The Mark Of Zorro (Penguin Classics)

by Johnston McCulley

  “There is!” the governor said. “When the Pulidos were guests at the house of Don Diego Vega, and Don Diego was away, Captain Ramón went to pay his respects, and found you there alone with the señorita.”

  “And that shows what?”

  “That you are in league with the Pulidos! That they harbored you even in the house of Don Diego, a loyal man. And when the captain discovered you there, the señorita flung herself upon him and held him—delayed him, rather—until you made your escape through a window. Is not that enough?”

  Señor Zorro bent forward, and his eyes seemed to burn through the mask and into those of Captain Ramón.

  “So that is the tale he told, eh?” the highwayman said. “As a matter of fact, Captain Ramón is enamored of the señorita. He went to the house, found her alone, forced his attentions upon her, even told her that she should not object, since her father was in the bad graces of the governor! He attempted to caress her, and she called for help. I responded.”

  “How did you happen to be there?”

  “I do not care to answer that, but I take my oath the señorita did not know of my presence. She called for aid, and I responded.

  “I made this thing you call a comandante kneel before her and apologize. And then I took him to the door and kicked him out into the dust! And afterward I visited him at the presidio, and told him that he had given insult to a noble senorita‾”

  “It appears that you hold some love for her yourself,” the governor said.

  “I do, your excellency, and am proud to admit it!”

  “Ha! You condemn her and her parents by that statement! You deny now they are in league with you?”

  “I do. Her parents do not know of our love!”

  “This señorita is scarcely conventional!”

  “Señor! Governor or no, another thought like that and I spill your blood!” Señor Zorro cried. “I have told you what happened that night at the house of Don Diego Vega. Captain Ramón will testify that what I have said is the exact truth. Is it not, comandante? Answer!”

  “It—it is the truth!” the captain gulped, looking at the muzzle of the highwayman’s pistol.

  “Then you have told me falsehood, and can no longer be an officer of mine!” the governor cried. “It appears that this highwayman can do as he pleases with you! Ha! But I still believe that Don Carlos Pulido is a traitor, and the members of his family, and it has availed you nothing, Señor Zorro, to play this little scene.

  “My soldiers shall continue to pursue them—and you! And before they are done, I’ll have the Pulidos dragged in the dirt, and I’ll have you stretching a rope with your carcass!”

  “Quite a bold speech!” observed Señor Zorro. “You set your soldiers a pretty task, your excellency. I rescued your three prisoners to-night, and they have escaped.”

  “They shall be retaken!”

  “Time alone will tell that. And now I have another duty to perform here! Your excellency, you will take your chair to that far corner, and sit there, and your host will sit beside you. And there you shall remain until I have finished.”

  “What do you mean to do?”

  “Obey me!” Señor Zorro cried. “I have scant time for argument, even with a governor.”

  He watched while the two chairs were placed and the governor and his host had seated themselves. And then he stepped nearer Captain Ramón.

  “You insulted a pure and innocent girl, comandante!” he said. “For that, you shall fight! Your scratched shoulder is healed now, and you wear your blade by your side! Such a man as you is not fit to breathe God’s pure air! The country is better for your absence! On your feet, señor, and on guard!”

  Captain Ramón was white with rage. He knew that he was ruined. He had been forced to confess that he had lied. He had heard the governor remove his rank. And this man before him had been the cause of all of it!

  Perhaps, in his anger, he could kill this Señor Zorro, stretch this Curse of Capistrano on the floor with his life blood flowing away. Perhaps, if he did that, his excellency would relent.

  He sprang from his chair, and backward to the governor.

  “Unfasten my wrists!” he cried. “Let me at this dog!”

  “You were as good as dead before—you certainly are dead after using that word!” Señor Zorro said calmly.

  The comandante’s wrists were untied. He whipped out his blade, sprang forward with a cry, and launched himself in a furious attack upon the highwayman.

  Señor Zorro gave ground before this onslaught, and so obtained a position where the light from the candelero did not bother his eyes. He was skilled with a blade, and had fenced for life many times, and he knew the danger in the attack of an angered man who did not fence according to the code.

  And he knew, too, that such anger is spent quickly unless a fortunate thrust makes the possessor of it victor almost at once. And so he retreated step by step, guarding well, parrying vicious strokes, alert for an unexpected move.

  The governor and his host were sitting in their corner, but bending forward and watching the combat.

  “Run him through, Ramón, and I reinstate and promote you!” his excellency cried.

  The comandante thus was urged to do it. Señor Zorro found his opponent fighting much better than he had before in Don Carlos Pulido’s house at the hacienda. He found himself forced to fight out of a dangerous corner, and the pistol he held in his left hand to intimidate the governor and his host bothered him.

  And suddenly he tossed it to the table, and then swung around so that neither of the two men could dart from a corner and get it without running the chance of receiving a blade between the ribs. And there he stood his ground and fought.

  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.

  CHAPTER 36

  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 within a few paces of the infuriated governor and his host, darted between two houses, and rushed toward the hills in that direction.

  It appeared that he had some small chance of escaping the cordon of his foes now. He scorned paths and trails, and cut across the open ground. From both sides the troopers galloped to meet him, flying toward the angle of the wedge, hoping to reach it in time and turn him back once more.

  Gonzales was shouting orders in his great voice, and he was sending a part of his men down into the pueblo, so they would be in proper position in case the highwayman turned back again, and could keep him from escaping to the west.

  He reached the highway and started down it toward the south. It was not the direction he would have preferred, but he had no choice now. He dashed around a curve in the road, where some natives’ huts cut off the view—and suddenly he pulled up his horse, almost unseating himself.

  For here a new menace presented itself. Straight at him along the highway flew a horse and rider, and close behind came half a dozen troopers in pursuit!

  Señor Zorro whirled his horse. He could not turn to the right because of a stone fence. His horse could have jumped it, but on the other side was soft, plowed ground, and he knew he could make no progress across it, and that the troopers might cut him down with a pistol bullet.

  Nor could he turn to the left, for there was a sheer precipice down which he could not hope to ride with safety. He had to turn back toward Sergeant Gonzales and the men who rode with him, hoping to get a distance of a couple of hundred yards, where he could make a descent before Gonzales and his men arrived at the spot.

  He gripped his sword now, and was prepared for fight, for he knew it was going to be close work. He glanced back over his shoulder—and gasped his surprise.

  For it was Señorita Lolita Pulido who rode that horse and was pursued by the half dozen troopers, and he had thought her safe at the hacienda of Fray Felipe. Her long black hair was down and streaming out behind her. Her tiny heels were glued to the horse’s flanks. She bent forward as she rode, holding the reins low down, and Señor Zorro, even in that instant, marveled at her skill with a mount.

  “Señor!” he heard her shout.

  And then she had reached his side, and they rode together, dashing down upon Gonzales and his troopers.

  “They have been chasing me—for hours!” she gasped. “I escaped them—at Fray Felipe’s!”

  “Ride close! Do not waste breath!” he screeched.

  “My horse—is almost done—señor!”

  Señor Zorro glanced aside at the beast, and saw that he was suffering from fatigue. But there was scant time to consider that now. The soldiers behind had gained some; those in front presented a lively menace that required deep consideration.

  Down the trail they flew, side by side, straight at Gonzales and his men. Señor Zorro could see that pistols were out, and he doubted not that the governor had given orders to get him dead or alive, but to see that he did not escape again.

  Now he spurred a few paces in advance of the señorita, and called upon her to ride his horse’s tracks. He dropped the reins on his mount’s neck, and held his blade ready. He had two weapons—his blade and his horse.

  Then came the crash. Señor Zorro swerved his horse at the proper instant, and the señorita followed him. He cut at the trooper on his left, swung over and cut at the one on his right. His horse crashed into that of a third trooper, and hurled it against the animal the sergeant rode.

  He heard shrill cries about him. He knew that the men who had been pursuing Señorita Lolita had run into the others, and that there was a certain amount of confusion, that they could not use blades for fear of cutting down one another.

  And then he was through them, with the señorita riding at his side again. Once more he was at the edge of the plaza. His horse was showing signs of weariness, and he had gained nothing.

  For the way to San Gabriel was not open, the way to Pala was closed, he could not hope to escape by cutting across soft ground, and on the opposite side of the plaza were more troopers, in saddle and waiting to cut him off, no matter in which direction he started.

  “We are caught!” he shouted. “But we are not done, señorita!”

  “My horse is stumbling!” she cried.

  Señor Zorro saw that it was so. He knew that the beast could not make another hundred yards.

  “To the tavern!” he cried.

  They galloped straight across the plaza. At the door of the tavern, the señorita’s horse staggered and fell. Señor Zorro caught the girl in his arms in time to save her from a hard fall, and, still carrying her, darted through the tavern door.

  “Out!” he cried to the landlord and the native servant.

  “Out!”
he shrieked to half a dozen loiterers, exhibiting his pistol. They rushed through the door and into the plaza.

  The highwayman threw the door shut and bolted it. He saw that every window was closed except the one that fronted on the plaza, and that the board-and-skin coverings were in place. He stepped to the table and then whirled to face the señorita.

  “It may be the end,” he said.

  “Señor! Surely the saints will be kind to us!”

  “We are beset by foes, señorita. I care not, so that I die fighting as a caballero should. But you, señorita—”

  “They shall never put me in the foul cárcel again, señor! I swear it! Rather would I die with you!”

  She took the sheep-skinner’s knife from her bosom, and he caught a glance of it.

  “Not that, señorita!” he cried.

  “I have given you my heart, señor. Either we live together, or we die together!”

  CHAPTER 37

  THE FOX AT BAY

  He darted to the window and glanced out. The troopers were surrounding the building. He could see the governor stalking across the plaza, crying his orders. Down the San Gabriel trail came the proud Don Alejandro Vega, to pay his visit to the governor, and he stopped at the plaza’s edge and began questioning men regarding the cause for the tumult.

  “All are in at the death,” Señor Zorro said, laughing. “I wonder where my brave caballeros are, those who rode with me?”

  “You expect their aid?” she asked.

  “Not so, señorita. They would have to stand together and face the governor, tell him their intentions. It was a lark with them, and I doubt whether they take it seriously enough to stand by me now. It is not to be expected. I fight it out alone!”

  “Not alone, señor, when I am by your side!”

  He clasped her in his arms, pressed her to him.

  “I would we might have our chance,” he said. “But it would be folly for you to let my disaster influence your life. You never have seen my face even, señorita. You could forget me. You could walk from this place and surrender, send word to Don Diego Vega that you will become his bride, and the governor then would be forced to release you and clear your parents of all blame.”