The Mark of Zorro
BY
Johnston McCulley
[Illustration: Decoration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY
GROSSET & DUNLAP
Printed in the United States of America
_To_
DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS
THE ORIGINAL "ZORRO" OF THE SCREEN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I PEDRO, THE BOASTER 1
II ON THE HEELS OF THE STORM 8
III SEÑOR ZORRO PAYS A VISIT 16
IV SWORDS CLASH AND PEDRO EXPLAINS 21
V A RIDE IN THE MORNING 31
VI DIEGO SEEKS A BRIDE 37
VII A DIFFERENT SORT OF MAN 46
VIII DON CARLOS PLAYS A GAME 54
IX THE CLASH OF BLADES 63
X A HINT AT JEALOUSY 72
XI THREE SUITORS 79
XII A VISIT 87
XIII LOVE COMES SWIFTLY 98
XIV CAPTAIN RAMÓN WRITES A LETTER 109
XV AT THE PRESIDIO 114
XVI THE CHASE THAT FAILED 123
XVII SERGEANT GONZALES MEETS A FRIEND 129
XVIII DON DIEGO RETURNS 135
XIX CAPTAIN RAMÓN APOLOGIZES 140
XX DON DIEGO SHOWS INTEREST 148
XXI THE WHIPPING 153
XXII SWIFT PUNISHMENT 160
XXIII MORE PUNISHMENT 167
XXIV AT THE HACIENDA OF DON ALEJANDRO 174
XXV A LEAGUE IS FORMED 185
XXVI AN UNDERSTANDING 191
XXVII ORDERS FOR ARREST 200
XXVIII THE OUTRAGE 208
XXIX DON DIEGO FEELS ILL 217
XXX THE SIGN OF THE FOX 225
XXXI THE RESCUE 231
XXXII CLOSE QUARTERS 238
XXXIII FLIGHT AND PURSUIT 248
XXXIV THE BLOOD OF THE PULIDOS 256
XXXV THE CLASH OF BLADES AGAIN 262
XXXVI ALL AGAINST THEM 277
XXXVII THE FOX AT BAY 284
XXXVIII THE MAN UNMASKED 290
XXXIX "MEAL MUSH AND GOAT'S MILK!" 297
THE MARK OF ZORRO
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 Alcála, and thus made possible an empire, and
those who followed 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.
"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 Alcála! 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 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!