The Mark of Zorro chapter 2 On the heels of the storm

Mark of chapter 2 On the heels of the storm
Author McCulley, Johnston, 1883-1958
Title The Mark of
Note Published serially under the title: The curse of Capistrano.
Language English
Copyright Status Public domain in the USA.

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 Zorro, of course. It was Vega, a fair youth of excellent blood and twenty-four years, noted the length of 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?” 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!”

“H-m!” 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, , that we can be friends, and I can forget the wide 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, and my very good friend!” the alarmed 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 between the shoulders; and the fat landlord hurried with more wine, knowing well that Don would stand the score.

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For this peculiar friendship between and was the talk of El Camino Real. 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 that was like a small empire, and a house in the also, and was destined to inherit from his father more than thrice what he had now.

But 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 in all things, and yet they were together frequently. It was as 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 dueñas that he would not glance a second time at the pretty señoritas they protected, 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 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 tenscore times a day.

“I have been remarking, caballero,” said the sergeant, “that this fine Señor 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. 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 in huge disgust. “If this Señor 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 slain no man, I understand. Let him have his little day in the public eye, my sergeant.”

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“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 afterward—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 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!” 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 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!

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“Music and the poets, eh? Ha! Has he not the right, if such is his pleasure? Is he not ? 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 pattern 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,” 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 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 Alcála 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 had emerged the unquestioned victor.

“Were—were this fine Señor 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!


  • kasiaeliza

    Mama dwójki Zorrątek. Trenuję jujitsu japońskie i kiedyś miałam krótką przygodę z kendo. Lubię RPGi, planszówki, geografię, historię, piłkę nożną i książki. Nie wróć, książki to kocham. 🙂 ----------------------------------- Mother of two cubs. I train Japanese jujitsu and once had a short adventure with kendo. I like RPGs, board games, geography, history, soccer and books. Wait, come back, I love books. 🙂

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Mama dwójki Zorrątek. Trenuję jujitsu japońskie i kiedyś miałam krótką przygodę z kendo. Lubię RPGi, planszówki, geografię, historię, piłkę nożną i książki. Nie wróć, książki to kocham. :) ----------------------------------- Mother of two Zorro cubs. I train Japanese jujitsu and once had a short adventure with kendo. I like RPGs, board games, geography, history, soccer and books. Wait, come back, I love books. :)

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