Transcriber’s Note: New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.

The Further Adventures of Zorro

by Johnston McCulley

Author of “The Mark of Zorro,” etc.

Copyright, 1922, by Johnston McCulley.

CONTENTS

The Further Adventures of Zorro, Part I

CHAPTER I.
LAND RATS AND WATER RATS.

Throughout a long summer day of more than a hundred years ago the high fog had obscured the flaming ball of sun, and the coast of Southern California had been bathed in a haze.

Then came the night, with indication of a drizzle that did not materialize. For the bank of fog suddenly was split as though with a sword, and the brilliant moon poured down, and the riven mist floated away to let the land be blessed with brilliance and the tossing sea dance in the silvery moonbeams.

Approaching the shore came a sinister vessel, craft of ill omen. She sailed slowly under a spare spread of canvas, as though fearing to reach her destination too soon, and her lights were not burning. The hiss of the waters from her bows was a lazy sort of hiss, but the more suggestive because of that. It was the playful hiss of a serpent always ready to become enraged. Her appearance betokened stealth and crime.

She was low, rakish, swift. No proper seaman commanded her, since her decks were foul and her sides badly in need of protecting paint. But her sailing gear was in perfect condition, and the man at her helm could have told that she answered to her rudder like a love-sick maiden to her swain.

Amidships stood her commander, one Barbados, a monstrous giant of a man with repugnant visage. Gigantic brass rings were in his mutilated ears. His eyes were pig-like—tiny, glittering, wholly evil. His great gnarled hands continually were forming themselves into brutish fists. He wore no shirt, no shoes. His chest and back were covered with thick, black, matted hair.

“By the saints!” he swore in a voice that drowned the slush of the waters against the vessel’s sides. “Sanchez! Fools and devils! Is it necessary to shout to the world our villainy? Look at that flag flapping against the mast! Three hours after set of sun, and the flag of the devil still flies! Discipline! Ha!”

“The flag!” Sanchez bellowed. There was no definite order given, but the man nearest the mast was quick to lower the flag. Sanchez looked back toward Barbados, and Barbados grunted and turned away to look toward the distant land.

Sanchez was a smaller edition of Barbados, the evil lieutenant of an evil chief. He was short and thick, and many a man had misjudged the strength of his shoulders and arms and had discovered his sorry error too late. The eyes of Sanchez glittered also, first as he looked at Barbados, and then turned, as the chief had, to glance toward the distant land.

A fair land it was, bathed in the mellow light of the moon. Along the shore uncertain shadows played, like shapeless fairies at a game. And here was a darker streak, where a cañon ran down to the sea—a cañon with black depths caused by the rank undergrowth and stubby trees.

“There!” Barbados bellowed. He pointed toward the mouth of the cañon, where the water hissed white against a jumble of rocks. “We go ashore there, against the cliffs!”

Again there was no regular command, but the course of the pirate craft was changed a little, and she sailed slowly toward the spot Barbados had indicated. The chief grunted once more, and Sanchez hurried quickly to his side.

“We land twoscore men!” Barbados commanded. “Twoscore will be enough. I lead them, and you are to go with me. The others will remain aboard and take the ship off shore again, and return to-morrow night two hours before the dawn.”

“Sí!” Sanchez said.

“’Tis to be a pretty party, by the saints! Rich loot, food and wines, honey and olives, gold and jewels and precious stones! Bronze native wenches for such as like them! And time enough for it, eh? Ha! For some four months we have sailed up and down the coast, now and then landing and raiding to get a few pigs and cows. ’Tis time for a bold stroke! And this—”

“It is arranged?” Sanchez questioned.

“Am I in the habit of rushing in where things are not arranged?” Barbados demanded. “Señor Pirate, do you take me to be a weak and silly fool?”

“If I did,” Sanchez replied, “I would have more wit than to say so to your face!”

“Ha! Is it arranged? When the Governor’s own man arranges it? There is a precious pair, the Governor and his man!” said Barbados, laughing raucously. “Pirates and rogues we may be, but we can take lessons in villainy from some of the gentry who bear the names of caballeros, but have foul blood in their veins!”

“The thing has an evil look,” Sanchez was bold enough to assert. “I like not a task too easy. By my naked blade, that which looks easy often is not! If this should prove to be a trap—”

Barbados gave a cry of rage and whirled toward him suddenly, and Sanchez retreated a single step, and his hand dropped to the naked cutlass in his belt of tanned human skin.

“Try to draw it, fool!” Barbados cried. “I’ll have you choked black in the face and hurled overboard for shark meat before your hand reaches the blade!”

“I made no move to draw,” Sanchez wailed.

“There are times when I wonder why I allow you to remain at my side,” Barbados told him, folding his gigantic arms across his hairy chest. “And there are times when I wonder whether your heart is not turning to that of a woman and your blood to water or swill. A trap, you fool! Am I the man to walk into traps? Kindly allow me to attend to the finer details of this business. And a pretty business it is!”

“The village of Reina de Los Angeles is miles in the interior,” Sanchez wailed. “I do not like to get out of sight of the sea. With the pitching planks of a deck beneath my bare feet—”

“Beware lest you have beneath your feet the plank that is walked until a man reaches its end and drops to watery death!” Barbados warned him. “Enough of this! Pick the men who are to land, and get ready the boats!”

An hour later the anchor had been dropped, and the pirate craft had swung with the tide and was tugging at her chains like a puppy at a leash. Over the sides went the boats, Barbados growling soft curses at the noise his men made.

“We have nothing to fear, fools and devils!” he said. “But there will be no surprise if some converted native sees us and carries to Reina de Los Angeles word of our arrival. There is many a hacienda in these parts where pirates are detested. Silence, rogues! You’ll have your fill of noise to-morrow night!”

Without knowing it, Barbados practiced a deal of psychology. These wild men of the sea had before them a journey of some miles inland, and they knew it and hated it, but the pirate chief continually hinted to them of the rich loot at the end of the present trip, and his hints served their purpose well.

Toward the shore they rowed, tossing on the breakers, making for the dark spot where the cañon ran down into the sea. There a cliff some twelve feet high circled back into the land, forming a natural shelter against the land breeze at times and the sea winds at other times.

Through the surf they splashed, half naked, carrying naught except their weapons, and no weapons save their cutlasses. They gathered on the beach and watched the boats return to the ship, shrieking coarse jests at the men compelled to remain behind.

Barbados took from his belt a tiny scrap of parchment and looked at it closely. With him this passed for a map. He called Sanchez to his side, turned his back to the sea, and looked along the dark reaches of the cañon.

“Forward!” Barbados said. “And let there be little noise about it! If we stumble across one of the accursed natives, slit his throat and so silence it.”

“And if we meet a wandering fray of the missions, slit him into ribbons,” Sanchez added, chuckling.

To his wonder, Barbados grasped his arm so that Sanchez thought the bone must break.

“Enough of that!” Barbados cried. “Touch no fray in violence except I give the word!”

“You love the robes and gowns?” Sanchez asked, in wonder.

“I love to protect myself,” Barbados replied. “It is an ill thing to assault a fray if it can be avoided.” He stopped speaking for a moment, and seemed to shiver throughout the length and breadth of his gigantic frame. “I had a friend once who struck a fray,” he added in a whisper. “I do not like to remember what happened to him. Forward!”

Inland they tramped, mile after mile, keeping to the cañons, following an arroyo now and then, dodging from dark spot to dark spot, while Barbados growled curses at the bright moon and Sanchez continually admonished the men behind to keep silent.

It was a journey they disliked, but they liked to think of the loot they would find at the end of it. On they went, toward the sleeping town of Reina de Los Angeles. Besides Barbados and Sanchez, few of them had seen the town. Pirates had been treated harshly there when they had wandered inland. But now something had happened, it appeared, that made a raid on the town a comparatively safe enterprise.

An hour before dawn they stumbled across a native, caught him as he started to flee, and left his lifeless body behind. Then came the day, and they went into hiding in a jumble of hills, within easy striking distance of the town. They had covered ground well.

Sprawled on the sward they slept. Barbados, a little way aside, consulted his poor map once more, and then called Sanchez to his side.

“Since we may have to split our force, it were well that you knew more of this business,” he said.

“I am listening, Barbados.”

“This man who is to meet us to-morrow night at the edge of the town is a high official.”

“I have heard you call him the Governor’s man.”

“Even so. He is to have matters arranged so that the town will be at our mercy. It never has been raided properly. It will be necessary, perhaps, to steal horses, and possibly a carreta or two in which to carry the loot. The town will be wide open for us, my friend.”

“There is a presidio in Reina de Los Angeles, and where there is a presidio there are soldiers,” Sanchez reminded him.

“And where there are soldiers there are fools,” Barbados added. He stopped speaking long enough to chuckle. “I am not afraid of the soldiers. This man with whom we are to deal will care for the troops.”

“I fail to understand it,” Sanchez said, shaking his head. “Why should such things be? Do we split the loot with this high official?”

“Dream of innocence, listen!” Barbados hissed. “Listen, and comprehend, else I choke you to death! An emissary came to me in the south from this high official, and through him arrangements were made. Things have happened since last we were in the vicinity of Reina de Los Angeles. The Governor, I know, left San Francisco de Asis and journeyed south with his gallant company. And while he was at Reina de Los Angeles something happened that caused him to hate the town. There even was talk for a time of him being forced to abdicate his high station.”

“Ha! More mystery!” Sanchez growled.

“It seems that in the southland there was a pest of a highwayman known as Señor Zorro, and whom men called the Curse of Capistrano. A land pirate, spit upon him! How can a man be a pirate on the land? However, this Señor Zorro did several things worthy of note. From what I have heard, I would we had a dozen of him in the ship’s company. We could raid the whole of Mexico, capture the Spanish fleets and attack Europe.”

“This Señor Zorro must be quite some man,” Sanchez observed.

“I have heard but little, but enough to convince me that I would have him for a friend rather than an enemy. He is a sort of devil. Now he is here and now he is gone. Like a ghost he comes and like a specter he disappears. Ha! You, a pirate, cross yourself!”

“I am afraid of no live man who lives, save perhaps yourself,” Sanchez observed. “But I like not this talk of ghosts.”

“Here is the jest, fool and friend! It develops after a time that this terrible Señor Zorro is nothing but a caballero out to have a bit of fun and protect the weak. There is a waste of time for you—protecting the weak. And other sundry caballeros joined hands with him and punished minor officials who sought to steal and deal crookedly. That is right and proper. If a thief, be a thief! If a pirate, be a pirate! But do not play at being an honest man and try to be thief and pirate at the same time.”

“Ha!” Sanchez grunted, meaning that he wished the sermon to end and the tale to continue.

“This Señor Zorro, whose real name I have forgotten if ever I knew it, carved his initial with his sword into the cheeks and foreheads of many men. They call it the Mark of Zorro. And when his identity was disclosed his friends stood by him and told the Governor that it were best if he return to San Francisco de Asis and grace Reina de Los Angeles with his continual absence.”

“And did he?”

“He did,” Barbados replied, “with hatred in his heart for this same Reina de Los Angeles. He did not abdicate, of course. And he craves revenge.”

“Ha! Here is where we enter?”

“It is,” Barbados replied. “We raid the town and take what we will, and the Governor hears of it, sends soldiers running wildly up and down the coast, and winks at himself in his looking-glass. For the information and protection we get, we hand to the Governor’s man at a certain time and place a certain share of the loot. Which we well can afford, since we are to get it so easily.”

“If we forget to hand it—” Sanchez began.

“Friend and fool! By the saints! Are you an honest pirate or no? We shall deal fairly. Think of the future. It is not only Reina de Los Angeles. There is San Juan Capistrano, and rich San Diego de Alcála to come after. By that time we have this pretty Governor and certain of his officials in our mesh, and do as we will. Ha! What knaves! I would rather be an honest pirate than a politician any day!”

The day passed and the dusk came. And once yet again Barbados indulged in curses. For it was a beautiful moonlight night, half as light as the day that had just died, and a man could be seen afar. But Barbados led his wretched company on toward the town, and after a time they came to the crest of a slope and saw lights twinkling in the distance.

Stretched on the ground so as not to form a silhouette against the sky, Barbados looked over the scene. He could see the plaza, fires burning before the huts of the natives, twinkling lights in the windows of the pretentious houses where lived the men of wealth and blood and rank. To one side was the presidio, and to the other the church.

Barbados grunted an order to Sanchez and crept forward alone. He approached the end of the village, reached a spot where the shadows were deep, and crouched to wait.

For half an hour he waited, grumbling his impatience. Then there came to him a figure muffled in a long cloak. Barbados hissed a word that had been agreed upon. The figure stepped quickly to his side.

“You are ready?”

“Ready, señor,” Barbados replied.

“Where are your men?”

“In hiding three hundred yards away, señor.”

“It were best to strike in about an hour. The soldiers will be sent toward the south on a wild goose chase.”

“I understand, señor.”

“I ride back toward the hills to a hacienda to pay a social call. It would not do for me to be here, of course.”

“Certainly not, señor.”

“The way will be open to you. Take your will with the town, but do not use the torch, except it be on the hut of some native. As soon as you have your loot, make for the sea again. The soldiers will be sent on a useless trail.”

“It is well arranged, señor. We’ll strike as soon as the troopers are at a sufficient distance.”

“There is something else. You must send a few men of your force to the hacienda of Don Carlos Pulido, three miles to the north.”

“What is this, señor?” Barbados asked.

“A little matter of abducting a woman for me.”

“Ha!”

“The Señorita Lolita Pulido, understand. She is to be seized and conducted to the coast and taken aboard ship. She is not to be harmed, but treated with every respect. In four or five days I shall meet you at the rendezvous on the southern coast, and claim her as my share of the loot. Do this well, and that is all the share of loot I ask this time.”

“A mere detail,” Barbados said.

“If the hacienda is disturbed a bit during the abduction, it will not cause the heartbreak of the Governor. This Don Carlos Pulido is no friend of His Excellency.”

“I understand, señor.”

“The señorita expects to become the bride to-morrow of Don Diego Vega—curse him! That large house at the side of the plaza is his. When you are raiding the town, Barbados, pay special attention to that house. And should he get a knife between his ribs there will be no sorrow on my part.”

“I begin to comprehend,” Barbados replied.

“I may depend upon you?”

“Sí, señor! We attend to the house of this Don Diego Vega and to the don personally. I shall send a small force to abduct the girl and take her to the shore. She will be waiting for you at the rendezvous to the south.”

“Good! Watch when the soldiers ride away, and strike an hour later. Adios!”

The cloak dropped for a moment as the man from the village straightened himself. Barbados got a good look at his face as the moonlight struck it. He gasped.

“Your forehead!” he said.

“It is nothing. That cursed beast of a Zorro put it there!”

Barbados looked again. On the man’s forehead was a ragged “Z,” put there in such a manner that it would remain forever. There was a moment of silence, and then Barbados found himself alone. The other had slipped away through the shadows.

Barbados grinned. “Here is a double deal of some sort, but it need bring me no fear,” he mused. “Here would be startling news for all men to know. Wants to steal a girl now, does he? For his share of proper loot I’d steal him half a score of girls!”

He grinned again and started back toward his men. Barbados did not fear the soldiers, and he knew they would be sent away. He could be sure of that. For the conspirator who had come to him out of the dark was none other than Captain Ramón, commandante of the presidio at Reina de Los Angeles.

CHAPTER II.
PEDRO THE BOASTER.

Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, a giant of a wine-guzzling soldier whose heart was as large as his capacity for liquor, was known as “Pedro the Boaster.” When there were military duties to be done he was to be found at his post in the presidio, but at other times one found him at the village posada, sitting before the big fireplace and remaking the world with words.

On this moonlight night, Sergeant Pedro Gonzales crossed the plaza with a corporal and a couple of soldiers, entered the inn, and called in a loud voice for the landlord to fetch wine and be quick about it. The sergeant had learned long since that the fat landlord held him in terror, and did he but act surly and displeased he received excellent service.

“Landlord, you are as fat as your wine is thin!” Sergeant Pedro declared, sprawling at one of the tables. “I have a suspicion now and then that you keep a special wineskin for me, and mix water with my drink.”

“Señor!” the landlord protested.

“We honest soldiers are stationed here to protect you from liars and thieves and dishonest travelers up and down El Camino Real, and you treat us like the dirt beneath your boots.”

“Señor! I have the greatest respect—”

“One of these fine days,” Gonzales interrupted, “there will be trouble. Some gentleman of the highway will approach you with an idea of robbery, and you’ll shriek for the soldiery. And then, fat one, I may remember the watered wine, and be busy elsewhere!”

“But I protest—” the landlord began.

“More wine!” the sergeant shouted. “Must I get out my blade and carve your wineskins—or your own skin? More wine of the best, and you’ll get your pay when I get mine, if it is an honest score you keep. If my friend, Don Diego Vega, was here—!”

“That same friend of yours makes merry a little later in the evening,” the landlord said, as he went to fill the wine cups. “To-morrow he is to take a bride.”

“Pig, do you suppose I do not know it?” Gonzales screeched. “Think you that I have been asleep these past few months? Was I not in the thick of it when Don Diego Vega played at being Señor Zorro?”

“You were in the thick of it,” the corporal admitted, with a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

“Ha!” cried the sergeant. “There was a turbulent time for you! Here in this very room I fought him, blade to blade, thinking that he was some stinking highwayman. And just as I was getting the better of it—”

“How is this?” the corporal shrieked.

“Just as I was getting the better of the blade match,” Gonzales reaffirmed, glaring at the corporal, “back he went and dashed through the door! And thereafter he set the town about its own ears for some time to come.”

“It occurs to me that I saw that fight,” the corporal declared. “If you were getting the best of it at any stage, then were mine eyes at fault.”

“I know a man,” said the sergeant, darkly, “who will do extra guard duty for a score of days.”

“Ha!” the corporal grunted. “You do not like plain speech!”

“I do not like a soldier to make mock of his superiors,” the sergeant replied. “It were unseemly for me to make remarks, for instance, concerning our commandante, Captain Ramón, but let it be said that he fought this Señor Zorro, too. And Captain Ramón wears on his forehead Zorro’s mark. You will notice that there is no carved Z on my face!”

“Ha!” the corporal grunted again. “It were best, sergeant, to voice such remarks inwardly. The commandante is not proud of the mark he wears.”

Gonzales changed the subject. “The wine!” he thundered. “It goes well on a moonlight night, the same as on a stormy one. But moonlight is a poor business save for lovesick swains. ’Tis no night for a soldier. Would one expect thieves to descend through the moonlight?”

“There be pirates,” the corporal said.

“Pirates!” Gonzales’s great fist descended and met the table with a crash, sending the wine cups bouncing. “Pirates! You have noticed no pirates in Reina de Los Angeles, have you? They have not been playing around the presidio, have they? I am not saying that they know I am stationed here, however— Meal mush and goat’s milk! Pirates is my dish!”

“The town grows wealthy, and they may come,” the corporal said.

“You fear? You tremble?” Gonzales cried. “Are you soldier or fray? Pirates! By the saints, I would that they came! My sword arm grows fat from little use.”

“Talk not of pirates!” the landlord begged. “Suppose they did come?”

“And what if they did?” Gonzales demanded. “Am I not here, dolt? Are there not soldiers? Pirates? Ha!”

He sprang to his feet, those same feet spread wide apart. His hand darted down, and he whipped out his blade.

“That for a pirate!” he shouted, and made a mighty thrust at the wall. “This for a pirate!” And he slashed through the air, his blade whistling so that the corporal and soldiers sprang backward, and the four or five natives who happened to be in the inn cringed in a corner. “Pirates!” cried Gonzales. “I would I could meet one this very night! We grew stale from inaction. There is too much peace in the world! Meal mush and goat’s milk!”

The door opened suddenly. Sergeant Gonzales stopped in the middle of a sentence, and his blade stopped in the middle of an arc. And then the sergeant and the other soldiers snapped to attention, for the commandante was before them.

“Sergeant Gonzales!” Captain Ramón commanded.

“Sí!”

“I could hear you shouting half way across the plaza. If you wish to meet a pirate, perhaps you may have your wish. Rumors have been brought by natives. Mount your men and proceed along El Camino Real toward the south. Search the country well, once you are four or five miles from the town. It is a bright moonlight night, and men may be seen at a great distance.”

“It is an order!” the sergeant admitted.

“Leave but one man at the presidio as guard. Return before dawn. Have my best horse made ready, as I ride out to a hacienda for a visit. Go!”

“Sí!” Sergeant Gonzales grunted. He motioned to the soldiers, and they hurried through the door. He sheathed his sword, and when the back of Captain Ramón was turned for an instant he tossed off the wine that had been before him, and hurried after his men. The commandante drew off his gloves and sat at one of the tables.

Gonzales led the way across the plaza and toward the presidio. He was growling low down in his throat.

“This is a fine state of affairs!” he said. “Ride all night and kick up the dust! Back before dawn with nothing done!”

“But you wanted pirates,” the corporal protested.

“Think you they will stand in the middle of El Camino Real and await our pleasure?” Gonzales growled. “What pirate would be abroad a night like this? Could we but meet some—ha! There is a special reward for pirates!”

Even before they had reached the entrance of the presidio, he began shouting his orders. Torches flared, and men ran to prepare the horses. Fifteen minutes later, with Gonzales at their head, they rode across the plaza and out upon El Camino Real, their mounts snorting, their sabers rattling.

From the crest of a slope a few hundred yards away, Barbados and his evil crew watched them depart upon their mounts.

CHAPTER III.
SUDDEN TURMOIL.

While the blushes played across her cheeks, Señorita Lolita Pulido sat at one end of the big table in the great living-room of her father’s house and watched the final preparations for her wedding.

Don Carlos, her gray-haired father, watched proudly from the foot of the table. Doña Catalina, her mother, walked majestically around the room and gave soft commands. Native servants scurried like rats in and out of the great room, carrying bundles of silks and satins, gowns, intimate garments.

“To-morrow!” Don Carlos sighed, and in the sigh was that which spoke of cruelties bravely borne. “To-morrow, señorita, you become the bride of Don Diego Vega, and the first lady of Reina de Los Angeles. And my troubles, let us hope, are at an end.”

“Let us hope so,” said Doña Catalina.

“The Governor himself dare not raise his hand against the father-in-law of Don Diego Vega. My fortunes will increase again. And you, daughter of my heart, will be a great lady, with wealth at your command.”

“And love also,” the little señorita said, bowing her head.

“Love, also!” said Doña Catalina.

“Ha!” Don Carlos cried, with a gale of laughter. “It is love now, is it? And when first Don Diego came wooing, the girl would have none of him, even to better the family fortunes. He was dull, he yawned, and she wanted a man of hot blood and romantic. But when it was learned that he was Señor Zorro— That made a difference! Love, also! It is well!”

Señorita Lolita blushed again, and fumbled at a soft garment upon her lap. There came a pounding at the door, and one of the servants opened it. Don Carlos glanced up to find a man of the village there.

“It is a message, señor,” he said.

“From whom?” Don Carlos asked.

“From Don Diego Vega, to the little señorita.”

Señorita Lolita dimpled, and her black eyes flashed as she bent over the heap of garments again. Don Carlos stood up and stalked majestically toward the door.

“I take the message,” he said, and he took it, and handed it to Doña Catalina, that she might read it first. “Don Diego Vega is not wed to my daughter as yet. It is not proper that he send her sealed messages.”

His eyes were twinkling as he turned away. Señorita Lolita pouted and pretended indifference, and Doña Catalina, her mother, unfolded the message, and read it with a smile upon her lips.

“It is harmless,” she announced.

Señorita Lolita looked up, and took the message from her mother’s hand. Don Diego Vega, it appeared, wasted no words. His message was read swiftly:

This man has orders to make a record carrying this greeting of love to you and fetching yours in return.

Thine,

Diego.

“Ha!” Don Carlos shouted. “Economy is a great thing, but not in words when there is love to be spoken. You should have seen the messages I sent to Catalina in the old days!”

“Carlos!” Doña Catalina warned.

“And paid a native wench royally to slip them to her,” Don Carlos continued, shamelessly. “Behind the back of her duenna! Page after page, and every word a labor! I could fight better than I could write!”

“Perhaps so can Don Diego,” the little señorita said.

“Staunch and loyal to him, are you?” Don Carlos roared. “That is proper. Pen your reply, my daughter, and let this man establish his record for the return trip to Reina de Los Angeles. Do not keep Don Diego waiting.”

The señorita blushed yet again, got up, and swept into a room adjoining.

Don Carlos addressed the messenger: “How are things in the town?”

“Don Diego entertains his caballero friends at a last bachelor supper, señor,” the man replied.

“Ha! Young men only, I suppose?”

“Sí, señor!”

“Wine flows, I take it, and the table is piled high with rich food?”

“Sí, señor!”

“Ah, well! I shall have my turn to-morrow at the marriage feast,” Don Carlos said. “My regards to Don Diego Vega!”

“They shall be given him, señor.”

The señorita returned and handed what she had written to her mother, who perused it and sealed it, and handed it to the messenger in turn. The man bobbed his head in respectful salute, and hurried out. A native servant closed the door behind him—but neglected to drop the heavy bar in place. Because of the unusual excitement, none noticed.

Don Carlos resumed his position at the foot of the table. This was a great night for him, and to-morrow would be a great day. He was happy because his fortunes were on the mend, because the Governor had been forced to cease his persecutions. But he was happy also because his daughter was to have happiness.

Don Carlos and his wife had lavished upon this, their only child, love enough for a dozen. And now both glanced at her as she fumbled at a silken shawl. Her black eyes were sparkling again, though dreams were glistening in them. Her cheeks were delicately flushed. Her dainty hands played with the silks. One tiny tip of a boot peeped from beneath her voluminous skirts. A bride of whom any man could honestly be proud, Don Carlos thought, and with proper blood in her veins and proper thoughts in her head.

“So Don Diego makes merry to-night with his young friends!” Don Carlos said. “I would like to peer in upon him now.”

Could he have done so, he would have seen a merry gathering. In the big living-room of Don Diego’s town casa a huge table had been spread. Don Diego sat at the head of it, dressed in fastidious garments, and caballeros were grouped around it. Richly dressed they were, with blades at their sides, blades with jeweled hilts, but serviceable weapons for all that. Wine cups and dishes were before them. They feasted, and they drank. They toasted Don Diego, and the Señorita Lolita, Don Diego’s father, and the señorita’s father, and one another.

“Another good man gone wrong!” cried Don Audre Ruiz. He sat at Don Diego’s right hand, because he was Don Diego’s closest friend. “Here is our comrade, Don Diego, about to turn into a family man!” he continued. “This scion of Old Spain, this delicate morsel of caballero blood to be gobbled up by the monster of matrimony! It is time to weep!”

“Into your wine cup!” Don Diego added.

“Ha!” Don Audre Ruiz cried. “But a few days ago, it seems, we rode after him as though he had been the devil, rode hard upon his heels, thinking that we were following some sort of renegade caballero playing at highwayman. Señor Zorro, by the saints! We shouted praises of him because for a time he took us out of our monotony. Then came the unmasking, and we found that Don Diego and Señor Zorro were one and the same!”

He ceased speaking long enough to empty his wine cup and make certain that a servant refilled it.

“Señor Zorro!” he continued. “Those were happy moments! And now he is to turn husband, and no more riding abroad with sword in hand. We shall die of monotony, Diego, my friend!”

“Of fat!” Don Diego corrected.

“What has become of the wild blood that coursed your veins for a few moons?” Don Audre Ruiz demanded. “Where are those precious, turbulent drops that were in Zorro?”

“They linger,” Don Diego declared. “It needs but the cause to churn them into active being.”

“Ha! A cause! Caballeros, let us find him a cause, that this good friend of ours will be too busy to get married.”

“One moment!” Don Diego cried. He stood up and smiled at them, gave a little twitch to his shoulders, and then turned his back upon the brilliant company and hurried from the room. They drank again, and waited. And after a time, back he came, a silk-draped bundle beneath one arm.

“What mystery is this?” Don Audre demanded. He sprawled back in his chair and prepared to laugh. It was said of Don Audre that he always was prepared to laugh. He laughed when he made love, when he fought, as he ate and drank, his bubbling spirit, always upon his lips.

“Here is no mystery,” Don Diego Vega declared. He smiled at them again, unwrapped what he held, and suddenly exhibited a sword. “The blade of Zorro!” he cried.

There was an instant of silence, and then every caballero sprang to his feet. Their own swords came flashing from their scabbards, flashed on high, reflected in a million rays the glowing lights of the candelabra.

“Zorro!” they shouted. “Zorro!”

“Good old blade!” Don Diego said, a whimsical smile playing about his lips.

“Good old point!” exclaimed Don Audre Ruiz. “With it you marked many a scoundrel with your mark, notably and especially one Captain Ramón. Why do we endure his presence here in Reina de Los Angeles? Why not force the Governor to send him north?”

“Let us not mar a perfect evening with thoughts of him,” Don Diego begged. “Caballeros, I have brought this blade before you for a purpose. We have drunk toasts to everything of which we could think, and there still remains an abundance of rare wine that has not been guzzled. A toast to the sword of Zorro!”

“Ha! A happy thought!” Don Audre Ruiz cried. “Caballeros, a toast to the sword of Zorro!”

They drank it, put down their golden goblets, and sighed. They glanced at one another, each thinking of the days when Señor Zorro had ruled El Camino Real for a time. And then they dropped into their chairs once more, and Don Diego Vega sat down also, the sword on the table before him.

“It was a great game,” he said, and sighed himself. “But it is in the past. Now I shall be a man of peace and quiet.”

“That remains to be seen,” Don Audre declared. “There may be domestic warfare, you know. A man takes a terrible chance when he weds.”

“Nothing but peace and quiet,” Don Diego responded. “The sword of Zorro is but a relic. Years from now I may look upon it and smile. It has served its purpose.”

He yawned.

“By the saints!” Don Audre Ruiz breathed. “Did you see him? He yawned! While yet the word ‘Zorro’ was upon his lips, he yawned. And this is the man who defended persecuted priests and natives, defied the soldiery and made the Governor do a dance! ’Tis a cause he wants and needs, something to change him into Zorro again!”

“To-morrow I become a husband,” Don Diego answered him, yawning yet once more and fumbling with a handkerchief. “By the way, señores, have you ever seen this one?”

He spread the handkerchief over the wine goblet before him, and as the caballeros bent forward to watch, smiles upon their faces, he passed one hand rapidly back and forth across the covered goblet with such rapidity that it was hidden almost all the time, and with the other hand he reached beneath the edge of the handkerchief and jerked the goblet away, letting it drop to the floor. The handkerchief collapsed on the table. Don Diego waved a hand languidly.

“See? It is gone!” he breathed.

“Bah!” Don Audre cried as the others laughed. “At your boy’s tricks again, are you? Where is your wild blood now?”

“I am done with roistering and adventure.”

“A man never knows when his words may be hurled back at him and cause him to look foolish,” said Don Audre. “It is foolish to take everything for granted. For instance—”

He stopped. The sounds of a tumult had reached their ears. For a moment they were silent, listening. Shouts, oaths, the sounds of blows, the clashing of blades.

“What in the name of the saints is that?” Don Diego asked.

A trembling servant answered him.

“There are men fighting over by the inn, señor,” he said. “I heard some one shout of pirates!”

CHAPTER IV.
FRAY FELIPE MAKES A VOW.

Barbados continued to mutter curses as he watched the sky. Not a cloud marred its face, and the moon was at the full. But here was an enterprise where there was small risk, so he could discount the bright night.

He grunted his pleasure as he saw Sergeant Gonzales and the troopers ride away from the presidio, cross the plaza, and continue toward the south. He called Sanchez to him and explained what was to be done at the hacienda of Don Carlos Pulido.

“You will take half a dozen men,” Barbados commanded. “Do as you please at the place, but capture the señorita by all means, and go quickly back over the hills to the mouth of the cañon. Steal horses, and ride. Get there before the break of day! We shall do the same. The ship will be putting in at dawn or before.”

“Sí!” Sanchez replied. “And do you care for my share of the loot here. There may be small profit at the hacienda!”

Sanchez selected his ruffians and led them away around a hill and toward the north, where the hacienda of Don Carlos Pulido rested. Barbados whispered instructions to the remainder of the crew. And then they waited, for Barbados wished to make sure that the soldiers did not return.

For more than an hour longer he waited, and then gave the word. Down from the crest of the slope they slipped, breathing heavily, lusting for illegal gain, holding their cutlasses in readiness for instant use. They kept in the scant shadows as much as possible, scattered as they crossed the wider light spaces, made their way slowly to the edge of the town.

There, in the shadows cast by an empty adobe building, they separated, and Barbados whispered his final instructions. They were to look for rich loot, and nothing bulky. He had decided against food and wine, bolts of cloth, casks of olives and jars of honey. Such things could be obtained later at any hacienda. Just now he wished to get portable valuables and hurry back to the coast.

Men were detailed to seize horses and have them in readiness. Certain large houses were to be attacked in force after the smaller ones had been disposed of. The inn was to receive special attention, since it was whispered that the fat landlord had hidden wealth.

Down upon the town they crept, and suddenly they charged into the plaza from either side. Into the inn they poured, cutting and slashing at natives until they fled screeching with terror, stabbing at the fat landlord as he called upon the saints.

They took what the landlord had, and gave their attention to the houses and shops. And now bedlam broke loose as it was realized what was taking place. Doors were smashed, terrified men and women were driven from room to room. Things of value were seized. Jewels were ripped from dainty throats and delicate fingers. Silken shawls were torn from beautiful shoulders.

Here and there a man gave fight, but not for long. The pirates outnumbered the citizens, because they traveled in force and the citizens were scattered. Shrieks and screeches and cries stabbed the air. Raucous oaths and fiendish laughter rang across the plaza. And above the din roared the voice of Barbados, the human fiend, as he ordered his men, commanded them, admonished them, led them to an easy victory.

It was quick work, because the descent had been so unexpected. It might have continued throughout the night, until the town was stripped bare, until not a native’s hut was left standing. But Barbados wanted quick loot and a get-away. He wanted to reach the coast during the bright moonlight, get the planks of the ship’s deck beneath his feet once more. He trusted Captain Ramón, but he feared that the soldiers might return.

Across the plaza the pirates charged, with Barbados at their head. They broke into the church. They filled the sacred edifice with oaths and ribald jest and raucous laughter. They darted here and there, torches held high above their heads, searching for articles of worth.

From a little room to one side stepped a fray. His hair was silver, his face was calm. Erect and purposeful he stood, looking across at them. Quick steps forward he took toward the altar, where there were relics he loved.

“What do you here, señores?” he demanded.

His voice seemed soft, yet at the same time there was the ring of steel in it. They stopped, their shouting ceased, there was a moment of silence.

“Who are you?” one shouted.

“I am called Fray Felipe, señores,” came the response. “Just now I am in charge of this house of worship. How is it that you so far forget yourselves as to bring your tumult here?”

“Fray?” one shouted. “Fool and fray? Why do we bring our tumult here? For to get loot, gowned one!”

“Loot?” Fray Felipe thundered, taking another step forward. “You would profane this house? You would lay sacrilegious hands on what is to be found here, even as you have voiced sacrilegious tones within these walls? Scum of the earth, begone!”

They surged toward him. “One side, fray!” shouted a foremost one. “Respect the black flag and we respect your gown!”

“Spawn of hell! Sons of the devil!” Fray Felipe thundered. “Back to the door, and out of this holy place!”

He scarcely hoped to stop them. There were rich ornaments on the altar, and in the uncertain light the torches shed he could see the eyes of those nearest glittering. And the gem-studded goblet was there!

Thought of the gem-studded goblet gave new strength to ancient Fray Felipe. It was a relic highly prized. Fray Felipe loved it, and cared for it tenderly. There was a legend connected with it. Once it had been touched by a saint’s lips, men had said. To have this scum as much as touch the sacred goblet was too much—to have them steal it would be unthinkable.

Once more they surged forward, and Fray Felipe sprang before the altar and threw up his hands in a gesture of command.

“Back!” he cried. “Would you damn beyond recovery your immortal souls? Would you commit the unpardonable sin?”

“Ha!” shouted a man in the front of the throng. “Worry not about our souls, fray! One side, else you’ll have a chance to worry about the state of your own! We have scant time to spend on a fray!”

“What would you?” Fray Felipe asked.

“Loot, fool of a fray!”

“Only over my dead body do you take it! I am not afraid to die to protect holy things! But you—you will fear to die, if you do this thing!”

“Slit his throat!” cried one in the throng. “Are we here to argue? The work is not done!”

Once more they surged forward. The light of the torches sent rays of fire shooting from the ornaments on the altar. Their lust for loot consumed them.

Fray Felipe braced himself, seized the nearest, raised him half from the floor, and hurled him back against his fellows.

“The fray shows fight!” one cried. “Use your knives, you in the front! A stab between the ribs, and let us go!”

Again they rushed, and Fray Felipe prepared for one more feeble attempt, the one he deemed would be the last. He made the sign of the cross and waited calmly—waited until they were upon him, until he could feel their hot breathing upon his face, until the stench of their perspiration was in his nostrils.

But, even as a man raised a cutlass to strike, there came an interruption. The bellowing voice of Barbados rang out above the din.

“Stop!” he shrieked. There was something terrifying in the sudden and unexpected command. The pirates stopped, fell back. Barbados charged through them and to Fray Felipe’s side. The pirate’s face showed white in the light of the torches.

“Back!” he commanded. “This fray is not to be harmed! Out, fools and devils! There is one rich house yet to be robbed. Let us not tarry here!”

“There is loot—” one began.

He did not complete the sentence. Barbados whirled, and with a single blow he stretched him senseless.

“Out!” he commanded. “This fray is not to be touched!”

They backed away from him, rushed back to gather near the door. They did not pretend to understand this, but Barbados was chief, and perhaps he knew what he was doing. They saw him turn, knew that he spoke to the fray, but could not make out his words.

“I had no doing in this,” Barbados said. “I assault no fray nor priest! I stopped them in time. Had I not remained outside a moment to watch affairs I would have stopped them before.”

“You are not wholly bad,” Fray Felipe said.

“I am wholly bad, fray—make no mistake about it! But I keep my hands off frailes and priests!”

He whirled around and rushed to the door, shrieking at his men. Only the soft light of the candles glowed in the church.

Fray Felipe took a step forward and looked after them. He turned back toward the altar, a look of thankfulness in his face.

And suddenly that look changed! Misery took its place. Fray Felipe gave a little cry of mingled surprise and pain, and tottered forward. The precious gem-studded goblet was gone!

He sensed at once how it had happened. When they had charged upon him, before Barbados came, one of the pirates had snatched the goblet away.

Fray Felipe whirled toward the door again, took half a dozen steps, seemed at the point of rushing after them. But he knew they were on the other side of the plaza now, and that an appeal to them would be useless. However, he could try.

He faced the altar again, and the expression of his old countenance was wonderful to see. And then and there Fray Felipe took a vow.

“I go!” he said. “I return with the saintly goblet, or do not return at all!”

CHAPTER V.
ZORRO TAKES THE TRAIL.

Barbados had saved the casa of Don Diego Vega for the last. He had kept an eye upon it, however, while his men were looting the town, but had seen nothing to indicate danger from that quarter. And now he remembered Captain Ramón’s commands, and it pleased him to carry them out.

Don Diego’s was the finest house in the village, and seemed to promise rich loot. Barbados placed four of his men outside to guard against the unexpected return of the soldiers, and led the remainder straight to the front door.

They hesitated there for a moment, gathered closely together, then Barbados gave the word, and they rushed through the door and hurled themselves inside, to go sprawling over the rich rugs and carpets and stop in astonishment and confusion. Barbados swore a great oath as he strove to maintain his balance.

Before them was a wonderful room lavishly furnished. To one side was a wide stairway that led to the upper regions of the house, and priceless tapestries were hanging from a mezzanine. But what engaged the attention of Barbados and his crew the most was the big table in the middle of the room and some score of richly dressed caballeros sitting around it.

Here was the unexpected, which Barbados always feared. He came to a stop, thrust forward his head, and his little eyes began glittering. The soldiers were gone from the town, but here were a score of young caballeros who were fully as good as soldiers in a fight, and who loved fighting. Barbados had seen such young blades handle swords and rapiers before.

The entrance of the pirates had followed closely upon the announcement of their presence in the town to Don Diego by the servant. And when they tumbled through the door, showing their evil faces in the strong light, the caballeros struggled to get to their feet, reaching for their blades, the smiles swept from their faces and expressions of grim determination showing there instead. But the calm voice of Don Diego quieted them.

“Ha!” Don Diego said. “What have we here? Señores, it is the night before my wedding, and most persons are welcome to partake of my hospitality. But this happens to be a select gathering of my close friends, and I really cannot remember of having sent you invitations.”

“Have done!” Barbados bellowed, his voice ringing with a courage he scarcely felt. “Have done, fashionable fop! We are men who sail under the black flag, terrible alike on land and sea!”

Don Diego Vega threw back his head and laughed lightly.

“Did you hear that, Audre, my friend?” he asked Ruiz. “This fellow says that he and his comrades are terrible alike on land and sea.”

Don Audre entered into the spirit of the occasion, as he always did. “Diego, I did not know that you were such a wit,” he said. “Have you hired these fellows to come here and give us a fright? Ha! It is a merry jest, one that I’ll remember to my last day! For a moment I was ready to draw blade.”

“Jest, is it?” Barbados cried, lurching forward almost to the foot of the table. “’Twill be considered no jest when we have stripped you of your jewels and plaything swords and this house of what valuables it contains! Back up against that wall, señores, and the man who makes a rash move will not live to make another!”

“I have made a multitude of rash moves, and I still live,” Don Audre Ruiz told him. “Diego, it is indeed an excellent jest! I give you my thanks!”

“Pirates!” Don Diego said, laughing again. “In reality, I did not hire them to come here and furnish us with this entertainment. But since they have been so kind, it is no more than right that I pay them!” He sprang to his feet, bent forward with his hands upon the table, and glared down the length of it at Barbados. “You are the chief bull pirate?” he asked.

“I am the king of the crew!” Barbados replied. “Back against that wall, you and your friends!”