angeles, Excellency?”
“Until this highwayman, known as Señor Zorro, is either slain or taken,” the governor said.
“By the saints! Am I never to hear the last of that rogue?” Don Diego cried. “I have heard of nothing else for these many days. I go to spend an evening with a fray, and in comes a crowd of soldiers chasing this Señor Zorro. I repair to the hacienda of my father to get me peace and quiet, and along comes a crowd of caballeros seeking news of Señor Zorro.
“These be turbulent times! A man whose nature inclines him to music and the poets has no right to exist in the present age!”
“It desolates me that you have been annoyed,” the governor said, laughing. “But I hope to have the fellow soon, and so put an end to that particular annoyance. Captain Ramón has sent for his big sergeant and his troopers to return. I brought an escort of twenty. And so we have ample men to run down this Curse of Capistrano when next he makes his appearance.”
“Let us hope it will end as it should,” said Don Diego.
“A man in high office has-many things with which to contend,” the governor went on. “Look at what I was forced to do this day! I am called upon to put in prison a man of good blood, and his lady wife and tender daughter. But the state must be protected.”
“I suppose you mean Don Carlos Pulido and his family.”
“I do, caballero.”
“Now that it is called to my mind again, I must say a few words regarding that,” Don Diego said. “I am not sure that my honor is not involved.”
“Why, caballero, how can that be?”
“My father has ordered that I get me a wife and set up my establishment properly. Some days ago I requested of Don Carlos Pulido permission to pay my addresses to his daughter.”
“Ha! I understand! But you are not the betrothed of the young lady?”
“Not yet, Excellency.”
“Then your honor is not involved, Don Diego, that I can see.”
“But I have been paying court to her.”
“You may thank the saints that it has gone no farther, Don Diego. Think how it would look if you were allied with this family now! As for getting you a wife—come north with me to San Francisco de Asis, caballero, where the señoritas are far more lovely than here in your south-land.
“Look over those of good blood, and let me know your preference, and I’ll guarantee that the lady will listen to your suit and accept your hand and name. And I can guarantee, also, that she will be of a loyal family with which it will be no shame to make a contract. We shall get you a wife of the proper sort, caballero.”
“If you will pardon me, is it not taking stern measures to have Don Carlos and his ladies thrown into the cárcel?” Don Diego asked, flicking dust from his sleeve.
“I find it necessary, señor.”
“Do you think it will add to your popularity, Excellency?”
“Whether it does or not, the state must be served.”
“Men of good blood hate to see such a thing, and there may be murmurings,” Don Diego warned. “I should hate to see your excellency make a wrong step at this juncture.”
“What would you have me do?” the governor asked.
“Place Don Carlos and the ladies under arrest, if you will, but do not incarcerate them. It is unnecessary; they will not run away. Bring them to trial as gentle folk should be brought to trial.”
“You are bold, caballero.”
“By the saints, am I talking too much?”
“It were better to leave these matters to the few of us who are trusted with attention to them,” the governor said. “I can understand, of course, how it irks a man of good blood to see a don thrown into a cárcel, and to see his ladies treated likewise; but in such a case as this—”
“I have not heard the nature of the case,” Don Diego said.
“Ha! Perhaps you may change your mind when you learn it. You have been speaking of this Señor Zorro. What if I tell you that the highwayman is being shielded and protected and fed by Don Carlos Pulido?”
“That is astonishing!”
“And that the Doña Catalina is a party to the treason? And that the lovely señorita has seen fit to talk treasonably and dip her pretty hands into a conspiracy against the state?”
“This is past belief!” Don Diego cried.
“Some nights ago Señor Zorro was at the Pulido hacienda. Warning was fetched the comandante by a native who is loyal. Don Carlos aided the bandit in tricking the soldiers, hid him in a closet, and when Captain Ramón was there alone, this highwayman stepped from the closet and attacked him treacherously and wounded him.”
“By the saints!”
“And while you were gone and the Pulidos were your houseguests, señor, Señor Zorro was in your house, speaking to the señorita, when the comandante walked in upon them. And the señorita grasped Captain Ramón by the arm and annoyed him until this Señor Zorro had made good his escape!”
“It is past comprehension!” Don Diego exclaimed.
“Captain Ramón has placed before me a hundred such items of suspicion. Can you wonder now that I had them placed in cárcel? Did I merely have them put under arrest, this Señor Zorro would combine forces with them and aid them to escape.”
“And your intentions, Excellency?”
“I shall keep them in cárcel while my troopers run down this highwayman. I shall force him to confess and implicate them—and then they shall have a trial.”
“These turbulent times!” Don Diego complained.
“As a loyal man—and I hope an admirer of mine—you should hope to see foes of the state confounded.”
“I do! Most sincerely do I! All real foes of the state should receive punishment.”
“I am joyed to hear you say that, caballero!” the governor cried, and he reached across the table and grasped Don Diego fervently by the hand.
There was some more talk that amounted to nothing, and then Don Diego took his leave, for there were other men waiting to see the governor. After he had left the office the governor looked across at Captain Ramón and smiled.
“You are right, comandante,” he said. “Such a man could not be a traitor. It would tire him too much to think treasonable thoughts. What a man! He must be enough to drive that old fire-eater of a father of his insane!”
Don Diego made his way slowly down the hill, greeting those he passed, and stopping again to regard the little flowers that blossomed by the wayside. At the corner of the plaza he met a young caballero who was glad to call him friend, one of the small band of men who had spent the night at Don Alejandro’s hacienda.
“Ha! Don Diego, a fair day to you!” he cried. And then he lowered his voice and stepped nearer. “Has, by any chance, the man we call leader of our league of Avengers sent you a message this day?”
“By the bright blue sky—no!” Don Diego said. “Why should he?”
“This Pulido business. It seems an outrage. Some of us have been wondering whether our leader does not intend to take a hand in it. We have been anticipating a message.”
“By the saints! Oh, I trust not!” Don Diego said. “I could not endure an adventure of any sort to-night. I—er—my head aches, and I fear I am going to have a fever. I shall have to see an apothecary about it. There are shiverings up and down my spine, also. Is not that a symptom? During the siesta hour I was bothered with a pain in my left leg just above the knee. It must be the weather!”
“Let us hope that it will not result seriously,” laughed his friend, and hurried on across the plaza.
CHAPTER 30
THE SIGN OF THE FOX
An hour after dusk that night a native sought out one of the caballeros with the intelligence that a gentleman wished to speak to him immediately, and that this gentleman was evidently wealthy since he had given the native a coin for carrying the message, when he might just as well have given nothing more than a cuff alongside the head; also that the mysterious gentleman would be waiting along the path that ran toward the San Gabriel trail, and to be sure that the caballero would come he had bade the native say that there was a fox in the neighborhood.
“A fox! Zorro—fox!” the caballero thought, and then he ruined the native forever by giving him another coin.
He went to the rendezvous immediately, and there he found Señor Zorro sitting on his big horse, his face masked, the cloak wrapped around his body.
“You will pass the word, caballero,” Señor Zorro said. “I would have all men who are loyal and wish to do so meet at midnight in the little valley beyond the hill. You know the place? Si? I shall be waiting.”
Then Señor Zorro wheeled his horse and dashed away in the darkness, and the caballero went back to the pueblo and passed the word to those men he knew could be depended upon, and urged upon them that they pass it to others of the league. One went to Don Diego’s house, but was told by the despensero that Don Diego had complained of a fever and had retired to his chamber, and had left word that he would flay alive any servant who dared enter the room unless he called.
The Mark Of Zorro (Penguin Classics) Page 20
