The Curse of Capistrano

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THE CURSE OF CAPISTRANO 
by 
JOHNSTON McCULLEY 
NEW YORK : FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY, 1919 

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Originally serialized in five parts in
All-story weekly
Beginning with the August 9, 1919 issue 
Filmed in 1920 and 1940 as 
The Mark of Zorro; 
serialized for television in 1957 
as 
Zorro by 
Walt Disney Productions 

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CHAPTER I
Pedro, the Boaster 
AGAIN THE SHEET of rain beat against the roof of red Spanish tile, and the wind shrieked like 
a soul in torment, and smoke puffed from the big fireplace as the sparks were showered over the 
hard dirt floor. 
“’Tis a night for evil deeds!” declared Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, stretching his great feet in their 
loose boots toward the roaring fire and grasping the hilt of his sword in one hand and a mug filled 
with thin wine in the other. “Devils howl in the wind, and demons are in the raindrops! ‘tis an evil 
night, indeed—eh, señor?” 
“It is!” The fat landlord agreed hastily; and he made haste, also, to fill the wine mug again, for 
Sergeant Pedro Gonzales had a temper that was terrible when aroused, as it always was when wine 
was not forthcoming. 
“An evil night,” the big sergeant repeated, and drained the mug without stopping to draw 
breath, a feat that had attracted considerable attention in its time and had gained the sergeant a 
certain amount of notoriety up and down El Camino Real, as they called the highway that 
connected the missions in one long chain. 
Gonzales sprawled closer to the fire and cared not that other men thus were robbed of some of 
its warmth. Sergeant Pedro Gonzales often had expressed his belief that a man should look out for 
his own comfort before considering others; and being of great size and strength, and having much 
skill with the blade, he found few who had the courage to declare that they believed otherwise. 
Outside the wind shrieked, and the rain dashed against the ground in a solid sheet. It was a 
typical February storm for southern California. At the missions the 
frailes had cared for the stock 
and had closed the buildings for the night. At every great hacienda big fires were burning in the 
houses. The timid natives kept to their little adobe huts, glad for shelter. 
And here in the little pueblo of Reina de Los Angeles, where, in years to come, a great city 
would grow, the tavern on one side of the plaza housed for the time being men who would sprawl 
before the fire until the dawn rather than face the beating rain. 
Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, by virtue of his rank and size, hogged the fireplace, and a corporal 
and three soldiers from the presidio sat at table a little in rear of him, drinking their thin wine and 
playing at cards. An Indian servant crouched on his heels in one corner, no neophyte who had 
accepted the religion of the 
frailes, but a gentile and renegade. 
For this was in the day of the decadence of the missions, and there was little peace between the 
robed Franciscans who followed in the footsteps of the sainted Junipero Serra, who had founded 
the first mission at San Diego de Alcala, and thus made possible an empire, and those who fol-
lowed the politicians and had high places in the army. The men who drank wine in the tavern at 
Reina de Los Angeles had no wish for a spying neophyte about them. 
Just now conversation had died out, a fact that annoyed the fat landlord and caused him some 
fear; for Sergeant Pedro Gonzales in an argument was Sergeant Gonzales at peace; and unless he 
could talk the big soldier might feel moved to action and start a brawl. 
Twice before Gonzales had done so, to the great damage of furniture and men’s faces; and the 
landlord had appealed to the comandante of the presidio, Captain Ramón, only to be informed 
that the captain had an abundance of troubles of his own, and that running an inn was not one of 
them. 
So the landlord regarded Gonzales warily and edged closer to the long table and spoke in an 
attempt to start a general conversation and so avert trouble. 

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“They are saying in the pueblo,” he announced, “that this Señor Zorro is abroad again.” 
His words had an effect that was both unexpected and terrible to witness. Sergeant Pedro 
Gonzales hurled his half-filled wine mug to the hard dirt floor, straightened suddenly on the bench, 
and crashed a ponderous fist down upon the table, causing wine mugs and cards and coins to 
scatter in all directions. 
The corporal and the three soldiers retreated a few feet in sudden fright, and the red face of 
the landlord blanched; the native sitting in the corner started to creep toward the door, having 
determined that he preferred the storm outside to the big sergeant’s anger. 
“Señor Zorro, eh?” Gonzales cried in a terrible voice. “Is it my fate always to hear that name? 
Señor Zorro, eh? Mr. Fox, in other words! He imagines, I take it, that he is as cunning as one. By 
the saints, he raises as much stench!” 
Gonzales gulped, turned to face them squarely, and continued his tirade. 
“He runs up and down the length of El Camino Real like a goat of the high hills! He wears a 
mask, and he flashes a pretty blade, they tell me. He uses the point of it to carve his hated letter Z 
on the cheek of his foe! Ha! The mark of Zorro they are calling it! A pretty blade he has, in truth! 
But I cannot swear as to the blade—I never have seen it. He will not do me the honor of letting me 
see it! Señor Zorro’s depredations never occur in the vicinity of Sergeant Pedro Gonzales! Perhaps 
this Señor Zorro can tell us the reason for that? Ha!” 
He glared at the men before him, threw up his upper lip, and let the ends of his great black 
mustache bristle. 
“They are calling him the Curse of Capistrano now,” the fat landlord observed, stooping to 
pick up the wine mug and cards and hoping to filch a coin in the process. 
“Curse of the entire highway and the whole mission chain!” Sergeant Gonzales roared. “A 
cutthroat, he is! A thief! Ha! A common fellow presuming to get him a reputation for bravery 
because he robs a hacienda or so and frightens a few women and natives! Señor Zorro, eh? Here is 
one fox it gives me pleasure to hunt! Curse of Capistrano, eh? I know I have led an evil life, but I 
only ask of the saints one thing now—that they forgive me my sins long enough to grant me the 
boon of standing face to face with this pretty highwayman!” 
“There is a reward—” the landlord began. 
“You snatch the very words from my lips!” Sergeant Gonzales protested. “There is a pretty 
reward for the fellow’s capture, offered by his excellency the governor. And what good fortune has 
come to my blade? I am away on duty at San Juan Capistrano, and the fellow makes his play at 
Santa Barbara. I am at Reina de Los Angeles, and he takes a fat purse at San Luis Rey. I dine at 
San Gabriel, let us say, and he robs at San Diego de Alcala! A pest, he is! Once I met him—” 
Sergeant Gonzales choked on his wrath and reached for the wine mug, which the landlord had 
filled again and placed at his elbow. He gulped down the contents. “Well, he never has visited us 
here,” the landlord said with a sigh of thanksgiving. 
“Good reason, fat one! Ample reason! We have a presidio here and a few soldiers. He rides 
far from any presidio, does this pretty Señor Zorro! He is like a fleeting sunbeam, I grant him 
that—and with about as much real courage!” 
Sergeant Gonzales relaxed on the bench again, and the landlord gave him a glance that was full 
of relief, and began to hope that there would be no breakage of mugs and furniture and men’s 
faces this rainy night. 
“Yet this Señor Zorro must rest at times—he must eat and sleep,” the landlord said. “It is 
certain that he must have some place for hiding and recuperation. Some fine day the soldiers will 
trail him to his den.” 
“Ha!” Gonzales replied. “Of course the man has to eat and sleep. And what is it that he claims 

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now? He says that he is no real thief, by the saints! He is but punishing those who mistreat the men 
of the missions, he says. Friend of the oppressed, eh? He left a placard at Santa Barbara recently 
stating as much, did he not? Ha! And what may be the reply to that? The 
frailes of the missions are 
shielding him, hiding him, giving him his meat and drink! Shake down a robed 
fray and you’ll find 
some trace of this pretty highwayman’s whereabouts, else I am a lazy civilian!” 
“I have no doubt that you speak the truth,” the landlord replied. “I put it not past the 
frailes to 
do such a thing. But may this Señor Zorro never visit us here!” 
“And why not, fat one?” Sergeant Gonzales cried in a voice of thunder. “Am I not here? Have 
I not a blade at my side? Are you an owl, and is this daylight that you cannot see as far as the end 
of your puny, crooked nose? By the saints—” 
“I mean,” said the landlord quickly and with some alarm, “that I have no wish to be robbed.” 
“To be—robbed of what, fat one? Of a jug of weak wine and a meal? Have you riches, fool? 
Ha! Let the fellow come! Let this bold and cunning Señor Zorro but enter that door and step 
before us! Let him make a bow, as they say he does, and let his eyes twinkle through his mask! Let 
me but face the fellow for an instant—and I claim the generous reward offered by his excellency!” 
“He perhaps is afraid to venture so near the presidio,” the landlord said. 
“More wine!” Gonzales howled. “More wine, fat one, and place it to my account! When I have 
earned the reward, you shall be paid in full. I promise it on my word as a soldier! Ha! Were this 
brave and cunning Señor Zorro, this Curse of Capistrano, but to make entrance at that door now-” 
The door suddenly was opened. 
CHAPTER II
On the Heels of the Storm 
IN CAME A GUST of wind and rain and a man with it, and the candles flickered, and one was 
extinguished. This sudden entrance in the midst of the sergeant’s boast startled them all; and 
Gonzales drew his blade halfway from its scabbard as his words died in his throat. The native was 
quick to close the door again to keep out the wind. 
The newcomer turned and faced them; the landlord gave another sigh of relief. It was not 
Señor Zorro, of course. It was Don Diego Vega, a fair youth of excellent blood and twenty-four 
years, noted the length of El Camino Real for his small interest in the really important things of 
life. 
“Ha!” Gonzales cried, and slammed his blade home. 
“Is it that I startled you somewhat, señores?” Don Diego asked politely and in a thin voice, 
glancing around the big room and nodding to the men before him. 
“If you did, señor, it was because you entered on the heels of the storm,” the sergeant retorted. 
“’Twould not be your own energy that would startle any man.” 
“Hm!” grunted Don Diego, throwing aside his sombrero and flinging off his soaked serape. 
“Your remarks border on the perilous, my raucous friend.” 
“Can it be that you intend to take me to task?” 
“It is true,” continued Don Diego, “that I do not have a reputation for riding like a fool at risk 
of my neck, fighting like an idiot with every newcomer, and playing the guitar under every woman’s 
window like a simpleton. Yet I do not care to have these things you deem my shortcomings 
flaunted in my face.” 
“Ha!” Gonzales cried, half in anger. 
“We have an agreement, Sergeant Gonzales, that we can be friends, and I can forget the wide 

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difference in birth and breeding that yawns between us only as long as you curb your tongue and 
stand my comrade. Your boasts amuse me, and I buy for you the wine that you crave. It is a pretty 
arrangement. But ridicule me again, señor, either in public or private, and the agreement is at an 
end. I may mention that I have some small influence.” 
“Your pardon, caballero and my very good friend!” the alarmed Sergeant Gonzales cried now. 
“You are storming worse than the tempest outside, and merely because my tongue happened to 
slip. Hereafter, if any man ask, you are nimble of wit and quick with a blade, always ready to fight 
or to make love. You are a man of action, caballero! Ha! Does any dare doubt it?” 
He glared around the room, half drawing his blade again, and then he slammed the sword 
home and threw back his head and roared with laughter and then clapped Don Diego between the 
shoulders; and the fat landlord hurried with more wine, knowing well that Don Diego Vega would 
stand the score. 
For this peculiar friendship between Don Diego and Sergeant Gonzales was the talk of El 
Camino Real. Don Diego came from a family of blood that ruled over thousands of broad acres, 
countless herds of horses and cattle, great fields of grain. Don Diego, in his own right, had a 
hacienda that was like a small empire, and a house in the pueblo also, and was destined to inherit 
from his father more than thrice what he had now. 
But Don Diego was unlike the other full-blooded youths of the times. It appeared that he 
disliked action. He seldom wore his blade, except as a matter of style and apparel. He was 
damnably polite to all women and paid court to none. 
He sat in the sun and listened to the wild tales of other men, and now and then he smiled. He 
was the opposite of Sergeant Pedro Gonzales in all things, and yet they were together frequently. It 
was as Don Diego had said: He enjoyed the sergeant’s boasts, and the sergeant enjoyed the free 
wine. What more could either ask in the way of a fair arrangement? 
Now Don Diego went to stand before the fire and dry himself, holding a mug of red wine in 
one hand. He was only medium in size, yet he possessed health and good looks, and it was the 
despair of proud duennas that he would not glance a second time at the pretty señoritas they pro-
tected, and for whom they sought desirable husbands. 
Gonzales, afraid that he had angered his friend and that the free wine would be at an end, now 
strove to make peace. 
“Caballero, we have been speaking of this notorious Señor Zorro,” he said. “We have been 
regarding in conversation this fine Curse of Capistrano, as some nimble-witted fool has seen fit to 
term the pest of the highway.” 
“What about him?” Don Diego asked, putting down his wine mug and hiding a yawn behind 
his hand. Those who knew Don Diego best declared he yawned ten score times a day. 
“I have been remarking, caballero,” said the sergeant, “that this fine Señor Zorro never appears 
in my vicinity, and that I am hoping the good saints will grant me the chance of facing him some 
fine day, that I may claim the reward offered by the governor. Señor Zorro, eh? Ha!” 
“Let us not speak of him,” Don Diego begged, turning from the fireplace and throwing out one 
hand as if in protest. “Shall it be that I never hear of anything except deeds of bloodshed and 
violence? Would it be possible in these turbulent times for a man to listen to words of wisdom 
regarding music or the poets?” 
“Meal mush and goat’s milk!” snorted Sergeant Gonzales in huge disgust. “If this Señor Zorro 
wishes to risk his neck, let him. It is his own neck, by the saints! A cutthroat! A thief! Ha!” 
“I have been hearing considerable concerning his work,” Don Diego went on to say. “The 
fellow, no doubt, is sincere in his purpose. He has robbed none except officials who have stolen 
from the missions and the poor, and punished none except brutes who mistreat natives. He has 

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slain no man, I understand. Let him have his little day in the public eye, my sergeant.” 
“I would rather have the reward!” 
“Earn it,” Don Diego said. “Capture the man!” 
“Ha! Dead or alive, the governor’s proclamation says. I myself have read it.” 
“Then stand you up to him and run him through, if such a thing pleases you,” Don Diego 
retorted. “And tell me all about it after ward—but spare me now.” 
“It will be a pretty story!” Gonzales cried. “And you shall have it entire, caballero, word by 
word! How I played with him, how I laughed at him as we fought, how I pressed him back after a 
time and ran him through—” 
“Afterward—but not now!” Don Diego cried, exasperated. “Landlord, more wine! The only 
manner in which to stop this raucous boaster is to make his wide throat so slick with wine that the 
words cannot climb out of it!” 
The landlord quickly filled the mugs. Don Diego sipped at his wine slowly, as a gentleman 
should, while Sergeant Gonzales took his in two great gulps. And then the scion of the house of 
Vega stepped across to the bench and reached for his sombrero and his serape. 
“What?” the sergeant cried. “You are going to leave us at such an early hour, caballero? You 
are going to face the fury of that beating storm?” 
“At least I am brave enough for that,” Don Diego replied, smiling. “I but ran over from my 
house for a pot of honey. The fools feared the rain too much to fetch me some this day from the 
hacienda. Get me one, landlord.” 
“I shall escort you safely home through the rain!” Sergeant Gonzales cried, for he knew full 
well that Don Diego had excellent wine of age there. 
“You shall remain here before the roaring fire,” Don Diego told him firmly. “I do not need an 
escort of soldiers from the presidio to cross the plaza. I am going over accounts with my secretary, 
and possibly may return to the tavern after we have finished. I wanted the pot of honey that we 
might eat as we worked.” 
“Ha! And why did you not send that secretary of yours for the honey, caballero? Why be 
wealthy and have servants, if a man cannot send them on errands on such a stormy night?” 
“He is an old man and feeble,” Don Diego explained. “He also is secretary to my aged father. 
The storm would kill him. Landlord, serve all here with wine and put it to my account. I may 
return when my books have been straightened.” 
Don Diego Vega picked up the pot of honey, wrapped his serape around his head, opened the 
door, and plunged into the storm and darkness. 
“There goes a man!” Gonzales cried, flourishing his arms. “He is my friend, that caballero, and 
I would have all men know it! He seldom wears a blade, and I doubt whether he can use one—but 
he is my friend! The flashing dark eyes of lovely señoritas do not disturb him, yet I swear he is a 
pattern of a man! 
“Music and the poets, eh? Ha! Has he not the right, if such is his pleasure? Is he not Don 
Diego Vega? Has he not blue blood and broad acres and great storehouses filled with goods? Is he 
not liberal? He may stand on his head or wear petticoats, if it please him—yet I swear he is a pat-
tern of a man!” 
The soldiers echoed his sentiments since they were drinking Don Diego’s wine and did not 
have the courage to combat the sergeant’s statements anyway. The fat landlord served them with 
another round since Don Diego would pay. For it was beneath a Vega to look at his score in a 
public tavern, and the fat landlord many times had taken advantage of this fact. 
“He cannot endure the thought of violence or bloodshed,” Sergeant Gonzales continued. “He 
is as gentle as a breeze of spring. Yet he has a firm wrist and a deep eye. It merely is the caballero’s 

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manner of seeing life. Did I but have his youth and good looks and riches—Ha! There would be a 
stream of broken hearts from San Diego de Alcala to San Francisco de Asis!” 
“And broken heads!” the corporal offered. 
“Ha! And broken heads, comrade! I would rule the country! No youngster should stand long 
in my way. Out with blade and at them! Cross Pedro Gonzales, eh? Ha! Through the shoulder—
neatly! Ha! Through a lung!” 
Gonzales was upon his feet now, and his blade had leaped from its scabbard. He swept it back 
and forth through the air, thrust, parried, lunged, advanced, and retreated, shouted his oaths, and 
roared his laughter as he fought with shadows. 
“That is the manner of it!” he screeched at the fireplace. “What have we here? Two of you 
against one? So much the better, señores! We love brave odds! Ha! Have at you, dog! Die, hound! 
One side, poltroon!” 
He reeled against the wall, gasping, his breath almost gone, the point of his blade resting on the 
floor, his great face purple with the exertion and the wine he had consumed, while the corporal 
and the soldiers and the fat landlord laughed long and loudly at this bloodless battle from which 
Sergeant Pedro Gonzales had emerged the unquestioned victor. 
“Were—were this fine Señor Zorro only before me here and now!” the sergeant gasped. 
And again the door was opened suddenly, and a man entered the inn on a gust of the storm. 
CHAPTER III
Señor Zorro Pays a Visit 
THE NATIVE HURRIED forward to fasten the door against the force of the wind, and then 
retreated to his corner again. The newcomer had his back toward those in the long room. They 
could see that his sombrero was pulled far down on his head, as if to prevent the wind from whisk-
ing it away, and that his body was enveloped in a long cloak that was wringing wet. 
With his back still toward them, he opened the cloak and shook the raindrops from it and then 
folded it across his breast again as the fat landlord hurried forward, rubbing his hands together in 
expectation, for he deemed that here was some caballero off the highway who would pay good coin 
for food and bed and care for his horse. 
When the landlord was within a few feet of him and the door the stranger whirled around. The 
landlord gave a little cry of fear and retreated with speed. The corporal gurgled deep down in his 
throat; the soldiers gasped; Sergeant Pedro Gonzales allowed his lower jaw to drop and let his eyes 
bulge. 
For the man who stood straight before them had a black mask over his face that effectually 
concealed his features, and through the two slits in it his eyes glittered ominously. 
“Ha! What have we here?” Gonzales gasped finally, some presence of mind returning to him. 
The man before them bowed. 
“Señor Zorro, at your service,” he said. 
“By the saints! Señor Zorro, eh?” Gonzales cried. 
“Do you doubt it, señor?” 
“If you are indeed Señor Zorro, then have you lost your wits!” the sergeant declared. 
“What is the meaning of that speech?” 
“You are here, are you not? You have entered the inn, have you not? By all the saints, you 
have walked into a trap, my pretty highwayman!” 

---

“Will the señor please explain?” Señor Zorro asked. His voice was deep and held a peculiar 
ring. 
“Are you blind? Are you without sense?” Gonzales demanded. “Am I not here?” 
“And what has that to do with it?” 
“Am I not a soldier?” 
“At least you wear a soldier’s garb, señor.” 
“By the saints, and cannot you see the good corporal and three of our comrades? Have you 
come to surrender your wicked sword, señor? Are you finished playing at rogue?” 
Señor Zorro laughed, not unpleasantly, but he did not take his eyes from Gonzales. 
“Most certainly I have not come to surrender,” he said. “I am on business, señor.” 
“Business?” Gonzales queried. 
“Four days ago, señor, you brutally beat a native who had won your dislike. The affair 
happened on the road between here and the mission at San Gabriel.” 
“He was a surly dog and got in my way! And how does it concern you, my pretty 
highwayman?” 
“I am the friend of the oppressed, señor, and I have come to punish you.” 
“Come to—to punish me, fool? You punish me? I shall die of laughter before I can run you 
through! You are as good as dead, Señor Zorro! His excellency has offered a pretty price for your 
carcass! If you are a religious man, say your prayers! I would not have it said that I slew a man 
without giving him time to repent his crimes. I give you the space of a hundred heartbeats.” 
“You are generous, señor, but there is no need for me to say my prayers.” 
“Then must I do my duty,” said Gonzales, and lifted the point of his blade. “Corporal, you will 
remain by the table, and the men also. This fellow and the reward he means are mine!” 
He blew out the ends of his mustache and advanced carefully, not making the mistake of 
underestimating his antagonist, for there had been certain tales of the man’s skill with a blade. And 
when he was within the proper distance he recoiled suddenly, as if a snake had warned of a strike. 
For Señor Zorro had allowed one hand to come from beneath his cloak, and the hand held a 
pistol, most damnable of weapons to Sergeant Gonzales. 
“Back, señor!” Señor Zorro warned. 
“Ha! So that is the way of it!” Gonzales cried. “You carry that devil’s weapon and threaten men 
with it! Such things are for use only at a long distance and against inferior foes. Gentlemen prefer 
the trusty blade.” 
“Back, señor! There is death in this you call the devil’s weapon. I shall not warn again.” 
“Somebody told me you were a brave man,” Gonzales taunted, retreating a few feet. “It has 
been whispered that you would meet any man foot to foot and cross blades with him. I have 
believed it of you. And now I find you resorting to a weapon fit for nothing except to use against 
red natives. Can it be, señor, that you lack the courage I have heard you possess?” 
Señor Zorro laughed again. 
“As to that you shall see presently,” he said. “The use of this pistol is necessary at the present 
time. I find myself pitted against large odds in this tavern, señor. I shall cross blades with you gladly 
when I have made such a proceeding safe.” 
“I wait anxiously,” Gonzales sneered. 
“The corporal and soldiers will retreat to that far corner,” Señor Zorro directed. “Landlord, 
you will accompany them. The native will go there also. Quickly, señores. Thank you. I do not 
wish to have any of you disturbing me while I am punishing this sergeant here.” 
“Ha!” Gonzales screeched in fury. “We shall soon see as to the punishing, my pretty fox!” 
“I shall hold the pistol in my left hand,” Señor Zorro continued. “I shall engage this sergeant 

---

with my right, in the proper manner, and as I fight I shall keep an eye on the corner. The first 
move from any of you, señores, means that I fire. I am expert with this you have termed the devil’s 
weapon, and if I fire some men shall cease to exist on this earth of ours. It is understood?” 
The corporal and soldiers and landlord did not take the trouble to answer. Señor Zorro 
looked Gonzales straight in the eyes again, and a chuckle came from behind his mask. 
“Sergeant, you will turn your back until I can draw my blade,” he directed. “I give you my word 
as a caballero that I shall not make a foul attack.” 
“As a caballero?” Gonzales sneered. 
“I said it, señor!” Zorro replied, his voice ringing a threat. 
Gonzales shrugged his shoulders and turned his back. In an instant he heard the voice of the 
highwayman again. 
“On guard, señor!” 
CHAPTER IV 
Swords Clash—And Pedro Explains 
GONZALES WHIRLED AT THE WORD, and his blade came up. He saw that Señor Zorro 
had drawn his sword, and that he was holding the pistol in his left hand high above his head. 
Moreover, Señor Zorro was chuckling still, and the sergeant became infuriated. The blades 
clashed. 
Sergeant Gonzales had been accustomed to battling with men who gave ground when they 
pleased and took it when they could, who went this way and that seeking an advantage, now 
advancing, now retreating, now swinging to left or right as their skill directed them. 
But here he faced a man who fought in quite a different way. For Señor Zorro, it appeared, was 
as if rooted to one spot and unable to turn his face in any other direction. He did not give an inch, 
nor did he advance, nor step to either side. 
Gonzales attacked furiously, as was his custom, and he found the point of his blade neatly 
parried. He used more caution then and tried what tricks he knew, but they seemed to avail him 
nothing. He attempted to pass around the man before him, and the other’s blade drove him back. 
He tried a retreat, hoping to draw the other out, but Señor Zorro stood his ground and forced 
Gonzales to attack again. As for the highwayman, he did nought except put up a defense. 
Anger got the better of Gonzales then, for he knew the corporal was jealous of him and that 
the tale of this fight would be told to all the pueblo tomorrow, and so travel up and down the 
length of El Camino Real. 
He attacked furiously, hoping to drive Señor Zorro off his feet and make an end of it But he 
found that his attack ended as if against a stone wall, his blade was turned aside, his breast crashed 
against that of his antagonist, and Señor Zorro merely threw out his chest and hurled him back half 
a dozen steps. 
“Fight, señor!” Señor Zorro said. 
“Fight yourself, cutthroat and thief!” the exasperated sergeant cried. “Don’t stand like a piece 
of the hills, fool! Is it against your religion to take a step?” 
“You cannot taunt me into doing it,” the highwayman replied, chuckling again. 
Sergeant Gonzales realized then that he had been angry, and he knew an angry man cannot 
fight with the blade as well as a man who controls his temper. So he became deadly cold now, and 
his eyes narrowed, and all boasting was gone from him. 

---

He attacked again, but now he was alert, seeking an unguarded spot through which he could 
thrust without courting disaster himself. He fenced as he never had fenced in his life before. He 
cursed himself for having allowed wine and food to rob him of his wind. From the front, from 
either side, he attacked, only to be turned back again, all his tricks solved almost before he tried 
them. 
He had been watching his antagonist’s eyes, of course, and now he saw a change. They had 
seemed to be laughing through the mask, and now they had narrowed and seemed to send forth 
flakes of fire. 
“We have had enough of playing,” Señor Zorro said. “It is time for the punishment!” 
And suddenly he began to press the fighting, taking step after step, slowly and methodically 
going forward and forcing Gonzales backward. The tip of his blade seemed to be a serpent’s head 
with a thousand tongues. Gonzales felt himself at the other’s mercy, but he gritted his teeth and 
tried to control himself and fought on. 
Now he was with his back against the wall, but in such a position that Señor Zorro could give 
him battle and watch the men in the corner at the same time. He knew the highwayman was 
playing with him. He was ready to swallow his pride and call upon the corporal and soldiers to 
rush in and give him aid. 
And then there came a sudden battering at the door, which the native had bolted. The heart of 
Gonzales gave a great leap. Somebody was there, wishing to enter. Whoever it was would think it 
peculiar that the door was not thrown open instantly by the fat landlord or his servant. Perhaps 
help was at hand. 
“We are interrupted, señor,” the highwayman said. “I regret it, for I will not have the time to 
give you the punishment you deserve, and will have to arrange to visit you another time. You 
scarcely are worth a double visit.” 
The pounding at the door was louder now. Gonzales raised his voice: “Ha! We have Señor 
Zorro here!” 
“Poltroon!” the highwayman cried. 
His blade seemed to take on new life. It darted in and out with a speed that was bewildering. It 
caught a thousand beams of light from the flickering candles and hurled them back. 
And suddenly it darted in and hooked itself properly, and Sergeant Gonzales felt his sword 
torn from his grasp and saw it go flying through the air. 
“So!” Señor Zorro cried. 
Gonzales awaited the stroke. A sob came into his throat that this must be the end instead of on 
a field of battle where a soldier wishes it. But no steel entered his breast to bring forth his life’s 
blood. 
Instead, Señor Zorro swung his left hand down, passed the hilt of his blade to it and grasped it 
beside the pistol’s butt, and with his right he slapped Pedro Gonzales once across the cheek. 
“That for a man who mistreats helpless natives!” he cried. 
Gonzales roared in rage and shame. Somebody was trying to smash the door in now. But 
Señor Zorro appeared to give it little thought. He sprang back, and sent his blade into its scabbard 
like a flash. He swept the pistol before him and thus threatened all in the long room. He darted to 
a window, sprang upon a bench. 
“Until a later time, señor!” he cried. 
And then he went through the window as a mountain goat jumps from a cliff, taking its 
covering with him. In rushed the wind and rain, and the candles went out. 
“After him!” Gonzales screeched, springing across the room and grasping his blade again. 
“Unbar the door! Out and after him! Remember, there is a generous reward—” 

---

The corporal reached the door first, and threw it open. In stumbled two men of the pueblo, 
eager for wine and an explanation of the fastened door. Sergeant Gonzales and his comrades drove 
over them, left them sprawling, and dashed into the storm. 
But there was little use in it. It was so dark a man could not see a distance of a horse’s length. 
The beating rain was enough to obliterate tracks almost instantly. Señor Zorro was gone—and no 
man could tell in what direction. 
There was a tumult, of course, in which the men of the pueblo joined. Sergeant Gonzales and 
the soldiers returned to the inn to find it full of men they knew. And Sergeant Gonzales knew, 
also, that his reputation was now at stake. 
“Nobody but a highwayman, nobody but a cutthroat and thief would have done it!” he cried 
aloud. 
“How is that, brave one?” cried a man in the throng near the doorway. 
“This pretty Señor Zorro knew, of course! Some days ago I broke the thumb of my sword 
hand while fencing at San Juan Capistrano. No doubt the word was passed to this Señor Zorro. 
And he visits me at such a time that he may afterward say he had vanquished me.” 
The corporal and soldiers and landlord stared at him, but none was brave enough to say a 
word. 
“Those who were here can tell you, señores,” Gonzales went on. “This Señor Zorro came in at 
the door and immediately drew a pistol—devil’s weapon—from beneath his cloak. He presents it at 
us, and forces all except me to retire to that corner. I refused to retire. 
“‘Then you shall fight me,’ says this pretty highwayman, and I draw my blade, thinking to make 
an end of the pest. And what does he tell me then? 
“‘We shall fight,’ he says, ‘and I will outpoint you, so that I may boast of it afterward. In my left 
hand I hold the pistol. If your attack is not to my liking, I shall fire, and afterward run you through, 
and so make an end of a certain sergeant.’” 
The corporal gasped, and the fat landlord was almost ready to speak, but thought better of it 
when Sergeant Gonzales glared at him. 
“Could anything be more devilish?” Gonzales asked. “I was to fight, and yet I would get a 
devil’s chunk of lead in my carcass if I pressed the attack. Was there ever such a farce? It shows 
the stuff of which this pretty highwayman is made. Some day I shall meet him when he holds no 
pistol—and then—” 
“But how did he get away?” someone in the crowd asked. 
“He heard those at the door. He threatened me with the devil’s pistol and forced me to toss 
my blade in yonder far corner. He threatened us all, ran to the window, and sprang through. And 
how could we find him in the darkness or track him through the sheets of rain? But I am determ-
ined now! In the morning I go to my Captain Ramón and ask permission to be absolved from all 
other duty, that I may take some comrades and run down this pretty Señor Zorro. Ha! We shall go 
fox hunting!” 
The excited crowd about the door suddenly parted, and Don Diego Vega hurried into the 
tavern. 
“What is this I hear?” he asked. “They are saying that Señor Zorro has paid a visit here.” 
“’Tis a true word, caballero!” Gonzales answered. “And we were speaking of the cutthroat here 
this evening. Had you remained instead of going home to work with your secretary, you should 
have seen the entire affair.” 
“Were you not here? Can you not tell me?” Don Diego asked. “But I pray you make not the 
tale too bloody. I cannot see why men must be violent. Where is the highwayman’s dead body?” 
Gonzales choked; the fat landlord turned away to hide his smile; the corporal and soldiers 

---

began picking up wine mugs to keep busy at this dangerous moment. 
“He—that is, there is no body,” Gonzales managed to say. 
“Have done with your modesty, sergeant!” Don Diego cried. “Am I not your friend? Did you 
not promise to tell me the story if you met this cutthroat? I know you would spare my feelings, 
knowing that I do not love violence, yet I am eager for the facts because you, my friend, have been 
engaged with this fellow. How much was the reward?” 
“By the saints!” Gonzales swore. 
“Come, sergeant! Out with the tale! Landlord, give all of us wine, that we may celebrate this 
affair! Your tale, sergeant! Shall you leave the army, now that you have earned the reward, and 
purchase a hacienda and take a wife?” 
Sergeant Gonzales choked again and reached gropingly for a wine mug. 
“You promised me,” Don Diego continued, “that you would tell me the whole thing, word by 
word. Did he not say as much, landlord? You declared that you would relate how you played with 
him; how you laughed at him while you fought; how you pressed him back after a time and then 
ran him through—” 
“By the saints!” Sergeant Gonzales roared, the words coming from between his lips like peals 
of thunder. “It is beyond the endurance of any man! You—Don Diego—my friend—” 
“Your modesty ill becomes you at such a time,” Don Diego said. “You promised the tale, and 
I would have it. What does this Señor Zorro look like? Have you peered at the dead face beneath 
the mask? It is, perhaps, some man that we all know? Cannot some one of you tell me the facts? 
You stand here like so many speechless images of men—” 
“Wine—or I choke!” Gonzales howled. “Don Diego, you are my good friend, and I will cross 
swords with any man who belittles you! But do not try me too far this night—” 
“I fail to understand,” Don Diego said. “I have but asked you to tell me the story of the fight—
how you mocked him as you battled; how you pressed him back at will, and presently ended it by 
running him through—” 
“Enough! Am I to be taunted?” the big sergeant cried. He gulped down the wine and hurled 
the mug far from him. 
“Is it possible that you did not win the battle?” Don Diego asked. “But surely this pretty 
highwayman could not stand up before you, my sergeant. How was the outcome?” 
“He had a pistol—” 
“Why did you not take it away from him, then, and crowd it down his throat? But perhaps that 
is what you did. Here is more wine, my sergeant. Drink!” 
But Sergeant Gonzales was thrusting his way through the throng at the door. 
“I must not forget my duty!” he said. “I must hurry to the presidio and report this occurrence 
to the comandante!” 
“But, sergeant—” 
“And as to this Señor Zorro, he will be meat for my blade before I am done!” Gonzales 
promised. 
And then, cursing horribly, he rushed away through the rain, the first time in his life he ever 
had allowed duty to interfere with his pleasure and had run from good wine. Don Diego Vega 
smiled as he turned toward the fireplace. 

---

CHAPTER V 
A Ride in the Morning 
THE FOLLOWING MORNING found the storm at an end, and there was not a single cloud to 
mar the perfect blue of the sky, and the sun was bright, and palm fronds glistened in it, and the air 
was bracing as it blew down the valleys from the sea. 
At midmorning, Don Diego Vega came from his house in the pueblo, drawing on his 
sheepskin riding-mittens, and stood for a moment before it, glancing across the plaza at the little 
tavern. From the rear of the house an Indian servant led a horse. 
Though Don Diego did not go galloping across the hills and up and down El Camino Real like 
an idiot, yet he owned a fairish bit of horseflesh. The animal had spirit and speed and endurance, 
and many a young blood would have purchased him, except that Don Diego had no use for more 
money and wanted to retain the beast. 
The saddle was heavy and showed more silver than leather on its surface. The bridle was 
heavily chased with silver, too, and from its sides dangled leather globes studded with semiprecious 
stones that now glittered in the bright sunshine as if to advertise Don Diego’s wealth and prestige to 
all the world. 
Don Diego mounted, while half a score of men loitering around the plaza watched and made 
efforts to hide their grins. It was quite the thing in those days for a youngster to spring from the 
ground into his saddle, gather up the reins, rake the beast’s flanks with his great spurs, and dis-
appear in a cloud of dust all in one motion. 
But Don Diego mounted a horse as he did everything else—without haste or spirit. The native 
held a stirrup, and Don Diego inserted the toe of his boot. Then he gathered the reins in one 
hand, and pulled himself into the saddle as if it had been quite a task. 
Having done that much, the native held the other stirrup and guided Don Diego’s other boot 
into it, and then he backed away, and Don Diego clucked to the magnificent beast and started it, at 
a walk, along the edge of the plaza toward the trail that ran to the north. 
Having reached the trail, Don Diego allowed the animal to trot, and after having covered a 
mile in this fashion, he urged the beast into a slow gallop, and so rode along the highway. 
Men were busy in the fields and orchards, and natives were tending the herds. Now and then 
Don Diego passed a lumbering 
carreta, and saluted whoever happened to be in it. Once a young 
man he knew passed him at a gallop, going toward the pueblo, and Don Diego stopped his own 
horse to brush the dust from his garments after the man had gone his way. 
Those same garments were more gorgeous than usual this bright morning. A glance at them 
was enough to establish the wealth and position of the wearer. Don Diego had dressed with much 
care, admonishing his servants because his newest serape was not pressed properly, and spending a 
great deal of time over the polishing of his boots. 
He traveled for a distance of four miles and then turned from the highroad and started up a 
narrow, dusty trail that led to a group of buildings against the side of a hill in the distance. Don 
Diego Vega was about to pay a visit to the hacienda of Don Carlos Pulido. 
This same Don Carlos had experienced numerous vicissitudes during the last few years. Once 
he had been second to none except Don Diego’s father in position, wealth, and breeding. But he 
had made the mistake of getting on the wrong side of the fence politically, and he found himself 
stripped of a part of his broad acres, and tax-gatherers bothering him in the name of the governor, 
until there remained but a remnant of his former fortune, but all his inherited dignity of birth. 
On this morning Don Carlos was sitting on the veranda of the hacienda meditating on the 

---

times, which were not at all to his liking. His wife, Doña Catalina, the sweetheart of his youth and 
age, was inside directing her servants. His only child, the Señorita Lolita, likewise was inside, 
plucking at the strings of a guitar and dreaming as a girl of eighteen dreams. Don Carlos raised his 
silvered head and peered down the long, twisting trail, and saw in the distance a small cloud of 
dust. The dust cloud told him that a single horseman was approaching, and Don Carlos feared 
another gatherer of taxes. He shaded his eyes with a hand and watched the approaching horseman 
carefully. He noted the leisurely manner in which he rode his mount, and suddenly hope sang in 
his breast, for he saw the sun flashing from the silver on saddle and bridle, and he knew that men 
of the army did not have such rich harness to use while on duty. 
The rider had made the last turning now and was in plain sight from the veranda of the house, 
and Don Carlos rubbed his eyes and looked again to verify the suspicion he had. Even at that 
distance the aged don could establish the identity of the horseman. 
“’Tis Don Diego Vega,” he breathed. “May the saints grant that here is a turn in my fortunes 
for the better at last.” 
Don Diego, he knew, might only be stopping to pay a friendly visit, and yet that would be 
something, for when it was known abroad that the Vega family was on excellent terms with the 
Pulido establishment, even the politicians would stop to think twice before harassing Don Carlos 
further, for the Vegas were a power in the land. 
So Don Carlos slapped his hands together, and a native hurried out from the house, and Don 
Carlos bade him draw the shades so that the sun would be kept from a corner of the veranda, and 
place a table and some chairs, and hurry with small cakes and wine. 
He sent word into the house to the women, too, that Don Diego Vega was approaching. Doña 
Catalina felt her heart beginning to sing, and she herself began to hum a little song, and Señorita 
Lolita ran to a window to look out at the trail. When Don Diego stopped before the steps that led 
to the veranda, there was a native waiting to care for his horse, and Don Carlos himself walked 
halfway down the steps and stood waiting, his hand held out in welcome. 
“I am glad to see you a visitor at my poor hacienda, Don Diego,” he said, as the young man 
approached, drawing off his mittens. 
“It is a long and dusty road,” Don Diego said. “It wearies me, too, to ride a horse the distance.” 
Don Carlos almost forgot himself and smiled at that, for surely riding a horse a distance of four 
miles was not enough to tire a young man of blood. But he remembered Don Diego’s lifelessness 
and did not smile, lest the smile cause anger. 
He led the way to the shady nook on the veranda, and offered Don Diego wine and cakes, and 
waited for his guest to speak. As became the times, the women remained inside the house, not 
ready to show themselves unless the visitor asked for them, or their lord and master called. 
“How are things in the pueblo of Reina de Los Angeles?” Don Carlos asked. “It has been a 
space of several score days since I visited there.” 
“Everything is the same,” said Don Diego, “except that this Señor Zorro invaded the tavern last 
evening and had a duel with the big Sergeant Gonzales.” 
“Ha! Señor Zorro, eh? And what was the outcome of the fighting?” 
“Though the sergeant has a crooked tongue while speaking of it,” said Don Diego, “it has 
come to me through a corporal who was present that this Señor Zorro played with the sergeant and 
finally disarmed him and sprang through a window to make his escape in the rain. They could not 
find his tracks.” 
“A clever rogue,” Don Carlos said. “At least, I have nothing to fear from him. It is generally 
known up and down El Camino Real, I suppose, that I have been stripped of almost everything the 
governor’s men could carry away. I look for them to take the hacienda next.” 

---

“Um. Such a thing should be stopped!” Don Diego said, with more than his usual amount of 
spirit. 
The eyes of Don Carlos brightened. If Don Diego Vega could be made to feel some sympathy, 
if one of the illustrious Vega family would but whisper a word in the governor’s ear, the 
persecution would cease instantly, for the commands of a Vega were made to be obeyed by all 
men of whatever rank. 
CHAPTER VI 
Diego Seeks a Bride 
DON DIEGO SIPPED HIS WINE slowly and looked out across the mesa, and Don Carlos 
looked at him in puzzled fashion, realizing that something was coming, and scarcely knowing what 
to expect. 
“I did not ride through the damnable sun and dust to talk with you concerning this Señor 
Zorro, or any other bandit,” Don Diego explained after a time. 
“Whatever your errand, I am glad to welcome one of your family, caballero,” Don Carlos said. 
“I had a long talk with my father yesterday morning,” Don Diego went on. “He informed me 
that I am approaching the age of twenty-five, and he is of a mind that I am not accepting my duties 
and responsibilities in the proper fashion.” 
“But surely—” 
“Oh, doubtless he knows. My father is a wise man.” 
“And no man can dispute that, Don Diego.” 
“He urged upon me that I awaken and do as I should. I have been dreaming, it appears. A 
man of my wealth and station—you will pardon me if I speak of it—must do certain things.” 
“It is the curse of position, señor.” 
“When my father dies I come into his fortune, naturally, being the only child. That part of it is 
all right. But what will happen when I die? That is what my father asks.” 
“I understand.” 
“A young man of my age, he told me, should have a wife, a mistress of his household, and 
should—er—have offspring to inherit and preserve an illustrious name.” 
“Nothing could be truer than that,” said Don Carlos. 
“So I have decided to get me a wife.” 
“Ha! It is something every man should do, Don Diego. Well do I remember when I courted 
Doña Catalina. We were mad to get into each other’s arms, but her father kept her from me for a 
time. I was only seventeen, though, so perhaps he did right. But you are nearly twenty-five. Get you 
a bride, by all means.” 
“And so I have come to see you about it,” Don Diego said. 
“To see me about it?” gasped Don Carlos, with something of fear and a great deal of hope in 
his breast. 
“It will be rather a bore, I expect. Love and marriage, and all that sort of thing, is rather a 
necessary nuisance in its way. The idea of a man of sense running about a woman, playing a guitar 
for her, making up to her like a loon when everyone knows his intention! And then the ceremony! 
Being a man of wealth and station, I suppose the wedding must be an elaborate one, and the 
natives will have to be feasted, and all that, simply because a man is taking a bride to be mistress of 
his household.” 

---

“Most young men,” Don Carlos observed, “delight to win a woman and are proud if they have 
a great and fashionable wedding.” 
“No doubt. But it is an awful nuisance. However, I will go through with it, señor. It is my 
father’s wish, you see. You—if you will pardon me again—have fallen upon evil days. That is the 
result of politics, of course. But you are of excellent blood, señor, of the best blood in the land.” 
“I thank you for remembering that truth,” said Don Carlos, rising long enough to put one hand 
over his heart and bow. 
“Everybody knows it, señor. And a Vega, naturally, when he takes a mate, must seek out a 
woman of excellent blood.” 
“To be sure!” Don Carlos exclaimed. 
“You have an only daughter, the Señorita Lolita.” 
“Ah! Yes, indeed, señor. Lolita is eighteen now, and a beautiful and accomplished girl, if her 
father is the man to say it.” 
“I have observed her at the mission and at the pueblo,” Don Diego said. “She is, indeed, 
beautiful, and I have heard that she is accomplished. Of her birth and breeding there can be no 
doubt. I think she would be a fit woman to preside over my household.” 
“Señor?” 
“That is the object of my visit today, señor.” 
“You—you are asking my permission to pay addresses to my fair daughter?” 
“I am, señor.” 
Don Carlos’s face beamed, and again he sprang from his chair, this time to bend forward and 
grasp Don Diego by the hand. 
“She is a fair flower,” the father said. “I would see her wed, and I have been to some anxiety 
about it, for I did not wish her to marry into a family that did not rank with mine. But there can be 
no question where a Vega is concerned. You have my permission, señor.” 
Don Carlos was delighted. An alliance between his daughter and Don Diego Vega! His for-
tunes were retrieved the moment that was consummated. He would be important and powerful 
again! 
He called a native and sent for his wife, and within a few minutes the Doña Catalina appeared 
on the veranda to greet the visitor, her face beaming, for she had been listening. 
“Don Diego has done us the honor to request permission to pay his respects to our daughter,” 
Don Carlos explained. 
“You have given consent?” Doña Catalina asked; for it would not do, of course, to jump for 
the man. 
“I have given my consent,” Don Carlos replied. 
Doña Catalina held out her hand, and Don Diego gave it a languid grasp and then released it. 
“Such an alliance would be a proud one,” Doña Catalina said. “I hope that you may win her 
heart, señor.” 
“As to that,” said Don Diego, “I trust there will be no undue nonsense. Either the lady wants 
me and will have me, or she will not. Will I change her mind if I play a guitar beneath her window, 
or hold her hand when I may, or put my hand over my heart and sigh? I want her for wife, else I 
would not have ridden here to ask her father for her.” 
“I—I—of course,” said Don Carlos. 
“Ah, señor, but a maid delights to be won,” said the Doña Catalina. “It is her privilege, señor. 
The hours of courtship are held in memory during her lifetime. She remembers the pretty things 
her lover said, and the first kiss, when they stood beside the stream and looked into each other’s 
eyes, and when he showed sudden fear for her while they were riding and her horse bolted—those 

---

things, señor. 
“It is like a little game, and it has been played since the beginning of time. Foolish, señor? 
Perhaps when a person looks at it with cold reason. But delightful, nevertheless.” 
“I don’t know anything about it,” Don Diego protested. “I never ran around making love to 
women.” 
“The woman you marry will not be sorry because of that, señor.” 
“You think it is necessary for me to do these things?” 
“Oh,” said Don Carlos, afraid of losing an influential son-in-law, “a little bit would not hurt. A 
maid likes to be wooed, of course, even though she has made up her mind.” 
“I have a servant who is a wonder at the guitar,” Don Diego said. “Tonight I shall order him to 
come out and play beneath the señorita’s window.” 
“And not come yourself?” Doña Catalina gasped. 
“Ride out here again tonight, when the chill wind blows in from the sea?” gasped Don Diego. 
“It would kill me. And the native plays the guitar better than I.” 
“I never heard of such a thing!” Doña Catalina gasped, her sense of the fitness of things 
outraged. 
“Let Don Diego do as he wills,” Don Carlos urged. 
“I had thought,” said Don Diego, “that you would arrange everything and then let me know. I 
would have my house put in order, of course, and get me more servants. Perhaps I should 
purchase a coach and drive with my bride as far as Santa Barbara and visit a friend there. Is it not 
possible for you to attend to everything else? Just merely send me word when the wedding is to 
be.” 
Don Carlos Pulido was nettled a little himself now. 
“Caballero,” he said, “when I courted Doña Catalina she kept me on needles and pins. One 
day she would frown, and the next day smile. It added a spice to the affair. I would not have had it 
different. You will regret it, señor, if you do not do your own courting. Would you like to see the 
señorita now?” 
“I suppose I must,” Don Diego said. 
Doña Catalina threw up her head and went into the house to fetch the girl; and soon she came, 
a dainty little thing with black eyes that snapped, and black hair that was wound around her head in 
a great coil, and dainty little feet that peeped from beneath skirts of bright hue. 
“I am happy to see you again, Don Diego,” she said. He bowed over her hand and assisted her 
to one of the chairs. 
“You are as beautiful as you were when I saw you last,” he said. 
“Always tell a señorita that she is 
more beautiful than when you saw her last,” groaned Don 
Carlos. “Ah, that I were young again and could make love anew!” 
He excused himself and entered the house, and Doña Catalina moved to the other end of the 
veranda, so that the pair could talk without letting her hear the words, but from where she could 
watch, as a good duenna always must. 
“Señorita,” Don Diego said, “I have asked your father this morning for permission to seek you 
in marriage.” 
“Oh, señor!” the girl gasped. 
“Do you think I would make a proper husband?” 
“Why, I—that is—” 
“Just say the word, señorita, and I shall tell my father, and your family will make arrangements 
for the ceremony. They can send word in to me by some native. It fatigues me to ride abroad when 
it is not at all necessary.” 

---

Now the pretty eyes of the Señorita Lolita began flashing warning signals, but Don Diego, it was 
evident, did not see them, and so he rushed forward to his destruction. 
“Shall you agree to becoming my wife, señorita?” he asked, bending slightly toward her. 
Señorita Lolita’s face burned red, and she sprang from her chair, her tiny fists clenched at her 
side. 
“Don Diego Vega,” she replied, “you are of a noble family and have much wealth and will 
inherit more. But you are lifeless, señor! Is this your idea of courtship and romance? Can you not 
take the trouble to ride four miles on a smooth road to see the maid you would wed? What sort of 
blood is in your veins, señor?” 
Doña Catalina heard that, and now she rushed across the veranda toward them, making signals 
to her daughter, which Señorita Lolita refused to see. 
“The man who weds me must woo me and win my love,” the girl went on. “He must touch my 
heart. Think you that I am some bronze native wench to give myself to the first man who asks? 
The man who becomes my husband must be a man with life enough in him to want me. Send your 
servant to play a guitar beneath my window? Oh, I heard, señor! Send him, señor, and I’ll throw 
boiling water upon him and bleach his red skin! 
Buenos días, señor!” 
She threw up her head proudly, lifted her silken skirts aside, and so passed him to enter the 
house, disregarding her mother also. Doña Catalina moaned once for her lost hopes. Don Diego 
Vega looked after the disappearing señorita and scratched at his head thoughtfully and glanced 
toward his horse. 
“I—I believe she is displeased with me,” he said in his timid voice. 
CHAPTER VII 
A Different Sort of Man 
DON CARLOS LOST NO time in hurrying out to the veranda again—since he had been listening 
and so knew what had happened—and endeavoring to placate the embarrassed Don Diego Vega. 
Though there was consternation in his heart, he contrived to chuckle and make light of the 
occurrence. 
“Women are fitful and filled with fancies, señor,” he said. “At times they will rail at those 
whom they in reality adore. There is no telling the workings of a woman’s mind—she cannot 
explain it with satisfaction herself.” 
“But I—I scarcely understand,” Don Diego gasped. “I used my words with care. Surely I said 
nothing to insult or anger the señorita.” 
“She would be wooed, I take it, in the regular fashion. Do not despair, señor. Both her mother 
and myself have agreed that you are a proper man for her husband. It is customary that a maid 
fight off a man to a certain extent, and then surrender. It appears to make surrender the sweeter. 
Perhaps the next time you visit us she will be more agreeable. I feel quite sure of it.” 
So Don Diego shook hands with Don Carlos Pulido and mounted his horse and rode slowly 
down the trail; and Don Carlos turned about and entered his house again and faced his wife and 
daughter, standing before the latter with his hands on his hips and regarding her with something 
akin to sorrow. 
“He is the greatest catch in all the country!” Doña Catalina was wailing; and she dabbed at her 
eyes with a delicate square of filmy lace. 
“He has wealth and position and could mend my broken fortunes if he were but my son-in-

---

law,” Don Carlos declared, not taking his eyes from his daughter’s face. 
“He has a magnificent house and a hacienda besides, and the best horses near Reina de Los 
Angeles, and he is sole heir to his wealthy father,” Doña Catalina said. 
“One whisper from his lips into the ear of his excellency, the governor, and a man is made—or 
unmade,” added Don Carlos. 
“He is handsome—” 
“I grant you that!” exclaimed the Señorita Lolita, lifting her pretty head and glaring at them 
bravely. “That is what angers me! What a lover the man could be, if he would! Is it anything to 
make a girl proud to have it said that the man she married never looked at another woman, and so 
did not select her after dancing and talking and playing at love with others?” 
“He preferred you to all others, else he would not have ridden out today,” Don Carlos said. 
“Certainly it must have fatigued him!” the girl said. “Why does he let himself be made the 
laughingstock of the country? He is handsome and rich and talented. He has health, and could 
lead all the other young men. Yet he has scarcely enough energy to dress himself, I doubt not.” 
“This is all beyond me,” the Doña Catalina wailed. “When I was a girl, there was nothing like 
this. An honorable man comes seeking you as wife—” 
“Were he less honorable and more of a man, I might look at him a second time,” said the 
señorita. 
“You must look at him more than a second time,” put in Don Carlos, with some authority in 
his manner. “You cannot throw away such a fine chance. Think on it, my daughter. Be in a more 
amiable mood when Don Diego calls again.” 
Then he hurried to the patio on pretense that he wished to speak to a servant, but in reality to 
get away from the scene. Don Carlos had proved himself to be a courageous man in his youth, and 
now he was a wise man, also, and hence he knew better than to participate in an argument between 
women. 
Soon the siesta hour was at hand, and the Señorita Lolita went into the patio and settled herself 
on a little bench near the fountain. Her father was dozing on the veranda, and her mother in her 
room, and the servants were scattered over the place, sleeping also. But Señorita Lolita could not 
sleep, for her mind was busy. 
She knew her father’s circumstances, of course, for it had been some time since he could hide 
them, and she wanted, naturally, to see him in excellent fortune again. She knew, too, that did she 
wed with Don Diego Vega, her father was made whole. For a Vega would not let the relatives of his 
wife be in any but the best of circumstances. 
She called up before her a vision of Don Diego’s handsome face, and wondered what it would 
be like if lighted with love and passion. ’Twere a pity the man was so lifeless, she told herself. But 
to wed a man who suggested sending a native servant to serenade her in his own place! 
The splashing of the water in the fountain lulled her to sleep, and she curled up in one end of 
the bench, her cheek pillowed on one tiny hand, her black hair cascading to the ground. 
And suddenly she was awakened by a touch on her arm, and sat up quickly, and then would 
have screamed except that a hand was crushed against her lips to prevent her. 
Before her stood a man whose body was enveloped in a long cloak, and whose face was 
covered with a black mask so that she could see nothing of his features except his glittering eyes. 
She had heard Señor Zorro, the highwayman, described, and she guessed that this was he, and her 
heart almost ceased to beat, she was so afraid. 
“Silence, and no harm comes to you, señorita,” the man whispered hoarsely. 
“You—you are—” she questioned on her breath. 
He stepped back, removed his sombrero, and bowed low before her. 

---

“You have guessed it, my charming Señorita,” he said. “I am known as Señor Zorro, the Curse 
of Capistrano.” 
“And—you are here—” 
“I mean you no harm, no harm to any of this hacienda, señorita. I punish those who are unjust, 
and your father is not that. I admire him greatly. Rather would I punish those who do him evil than 
to touch him.” 
“I—I thank you, señor.” 
“I am weary, and the hacienda is an excellent place to rest,” he said. “I knew it to be the siesta 
hour, also, and thought everyone would be asleep. It were a shame to awaken you, señorita, but I 
felt that I must speak. Your beauty would hinge a man’s tongue in its middle so that both ends 
might be free to sing your praises.” 
Señorita Lolita had the grace to blush. 
“I would that my beauty affected other men so,” she said. 
“And does it not? Is it that the Señorita Lolita lacks suitors? But that cannot be possible!” 
“It is, nevertheless, señor. There are few bold enough to seek to ally themselves with the family 
of Pulido, since it is out of favor with the powers. There is one—suitor,” she went on. “But he does 
not seem to put much life into his wooing.” 
“Ha! A laggard at love—and in your presence? What ails the man? Is he ill?” 
“He is so wealthy that I suppose he thinks he has but to request it and a maiden will agree to 
wed him.” 
“What an imbecile! ’Tis the wooing gives the spice to romance.” 
“But you, señor! Somebody may come and see you here! You may be captured!” 
“And do you not wish to see a highwayman captured? Perhaps it would mend your father’s 
fortune were he to capture me. The governor is much vexed, I understand, concerning my 
operations.” 
“You—you had best go,” she said. 
“There speaks mercy in your heart. You know that capture would mean my death. Yet must I 
risk it, and tarry a while.” 
He seated himself upon the bench, and Señorita Lolita moved away as far as she could, and 
then started to rise. 
But Señor Zorro had been anticipating that. He grasped one of her hands and, before she 
guessed his intention, had bent forward, raised the bottom of his mask, and pressed his lips to its 
pink, moist palm. 
“Señor!” she cried, and jerked her hand away. 
“It were bold, yet a man must express his feelings,” he said. “I have not offended beyond 
forgiveness, I hope.” 
“Go, señor, else I make an outcry!” 
“And get me executed?” 
“You are but a thief of the highroad!” 
“Yet I love life as any other man.” 
“I shall call out, señor! There is a reward offered for your capture.” 
“Such pretty hands would not handle blood money.” 
“Go!” 
“Ah, señorita, you are cruel. A sight of you sends the blood pounding through a man’s veins. A 
man would fight a horde at the bidding of your sweet lips.” 
“Señor!” 
“A man would die in your defense, señorita. Such grace, such fresh beauty.” 

---

“For the last time, señor! I shall make an outcry—and your fate be on your own head!” 
“Your hand again—and I go.” 
“It may not be!” 
“Then here I sit until they come and take me. No doubt I shall not have to wait long. That big 
Sergeant Gonzales is on the trail, I understand, and may have discovered track of me. He will have 
soldiers with him—” 
“Señor, for the love of the saints—” 
“Your hand.” 
She turned her back and gave it, and once more he pressed his lips to the palm. And then she 
felt herself being turned slowly, and her eyes looked deep into his. A thrill seemed to run through 
her. She realized that he retained her hand, and she pulled it away. And then she turned and ran 
quickly across the patio and into the house. 
With her heart pounding at her ribs, she stood behind the curtains at a window and watched. 
Señor Zorro walked slowly to the fountain and stooped to drink. Then he put his sombrero on, 
looked once at the house, and stalked away. She heard the galloping hoofs of a horse die in the 
distance. 
“A thief—yet a man!” she breathed. “If Don Diego had only half as much dash and courage!” 
CHAPTER VIII 
Don Carlos Plays a Game 
SHE TURNED AWAY FROM the window, thankful that none of the household had seen Señor 
Zorro or knew of his visit. The remainder of the day she spent on the veranda, half the time 
working on some lace she was making, and the other half gazing down the dusty trail that ran to-
ward the highway. 
And then came evening, and down by the natives’ adobe huts big fires were lighted, and the 
natives gathered around them to cook and eat and speak of the events of the day. Inside the house 
the evening meal had been prepared, and the family was about to sit at table when someone 
knocked upon the door. 
An Indian ran to open it, and Señor Zorro strode into the room. His sombrero came off, he 
bowed, and then he raised his head and looked at the speechless Doña Catalina and the half-
terrified Don Carlos. 
“I trust you will pardon this intrusion,” he said. “I am the man known as Señor Zorro. But do 
not be frightened, for I have not come to rob.” 
Don Carlos got slowly upon his feet, while Señorita Lolita gasped at this display of the man’s 
courage, and feared he would mention the visit of the afternoon, of which she had refrained from 
telling her mother. 
“Scoundrel!” Don Carlos roared. “You dare to enter an honest house?” 
“I am no enemy of yours, Don Carlos,” Señor Zorro replied. “In fact, I have done some things 
that should appeal to a man who has been persecuted.” 
That was true, Don Carlos knew, but he was too wise to admit it and so speak treason. Heaven 
knew he was enough in the bad graces of the governor now without offending him more by treating 
with courtesy this man for whose carcass the governor had offered a reward. 
“What do you wish here?” he asked. 
“I crave your hospitality, señor. In other words, I would eat and drink. I am a caballero, hence 

---

make my claim in justice.” 
“Whatever good blood once flowed in your veins has been fouled by your actions,” Don 
Carlos said. “A thief and highwayman has no claim upon the hospitality of this hacienda.” 
“I take it that you fear to feed me, since the governor may hear of it,” Señor Zorro answered. 
“You may say that you were forced to do it. And that will be the truth.” 
Now one hand came from beneath the cloak, and it held a pistol. Doña Catalina shrieked and 
fainted, and Señorita Lolita cowered in her chair. 
“Doubly a scoundrel, since you frighten women!” Don Carlos exclaimed angrily. “Since it is 
death to refuse, you may have meat and drink. But I ask you to be caballero enough to allow me to 
remove my wife to another room and call a native woman to care for her.” 
“By all means,” Señor Zorro said. “But the señorita remains here as hostage for your good 
conduct and return.” 
Don Carlos glanced at the man, and then at the girl, and saw that the latter was not afraid. He 
picked his wife up in his arms and bore her through the doorway, roaring for servants to come. 
Señor Zorro walked around the end of the table, bowed to Lolita again, and sat down in a chair 
beside her. 
“This is foolhardiness, no doubt, but I had to see your beaming face again,” he said. 
“Señor!” 
“The sight of you this afternoon started a conflagration in my heart, señorita. The touch of 
your hand was new life to me.” 
Lolita turned away, her face flaming, and Señor Zorro moved his chair nearer and reached for 
her hand, but she eluded him. 
“The longing to hear the music of your voice, señorita, may lure me here often,” he said. 
“Señor! You must never come again! I was lenient with you this afternoon, but I can not be 
again. The next time I shall shriek, and you will be taken.” 
“You could not be so cruel,” he said. 
“Your fate would be upon your own head, señor.” 
Then Don Carlos came back into the room, and Señor Zorro arose and bowed once more. 
“I trust your wife has recovered from her swoon,” he said. “I regret that the sight of my poor 
pistol frightened her.” 
“She has recovered,” Don Carlos said. “I believe you said that you wished meat and drink. 
Now that I come to think of it, señor, you have indeed done some things that I have admired, and 
I am happy to grant you hospitality for a time. A servant shall furnish you food immediately.” 
Don Carlos walked to the door, called a native, and gave his orders. Don Carlos was well 
pleased with himself. Carrying his wife into the next room had given him his chance. For servants 
had answered his call, and among them had been one he trusted. And he had ordered the man to 
take the swiftest horse and ride like the wind the four miles to the pueblo, and there to spread the 
alarm that Señor Zorro was at the Pulido hacienda. 
His object now was to delay this Señor Zorro as much as possible. For he knew the soldiers 
would come and the highwayman be killed or captured, and surely the governor would admit that 
Don Carlos was entitled to some consideration for what he had done. 
“You must have had some stirring adventures, señor,” Don Carlos said as he returned to the 
table. 
“A few,” the highwayman admitted. 
“There was that affair at Santa Barbara, for instance. I never did hear the straight of that.” 
“I dislike to speak of my own work, señor.” 
“Please,” the Señorita Lolita begged; and so Señor Zorro overcame his scruples for the time 

---

being. 
“It really was nothing,” he said. “I arrived in the vicinity of Santa Barbara at sunset. There is a 
fellow there who runs a store, and he had been beating natives and stealing from the 
frailes. He 
would demand that the 
frailes sell him goods from the mission, and then complain that the weight 
was short, and the governor’s men would make the 
frailes deliver more. So I resolved to punish 
the man.” 
“Pray continue, señor,” said Don Carlos, bending forward as if deeply interested. 
“I dismounted at the door of his building and walked inside. He had candles burning, and 
there were half a dozen fellows trading with him. I covered them with my pistol and drove them 
into a corner and ordered this storekeeper before me. I frightened him thoroughly, and forced 
him to disgorge the money he had in a secret hiding-place. And then I lashed him with a whip 
taken from his own wall, and told him why I had done it.” 
“Excellent!” Don Carlos cried. 
“Then I sprang on my horse and dashed away. At a native’s hut I made a placard, saying that I 
was a friend of the oppressed. Feeling particularly bold that evening, I galloped up to the door of 
the presidio, brushed aside the sentry—who took me for a courier—and pinned the placard to the 
door of the presidio with my knife. Just then the soldiers came rushing out. I fired over their 
heads, and while they were bewildered I rode away toward the hills.” 
“And escaped!” Don Carlos exclaimed. 
“I am here!—that is your answer.” 
“And why is the governor so particularly bitter against you, señor?” Don Carlos asked. “There 
are other highwaymen to whom he gives not a thought.” 
“Ha! I had a personal clash with his excellency. He was driving from San Francisco de Asis to 
Santa Barbara on official business, with an escort of soldiers about him. They stopped at a brook 
to refresh themselves, and the soldiers scattered while the governor spoke with his friends. I was 
hiding in the forest and suddenly dashed out and at them. 
“Instantly I was at the open door of the coach. I presented my pistol at his head and ordered 
him to hand over his fat purse—which he did. Then I spurred through his soldiers, upsetting 
several as I did so—” 
“And escaped!” Don Carlos cried. 
“I am here,” assented Señor Zorro. 
The servant brought a tray of food and placed it before the highwayman, retreating as soon as 
possible, his eyes big with fear and his hands trembling, for many weird tales had been told of this 
same Señor Zorro and his brutality, none of which was true. 
“I am sure that you will pardon me,” Señor Zorro said, “when I ask you to sit at the far end of 
the room. As I take each bite, I must raise the bottom of my mask, for I have no wish to become 
known. I put the pistol before me on the table, so, to discourage treachery. And now, Don Carlos 
Pulido, I shall do justice to the meal you have so kindly furnished.” 
Don Carlos and his daughter sat where they had been directed, and the bandit ate with evident 
relish. Now and then he stopped to talk to them, and once he had Don Carlos send out for more 
wine, declaring it to be the best he had tasted for a year. 
Don Carlos was only too glad to oblige him. He was playing to gain time. He knew the horse 
the native rode, and judged that he had reached the presidio at Reina de Los Angeles before this, 
and that the soldiers were on their way. If he could hold this Señor Zorro until they arrived! 
“I am having some food prepared for you to carry with you, señor,” he said. “You will pardon 
me while I get it? My daughter will entertain you. 
Señor Zorro bowed, and Don Carlos hurried from the room. But Don Carlos had made a 

---

mistake in his eagerness. It was an unusual thing for a girl to be left alone in the company of a man 
in such fashion, especially with a man known to be an outlaw. Señor Zorro guessed at once that he 
was being delayed purposely. For, again, it was an unusual thing for a man like Don Carlos to go 
for the package of food himself when there were servants that could be called by a mere clapping 
of the hands. Don Carlos, in fact, had gone into the other room to listen at a window for sounds of 
galloping horses. 
“Señor!” Lolita whispered across the room. 
“What is it, señorita?” 
“You must go—at once. I am afraid that my father has sent for the soldiers.” 
“And you are kind enough to warn me?” 
“Do I wish to see you taken here? Do I wish to see fighting and bloodshed?” she asked. 
“That is the only reason, señorita?” 
“Will you not go, señor?” 
“I am loath to rush away from such a charming presence, señorita. May I come again at the 
next siesta hour?” 
“By the saints—no! This must end, Señor Zorro. Go your way—and take care. You have done 
some things that I admire, hence I would not see you captured. Go north as far as San Francisco 
de Asis and turn honest, señor. It is the better way.” 
“Little priest,” he said. 
“Shall you go, señor?” 
“But your father has gone to fetch food for me. And could I depart without thanking him for 
this meal?” 
Don Carlos came back into the room then, and Señor Zorro knew by the expression on his 
face that the soldiers were coming up the trail. The don put a package on the table. 
“Some food to carry with you, señor,” he said. “And we would relish more of your 
reminiscences before you start on your perilous journey.” 
“I have spoken too much of myself already, señor, and it ill becomes a caballero to do that. It 
were better that I thank you and leave you now.” 
“At least, señor, drink another mug of wine.” 
“I fear,” said Señor Zorro, “that the soldiers are much too close, Don Carlos.” 
The face of the don went white at that, for the highwayman was picking up his pistol, and Don 
Carlos feared he was about to pay the price for his treacherous hospitality. But Señor Zorro made 
no move to fire. 
“I forgive you this breach of hospitality, Don Carlos, because I am an outlaw and there has 
been a price put upon my head,” he said. “And, also, I hold you no ill will because of it. 
Buenos 
noches, señorita! Señor, adios!” 
Then a terrified servant who knew little concerning the events of the evening rushed in at the 
door. 
“Master! The soldiers are here!” he cried. “They are surrounding the house!” 
CHAPTER IX 
The Clash of Blades 
ON THE TABLE, NEAR its middle, was an imposing 
candelero in which half a score of candles 
burned brightly. Señor Zorro sprang toward it now, and with one sweep of his hand dashed it to 

---

the floor, extinguishing all the candles in an instant and plunging the room into darkness. 
He evaded the wild rush of Don Carlos, springing across the room so lightly that his soft boots 
made not the slightest noise to give news of his whereabouts. For an instant the Señorita Lolita felt 
a man’s arm around her waist, gently squeezing it, felt a man’s breath on her cheek, and heard a 
man’s whisper in her ear: 
“Until later, señorita.” 
Don Carlos was bellowing like a bull to direct the soldiers to the scene; and already some of 
them were pounding at the front door. Señor Zorro rushed from the room and into the one 
adjoining, which happened to be the kitchen. The native servants fled before him as if he had been 
a ghost, and he quickly extinguished all the candles that burned there. 
Then he ran to the door that opened into the patio and raised his voice and gave a call that was 
half moan and half shriek, a peculiar call, the like of which none at the Pulido hacienda had heard 
before. 
As the soldiers rushed in at the front door, and as Don Carlos called for a brand with which to 
light the candles again, the sound of galloping hoofs was heard from the rear of the patio. Some 
powerful horse was getting under way there, the soldiers guessed immediately. 
The sound of hoofs died away in the distance, but the soldiers had noted the direction in 
which the horse was traveling. 
“The fiend escapes!” Sergeant Gonzales shrieked, he being in charge of the squad. “To horse 
and after him! I give the man who overtakes him one third of all the reward!” 
The big sergeant rushed from the house, the men at his heels, and they tumbled into their 
saddles and rode furiously through the darkness, following the sound of the beating hoofs. 
“Lights! Lights!” Don Carlos was shrieking inside the house. 
A servant came with a brand, and the candles were lighted again. Don Carlos stood in the 
middle of the room, shaking his fists in impotent rage. Señorita Lolita crouched in a corner, her 
eyes wide with fear. Doña Catalina, fully recovered now from her fainting-spell, came from her 
own room to ascertain the cause of the commotion. 
“The rascal got away!” Don Carlos said. “It is to be hoped that the soldiers capture him.” 
“At least he is clever and brave,” Señorita Lolita said. 
“I grant him that, but he is a highwayman and a thief!” Don Carlos roared. “Why should he 
torment me by visiting my house?” 
Señorita Lolita thought she knew, but she would be the last one to explain to her parents. 
There was a faint blush on her face yet because of the arm that had squeezed her and the words 
that had been whispered in her ear. 
Don Carlos threw the front door open wide and stood in it, listening. To his ears came the 
sound of galloping hoofs once more. 
“My sword!” he cried to a servant. “Someone comes—it may be the rascal returning! It is but 
one rider, by the saints!” 
The galloping stopped; a man made his way across the veranda and hurried through the door 
into the room. 
“Thank the good saints!” Don Carlos gasped. 
It was not the highwayman returned; it was Captain Ramón, comandante of the presidio at 
Reina de Los Angeles. 
“Where are my men?” the captain cried. 
“Gone, señor! Gone after that pig of a highwayman!” Don Carlos informed him. 
“He escaped?” 
“He did, with your men surrounding the house. He dashed the candles to the floor, ran 

---

through the kitchen—” 
“The men took after him?” 
“They are upon his heels, señor.” 
“Ha! It is to be hoped that they catch this pretty bird. He is a thorn in the side of the soldiery. 
We do not catch him, and because we do not the governor sends sarcastic letters by his courier. 
This Señor Zorro is a clever gentleman, but he will be captured yet!” 
And then Captain Ramón walked farther into the room and perceived the ladies and swept off 
his cap and bowed before them. 
“You must pardon my bold entrance,” he said. “When an officer is on duty—” 
“The pardon is granted freely,” said Doña Catalina. “You have met my daughter?” 
“I have not had the honor.” 
The Doña presented them, and Lolita retreated to her corner again and observed the soldier. 
He was not ill to look at—tall and straight and in a brilliant uniform, and with sword dangling at his 
side. As for the captain, he never had set eyes upon Señorita Lolita before, for he had been at the 
post at Reina de Los Angeles but a month, having been transferred there from Santa Barbara. 
But now that he had looked at her once he looked a second time and a third. There was a 
sudden light in his eyes that pleased Doña Catalina. If Lolita could not look with favor upon Don 
Diego Vega, perhaps she would look with favor upon this Captain Ramón, and to have her wed-
ded to an officer would mean that the Pulido family would have some protection. 
“I could not find my men now in the darkness,” the captain said, “and so, if it is not presuming 
too much, I shall remain here and await their return.” 
“By all means,” Don Carlos said. “Be seated, señor, and I’ll have a servant fetch wine.” 
“This Señor Zorro has about had his run,” the captain said, after the wine had been tasted and 
found excellent. “Now and then a man of his sort pops up and endures for a little day, but he 
never lasts long. In the end he meets the fate.” 
“That is true,” said Don Carlos. “The fellow was boasting to us tonight of his 
accomplishments.” 
“I was comandante at Santa Barbara when he made his famous visit there,” the captain 
explained. “I was visiting at one of the houses at the time else there might have been a different 
story. And tonight, when the alarm came, I was not at the presidio, but at the residence of a friend. 
That is why I did not ride out with the soldiers. As soon as I was notified I came. It appears that 
this Señor Zorro has some knowledge of my whereabouts and is careful that I am not in a position 
to clash with him. I hope one day to do so.” 
“You think you could conquer him, señor?” Doña Catalina asked. 
“Undoubtedly! I understand he really is an ordinary hand with a blade. He made a fool of my 
sergeant, but that is a different proposition—and I believe he held a pistol in one hand while he 
fenced, too. I should make short work of the fellow.” 
There was a closet in one corner of the room, and now its door was opened a crack. 
“The fellow should die the death,” Captain Ramón went on to say. “He is brutal in his dealings 
with men. He kills wantonly, I have heard. They say he caused a reign of terror in the north, in the 
vicinity of San Francisco de Asis. He slew men regardless, insulted women—” 
The closet door was hurled open—and Señor Zorro stepped into the room. 
“I shall take you to task for that statement, señor, since it is a falsehood!” the highwayman 
cried. 
Don Carlos whirled around and gasped his surprise. Doña Catalina felt suddenly weak in the 
knees and collapsed on a chair. Señorita Lolita felt some pride in the man’s statement, and a great 
deal of fear for him. 

---

“I—I thought you had escaped,” Don Carlos gasped. 
“Ha! It was but a trick. My horse escaped—but I did not.” 
“Then there shall be no escape for you now!” Captain Ramón cried, drawing his blade. 
“Back, señor!” Zorro cried, exhibiting a pistol suddenly. “I shall fight you gladly, but the fight 
must be fair. Don Carlos, gather your wife and daughter beneath your arms and retire to the 
corner while I cross blades with this teller of falsehoods. I do not intend to have a warning given 
out that I still am here!” 
“I thought—you escaped!” Don Carlos gasped again, seemingly unable to think of anything else, 
and doing as Señor Zorro commanded. 
“A trick!” the highwayman repeated, laughing. “It is a noble horse I have. Perhaps you heard a 
peculiar cry from my lips? My beast is trained to act at that cry. He gallops away wildly, making 
considerable noise, and the soldiers follow him. And when he has gone some distance he turns 
aside and stops, and after the pursuit has passed he returns to await my bidding. No doubt he is 
behind the patio now. I shall punish this captain and then mount and ride away.” 
“With a pistol in your hand!” Ramón cried. 
“I put the pistol upon the table—so. There it remains if Don Carlos stays in the corner with the 
ladies. Now, captain!” 
Señor Zorro extended his blade, and with a glad cry Captain Ramón crossed it with his own. 
Captain Ramón had some reputation as a master of fence, and Señor Zorro evidently knew it, for 
he was cautious at first, leaving no opening, on defense rather than attack. 
The captain pressed him back, his blade flashing like streaks of lightning in a troubled sky. 
Now Señor Zorro was almost against the wall near the kitchen door, and in the captain’s eyes the 
light of triumph already was beginning to burn. He fenced rapidly, giving the highwayman no rest, 
standing his ground and keeping his antagonist against the wall. 
And then Señor Zorro chuckled. For now he had solved the other’s manner of combat, and 
knew that all would be well. The captain gave ground a little as the defense turned into an attack 
that puzzled him. Señor Zorro began laughing lightly. 
“’Twere a shame to kill you,” he said. “You are an excellent officer, I have heard, and the army 
needs a few such. But you have spoken falsehood regarding me, and so must pay a price. Presently 
I shall run you through, but in such manner that your life will not emerge when I withdraw my 
blade.” 
“Boaster!” the captain snarled. 
“As to that we shall see presently. Ha! I almost had you there, my captain. You are more clever 
than your big sergeant, but not half clever enough. Where do you prefer to be touched—the left 
side or the right?” 
“If you are so certain run me through the right shoulder,” the captain said. 
“Guard it well, my captain, for I shall do as you say. Ha!” 
The captain circled, trying to get the light of the candles in the highwayman’s eyes, but Señor 
Zorro was too clever for that. He caused the captain to circle back, forced him to retreat, fought 
him to a corner. 
“Now, my captain!” he cried. 
And so he ran him through the right shoulder, as the captain had said, and twisted the blade a 
bit as he brought it out. He had struck a little low, and Captain Ramón dropped to the floor, a 
sudden weakness upon him. 
Señor Zorro stepped back and sheathed his blade. 
“I ask the pardon of the ladies for this scene,” he said. “And I assure you that this time I am, 
indeed, going away. You will find that the captain is not badly injured, Don Carlos. He may return 

---

to his presidio within the day.” 
He removed his sombrero and bowed low before them, while Don Carlos sputtered and failed 
to think of anything to say that would be mean and cutting enough. His eyes, for a moment, met 
those of the Señorita Lolita, and he was glad to find that in hers there was no repugnance. 
“Buenos noches,” he said and laughed again. And then he dashed through the kitchen and into 
the patio, and found the horse awaiting him there as he had said it would be, and was quick to 
mount and ride away. 
CHAPTER X 
A Hint at Jealousy
WITHIN THE SPACE OF HALF AN hour Captain Ramón’s wounded shoulder had been 
cleansed of blood and bandaged, and the captain was sitting at one end of the table, sipping wine 
and looking very white in the face and tired. 
Doña Catalina and Señorita Lolita had shown much sympathy, though the latter could scarcely 
refrain from smiling when she remembered the captain’s boast regarding what he purposed doing 
to the highwayman, and compared it to what had happened. Don Carlos was outdoing himself to 
make the captain feel at home since it was well to seek influence with the army, and already had 
urged upon the officer that he remain at the hacienda a few days until his wound had healed. 
Having looked into the eyes of the Señorita Lolita, the captain had answered that he would be 
glad to remain at least for a day and, despite his wound, was attempting polite and witty 
conversation, yet failing miserably. 
Once more there could be heard the drumming of a horse’s hoofs, and Don Carlos sent a 
servant to the door to open it so that the light would shine out, for they supposed that it was one of 
the soldiers returning. 
The horseman came nearer and presently stopped before the house, and the servant hurried 
out to care for the beast. 
There passed a moment during which those inside the house heard nothing at all, and then 
there were steps on the veranda, and Don Diego Vega hurried through the door. 
“Ha!” he cried, as if in relief. “I am rejoiced that you all are alive and well!” 
“Don Diego!” the master of the house exclaimed. “You have ridden out from the pueblo a 
second time in one day?” 
“No doubt I shall be ill because of it,” Don Diego said. “Already I am feeling stiff, and my 
back aches. Yet I felt that I must come. There was an alarm in the pueblo, and it was noised 
abroad that this Señor Zorro, the highwayman, had paid a visit to the hacienda. I saw the soldiers 
ride furiously in this direction, and fear came into my heart. You understand, Don Carlos, I feel 
sure.” 
“I understand, caballero,” Don Carlos replied, beaming upon him and glancing once at 
Señorita Lolita. 
“I—er—felt it my duty to make the journey. And now I find that it has been made for nought—
you all are alive and well. How does it happen?” 
Lolita sniffed, but Don Carlos was quick to make reply. 
“The fellow was here, but he made his escape after running Captain Ramón through the 
shoulder.” 
“Ha!” Don Diego said, collapsing into a chair. “So you have felt his steel, eh, captain? That 
should feed your desire for vengeance. Your soldiers are after the rogue?” 

---

“They are,” the captain replied shortly, for he did not like to have it said that he had been 
defeated in combat. “And they will continue to be after him until he is captured. I have a big 
sergeant, Gonzales—I think he is a friend of yours, Don Diego—who is eager to make the arrest and 
earn the governor’s reward. I shall instruct him, when he returns, to take his squad and pursue this 
highwayman until he has been dealt with properly.” 
“Let me express the hope that the soldiers will be successful, señor. The rogue has annoyed 
Don Carlos and the ladies—and Don Carlos is my friend. I would have all men know it.” 
Don Carlos beamed, and Doña Catalina smiled bewitchingly, but the Señorita Lolita fought to 
keep her pretty upper lip from curling with scorn. 
“A mug of your refreshing wine, Don Carlos,” Don Diego Vega continued. “I am fatigued. 
Twice today have I ridden here from Reina de Los Angeles, and it is about all a man can endure.” 
“’Tis not much of a journey—four miles,” said the captain. 
“Possibly not for a rough soldier,” Don Diego replied, “but it is for a caballero.” 
“May not a soldier be a caballero?” Ramón asked, nettled somewhat at the other’s words. 
“It has happened before now, but we come across it rarely,” Don Diego said. He glanced at 
Lolita as he spoke, intending that she should take notice of his words, for he had seen the manner 
in which the captain glanced at her, and jealousy was beginning to burn in his heart. 
“Do you mean to insinuate, señor, that I am not of good blood?” Captain Ramón asked. 
“I cannot reply as to that, señor, having seen none of it. No doubt this Señor Zorro could tell 
me. He saw the color of it, I understand.” 
“By the saints!” Captain Ramón cried. “You would taunt me?” 
“Never be taunted by the truth,” Don Diego observed. “He ran you through the shoulder, eh? 
’Tis a mere scratch, I doubt not. Should you not be at the presidio instructing your soldiers?” 
“I await their return here,” the captain replied. “Also, it is a fatiguing journey from here to the 
presidio, according to your own ideas, señor.” 
“But a soldier is inured to hardship, señor.” 
“True, there are many pests he must encounter,” the captain said, glancing at Don Diego with 
meaning. 
“You term me a pest, señor?” 
“Did I say as much?” 
This was perilous ground, and Don Carlos had no mind to let an officer of the army and Don 
Diego Vega have trouble in his hacienda, for fear he would get into greater difficulties. 
“More wine, señores!” he exclaimed in a loud voice, and stepping between their chairs in utter 
disregard of proper breeding. “Drink, my captain, for your wound has made you weak. And you, 
Don Diego, after your wild ride—” 
“I doubt its wildness,” Captain Ramón observed. 
Don Diego accepted the proffered wine mug and turned his back upon the captain. He 
glanced across at Señorita Lolita and smiled. He got up deliberately and picked up his chair and 
carried it across the room to set it down beside her. 
“And did the rogue frighten you, señorita?” he asked. 
“Suppose he did, señor? Would you avenge the matter? Would you put blade at your side and 
ride abroad until you found him, and then punish him as he deserves?” 
“By the saints, were it necessary, I might do as much. But I am able to employ a raft of strong 
fellows who would like nothing better than to run down the rogue. Why should I risk my own 
neck?” 
“Oh!” she exclaimed, exasperated. 
“Let us not talk further of this bloodthirsty Señor Zorro,” he begged. “There are other things 

---

fit for conversation. Have you been thinking, señorita, on the object of my visit earlier in the day?” 
Señorita Lolita thought of it now. She remembered again what the marriage would mean to her 
parents and their fortunes, and she recalled the highwayman, too, and remembered his dash and 
spirit, and wished that Don Diego could be such a man. And she could not say the word that 
would make her the betrothed of Don Diego Vega. 
“I—I have scarcely had time to think of it, caballero,” she replied. 
“I trust you will make up your mind soon,” he said. 
“You are so eager?” 
“My father was at me again this afternoon. He insists that I should take a wife as soon as 
possible. It is rather a nuisance, of course, but a man must please his father.” 
Lolita bit her lips because of her quick anger. Was ever girl so courted before? she wondered. 
“I shall make up my mind as soon as possible, señor,” she said finally. 
“Does this Captain Ramón remain long at the hacienda?” 
A little hope came into Lolita’s breast. Could it be possible that Don Diego Vega was jealous? 
If that were true, possibly there might be stuff in the man after all. Perhaps he would awaken, and 
love and passion come to him, and he would be as other young men. 
“My father has asked him to remain until he is able to travel to the presidio,” she replied. 
“He is able to travel now. A mere scratch.” 
“You will not return tonight?” she asked. 
“It probably will make me ill, but I must return. There are certain things that must engage my 
interest early in the morning. Business is such a nuisance.” 
“Perhaps my father will offer to send you in the carriage.” 
“Ha! It were kindness if he does. A man may doze a bit in a carriage.” 
“But, if this highwayman should stop you?” 
“I need not fear, señorita. Have I not wealth? Could I not purchase my release?” 
“You would pay ransom rather than fight him, señor?” 
“I have lots of money, but only one life, señorita. Would I be a wise man to risk having my 
blood let out?” 
“It would be the manly part, would it not?” she asked. 
“Any male can be manly at times, but it takes a clever man to be sagacious,” he said. 
Don Diego laughed lightly, as if it cost him an effort, and bent forward to speak in lower tones. 
On the other side of the room, Don Carlos was doing his best to make Captain Ramón 
comfortable, and was glad that he and Don Diego remained apart for the time being. 
“Don Carlos,” the captain said, “I come from a good family, and the governor is friendly 
toward me, as no doubt you have heard. I am but twenty-three years of age, else I would hold a 
higher office. But my future is assured.” 
“I am rejoiced to learn it, señor.” 
“I never set eyes upon your daughter until this evening, but she has captivated me, señor. 
Never have I seen such grace and beauty, such flashing eyes! I ask your permission, señor, to pay 
my addresses to the señorita.” 
CHAPTER XI 
Three Suitors 
HERE WAS A FIX. Don Carlos had no wish to anger Don Diego Vega or a man who stood high 

---

in the governor’s regard. And how was he to evade it? If Lolita could not force her heart to accept 
Don Diego, perhaps she could learn to love Captain Ramón. After Don Diego, he was the best 
potential son-in-law in the vicinity. 
“Your answer, señor?” the captain was asking. 
“I trust you will not misunderstand me, señor,” Don Carlos said, in lower tones. “I must make 
a simple explanation.” 
“Proceed, señor.” 
“But this morning Don Diego Vega asked me the same question.” 
“Ha!” 
“You know his blood and his family, señor. Could I refuse him? Of rights I could not. But I 
may tell you this—the señorita weds no man unless it is her wish. So Don Diego has my permission 
to pay his addresses, but if he fails to touch her heart—” 
“Then I may try?” the captain asked. 
“You have my permission, señor. Of course, Don Diego has great wealth, but you have a 
dashing way with you, and Don Diego—that is—he is rather—” 
“I understand perfectly, señor,” the captain said, laughing. “He is not exactly a brave and 
dashing caballero. Unless your daughter prefers wealth to a genuine man—” 
“My daughter will follow the dictates of her heart, señor!” Don Carlos said proudly. 
“Then the affair is between Don Diego Vega and myself?” 
“So long as you use discretion, señor. I would have nothing happen that would cause enmity 
between the Vega family and mine.” 
“Your interests shall be protected, Don Carlos,” Captain Ramón declared. 
As Don Diego talked, the Señorita Lolita observed her father and Captain Ramón, and 
guessed what was being said. It pleased her, of course, that a dashing officer should enter the lists 
for her hand, and yet she had felt no thrill when first she looked into his eyes. 
Señor Zorro, now, had thrilled her to the tips of her tiny toes, and merely because he had 
talked to her, and touched the palm of her hand with his lips. If Don Diego Vega were only more 
like the highwayman! If some man appeared who combined Vega’s wealth with the rogue’s spirit 
and dash and courage! 
There was a sudden tumult outside, and into the room strode the soldiers, Sergeant Gonzales 
at their head. They saluted their captain, and the big sergeant looked with wonder at his wounded 
shoulder. 
“The rogue escaped us,” Gonzales reported. “We followed him for a distance of three miles or 
so as he made his way into the hills, where we came upon him.” 
“Well?” Ramón questioned. 
“He has allies.” 
“What is this?” 
“Fully ten men were waiting for him there, my captain. They set upon us before we were aware 
of their presence. We fought them well, and three of them we wounded, but they made their 
escape and took their comrades with them. We had not been expecting a band, of course, and so 
rode into their ambush.” 
“Then we have to contend with a band of them!” Captain Ramón said. “Sergeant, you will 
select a score of men in the morning, and have command over them. You will take the trail of this 
Señor Zorro, and you will not stop until he is either captured or slain. I will add a quarter’s wages 
to the reward of his excellency, the governor, if you are successful.” 
“Ha! It is what I have wished!” Sergeant Gonzales cried. “Now we shall run this coyote to earth 
in short order! I shall show you the color of his blood—” 

---

“’Twould be no more than right, since he has seen the color of the captain’s,” Don Diego put 
in. 
“What is this, Don Diego, my friend? Captain, you have crossed blades with the rogue?” 
“I have,” the captain assented. “You but followed a tricky horse, my sergeant. The fellow was 
here, in a closet, and came out after I had entered. So it must have been some other man you met 
with his companions up in the hills. This Señor Zorro treated me much as he treated you in the 
tavern—had a pistol handy in case I should prove too expert with the blade.” 
Captain and sergeant looked at each other squarely, each wondering how much the other had 
been lying; while Don Diego chuckled faintly and tried to press the Señorita Lolita’s hand and 
failed. 
“This thing can be settled only in blood!” Gonzales declared. “I shall pursue the rascal until he 
is run to earth. I have permission to select my men?” 
“You may take any at the presidio,” the captain said. 
“Sergeant Gonzales, I should like to go with you,” Don Diego said suddenly. 
“By the saints! It would kill you, caballero. Day and night in the saddle, uphill and downhill, 
through dust and heat, and with a chance at fighting.” 
“Well, perhaps it were best for me to remain in the pueblo,” Don Diego admitted. “But he has 
annoyed this family, of which I am a true friend. At least you will keep me informed? You will tell 
me how he escapes if he dodges you? I at least may know that you are on his trail, and where you 
are riding, so I may be with you in spirit?” 
“Certainly, caballero—certainly,” Sergeant Gonzales replied. “I shall give you the chance of 
looking upon the rogue’s dead face. I swear it!” 
“’Tis a terrible oath, my sergeant. Suppose it should come to pass—” 
“I mean if I slay the rascal, caballero. My captain, do you return this night to the presidio?” 
“Yes,” Ramón replied. “Despite my wound, I can ride a horse.” 
He glanced toward Don Diego as he spoke, and there was almost a sneer upon his lips. 
“What magnificent grit!” Don Diego said. “I, too, shall return to Reina de Los Angeles, if Don 
Carlos will be as good as to have his carriage around. I can tie my horse to the rear of it. To ride 
horseback the distance again this day would be the death of me.” 
Gonzales laughed and led the way from the house. Captain Ramón paid his respects to the 
ladies, glowered at Don Diego, and followed. The caballero faced Señorita Lolita again as her 
parents escorted the captain to the door. 
“You will think of the matter?” he asked. “My father will be at me again within a few days, and 
I shall escape censure if I am able to tell him that it is all settled. If you decide to wed me, have 
your father send me word by a servant. Then I shall put my house in order against the wedding 
day.” 
“I shall think of it,” the girl said. 
“We could be married at the mission of San Gabriel, only we should have to make the 
confounded journey there. Fray Felipe, of the mission, has been my friend from the days of my 
boyhood, and I would have him say the words, unless you prefer otherwise. He could come to 
Reina de Los Angeles and read the ceremony in the little church on the plaza there.” 
“I shall think of it,” the girl said again. 
“Perhaps I may come out again to see you within a few days, if I survive this night. 
Buenos 
noches, señorita. I suppose I should—er—kiss your hand?” 
“You need not take the trouble,” Señorita Lolita replied, “It might fatigue you.” 
“Ah—thank you. You are thoughtful, I see. I am fortunate if I get me a thoughtful wife.” 
Don Diego sauntered to the door. Señorita Lolita rushed into her own room and beat at her 

---

breasts with her hands, and tore at her hair a bit, too angry, too enraged to weep. Kiss her hand, 
indeed! Señor Zorro had not suggested it—he had done it. Señor Zorro had dared death to visit 
her. Señor Zorro had laughed as he fought, and then had escaped by a trick! Ah, if Don Diego 
Vega were half the man this highwayman appeared! 
She heard the soldiers gallop away, and after a little time she heard Don Diego Vega depart in 
her father’s carriage. And then she went out into the great room again to her parents. 
“My father, it is impossible that I wed with Don Diego Vega,” she said. 
“What has caused your decision, my daughter?” 
“I scarcely can tell, except that he is not the sort of man I wish for my husband. He is lifeless; 
existence with him would be a continual torment.” 
“Captain Ramón also has asked permission to pay you his addresses,” Doña Catalina said. 
“And he is almost as bad. I do not like the look in his eyes,” the girl replied. 
“You are too particular,” Don Carlos told her. “If the persecution continues another year we 
shall be beggars. Here is the best catch in the country seeking you, and you would refuse him. And 
you do not like a high army officer because you do not fancy the look in his eyes. Think on it, girl! 
An alliance with Don Diego Vega is much to be desired. Perhaps when you know him better, you 
will like him more. And the man may awaken. I thought I saw a flash of it this night, deemed him 
jealous because of the presence of the captain here. If you can arouse his jealousy—” 
Señorita Lolita burst into tears, but soon the tempest of weeping passed, and she dried her 
eyes. 
“I—I shall do my best to like him,” she said. “But I cannot bring myself to say, yet, that I will be 
his wife.” 
She hurried into her room again, and called for the native woman who attended her. Soon the 
house was in darkness, and the grounds about it, save for the fires down by the adobe huts, where 
the natives told one another grim tales of the night’s events, each trying to make his falsehood the 
greatest. A gentle snore came from the apartment of Don Carlos Pulido and his wife. 
But the Señorita Lolita did not slumber. She had her head propped on one hand, and she was 
looking through a window at the fires in the distance, and her mind was full of thoughts of Señor 
Zorro. 
She remembered the grace of his bow, the music of his deep voice, the touch of his lips upon 
her palm. 
“I would he were not a rogue.” She sighed. “How a woman could love such a man!” 
CHAPTER XII 
A Visit
SHORTLY AFTER DAYBREAK THE FOLLOWING morning there was considerable tumult 
in the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles. Sergeant Pedro Gonzales was there with a score of troopers, 
almost all that were stationed at the local presidio, and they were preparing for the chase of Señor 
Zorro. 
The big sergeant’s voice roared out above the din as men adjusted saddles and looked to 
bridles and inspected their water bottles and small supplies of provisions. For Sergeant Gonzales 
had ordered that his force travel light, and live off the country as much as possible. He had taken 
the commands of his captain seriously—he was going after Señor Zorro and did not propose to 
return until he had him—or had died in an effort to effect a capture. 

---

“I shall nail the fellow’s pelt to the presidio door, my friend,” he told the fat landlord. “Then I 
shall collect the governor’s reward and pay the score I owe you.” 
“I pray the saints it may be true,” the landlord said. 
“What, fool? That I pay you? Do you fear to lose a few small coins?” 
“I meant that I pray you may be successful in capturing the man,” the landlord said, telling the 
falsehood glibly. 
Captain Ramón was not up to see the start, having a small fever because of his wound, but the 
people of the pueblo crowded around Sergeant Gonzales and his men, asking a multitude of 
questions, and the sergeant found himself the center of interest. 
“This Curse of Capistrano soon shall cease to exist!” he boasted loudly. “Pedro Gonzales is on 
his trail. Ha! When I stand face to face with the fellow—” 
The front door of Don Diego Vega’s house opened at that juncture, and Don Diego himself 
appeared, at which the townsmen wondered a bit, since it was so early in the morning. Sergeant 
Gonzales dropped a bundle he was handling, put his hands upon his hips, and looked at his friend 
with sudden interest. 
“You have not been to bed,” he charged. 
“But I have!” Don Diego declared. 
“And are up again so soon? Here is some devilish mystery that needs an explanation.” 
“You made noise enough to awaken the dead,” Don Diego said. 
“It could not be helped, caballero, since we are acting under orders.” 
“Were it not possible to make your preparations at the presidio instead of here in the plaza, or 
did you think not enough persons would see your importance there?” 
“Now, by the—” 
“Do not say it!” Don Diego commanded. “As a matter of fact, I am up early because I must 
make a confounded trip to my hacienda, a journey of some ten miles, to inspect the flocks and 
herds. Never become a wealthy man, Sergeant Gonzales, for wealth asks too much of a man.” 
“Something tells me that never shall I suffer on that account,” said the sergeant, laughing. “Yon 
go with escort, my friend?” 
“A couple of natives, that is all.” 
“If you should meet up with this Señor Zorro, he probably would hold you for a pretty 
ransom.” 
“Is he supposed to be between this place and my hacienda?” Don Diego asked. 
“A native arrived a short time ago with word that he had been seen on the road running to Pala 
and San Luis Rey. We ride in that direction. And since your hacienda is the other way, no doubt 
you will not meet the rascal now.” 
“I feel somewhat relieved to hear you say it. So you ride toward Pala, my sergeant?” 
“We do. We shall try to pick up his trail as soon as possible, and once we have it we shall run 
this fox down. Meanwhile, we also shall attempt to find his den. We start at once.” 
“I shall await news eagerly,” Don Diego said. “Good fortune go with you!” 
Gonzales and his men mounted, and the sergeant shouted an order, and they galloped across 
the plaza, raising great clouds of dust, and took the highway toward Pala and San Luis Rey. 
Don Diego looked after them until nothing could be seen but a tiny dust cloud in the distance, 
then called for his own horse. He, too, mounted and rode away toward San Gabriel, and two 
native servants rode mules and followed a short distance behind. 
But before he departed, Don Diego wrote a message and sent it by native courier to the Pulido 
hacienda. It was addressed to Don Carlos, and read: 

---

The soldiers are starting this morning to pursue this Señor Zorro, and it has been reported that the highwayman 
has a band of rogues under his command and may offer battle. There is no telling, my friend, what may happen. I 
dislike having one in whom I am interested subjected to danger, meaning your daughter particularly, but also the Doña 
Catalina and yourself. Moreover, this bandit saw your daughter last evening, and certainly must have appreciated her 
beauty, and he may seek to see her again. 
I beg of you to come at once to my house in Reina de Los Angeles, and make it as your home until matters are 
settled. I am leaving this morning for my 
hacienda
, but have left orders with my servants that you are to give what com-
mands you will. I shall hope to see you when I return, which will be in two or three days. 
Diego.
Don Carlos read that epistle aloud to his wife and daughter, and then looked up to see how 
they took it. He scoffed at the danger himself, being an old war horse, but did not wish to put his 
womenfolk in jeopardy. 
“What think you?” he asked. 
“It has been some time since we have visited the pueblo,” Doña Catalina said. “I have some 
friends left among the ladies there. I think it will be an excellent thing to do.” 
“It certainly will not injure our fortunes to have it become known we are house guests of Don 
Diego Vega,” Don Carlos said. “What does our daughter think?” 
It was a concession to ask her, and Lolita realized that she was granted this unusual favor 
because of Don Diego’s wooing. She hesitated some time before answering. 
“I believe it will be all right,” she said. “I should like to visit the pueblo, for we see scarcely 
anybody here at the hacienda. But people may talk concerning Don Diego and myself.” 
“Nonsense!” Don Carlos exploded. “Could there be anything more natural than that we 
should visit the Vegas, since our blood is almost as good as theirs and better than that of others?” 
“But it is Don Diego’s house, and not that of his father. Still—he will not be there for two or 
three days, he says, and we can return when he comes.” 
“Then it is settled,” Don Carlos declared. “I shall see my superintendent and give him 
instructions.” 
He hurried into the patio and rang the big bell for the superintendent, being well pleased. For 
when the Señorita Lolita saw the rich furnishings in the house of Don Diego Vega, she might the 
more readily accept Don Diego as a husband, he thought. When she saw the silks and satins, the 
elegant tapestries, the furniture inlaid with gold and studded with precious stones, when she 
realized that she could be mistress of this and much more besides—Don Carlos flattered himself 
that he knew the feminine heart. 
Soon after the siesta hour, a 
carreta was brought before the door, drawn by mules and driven 
by a native. Doña Catalina and Lolita got into it, and Don Carlos bestrode his best horse and rode 
at its side. And so they went down the trail to the highway, and down the highway toward Reina de 
Los Angeles. 
They passed folk who marveled to see the Pulido family thus going abroad, for it was well 
known that they had met with ill fortune and scarcely went anywhere now. It was even whispered 
that the ladies did not keep up with the fashions, and that the servants were poorly fed, but 
remained at the hacienda because their master was so kind. 
But Doña Catalina and her daughter held their heads proudly, as did Don Carlos, and they 
greeted the people they knew, and so continued along the highway. 
Presently they made a turning and could see the pueblo in the distance—the plaza and the 
church with its high cross on one side of it and the inn and storehouses and a few residences of the 
more pretentious sort, like Don Diego’s, and the scattered huts of natives and poor folk. 
The 
carreta stopped before Don Diego’s door, and servants rushed out to make the guests 

---

welcome, spreading a carpet from the 
carreta to the doorway, that the ladies would not have to step 
in the dust. Don Carlos led the way into the house, after ordering that the horse and mules be 
cared for and the 
carreta put away, and there they rested for a time, and the servants brought out 
wine and food. 
They went through the rich house then, and even the eyes of Doña Catalina, who had seen 
many rich houses, widened at what she saw here in Don Diego’s home. 
“To think that our daughter can be mistress of all this when she speaks the word!” she gasped. 
Señorita Lolita said nothing, but she began thinking that perhaps it would not be so bad after 
all to become the wife of Don Diego. She was fighting a mental battle, was Señorita Lolita. On the 
one side was wealth and position, and the safety and good fortune of her parents—and a lifeless 
man for husband; and on the other side was the romance and ideal love she craved. Until the last 
hope was gone she could not give the latter up. 
Don Carlos left the house and crossed the plaza to the inn, where he met several gentlemen of 
age, and renewed acquaintance with them, albeit he noticed that none was enthusiastic in his 
greeting. They feared, he supposed, to appear openly friendly to him, since he was in the bad 
graces of the governor. 
“You are in the pueblo on business?” one asked. 
“Not so, señor,” Don Carlos replied, and gladly, since here was a chance to set himself right in