Señor Zorro was of gentle blood, and could have died as well as the best of them, a song upon his lips and laughter in his eyes. But he felt at this juncture that his life was not his own to throw away recklessly. Did he die with his friends, the señorita would have none to give her aid.
He would have to live, to win free if the tide of battle was against him, and then take his chance at being able to return and rescue his lady. He glanced around quickly as he fought. More than half the caballeros had been wounded or slain. And still more pirates were rushing forward, it appeared, with the intention of making an end of things.
And now there came an added menace. Among the huts there was a ramshackle corral, in which the pirates had put a number of blooded horses stolen from hacienda owners. And now some of the fighting men crashed against the insecure fencing and demolished it, and the animals, frightened at the din of battle, rushed through the broken place and into the open.
The fighting men, the clashing of blades, the shouts and screams seemed to infuriate the beasts. The smell of blood was in their nostrils. The horses charged wildly through the throng, upsetting caballeros and pirates alike. One noble stallion brushed aside the foes of Señor Zorro and Don Audre Ruiz, but separated them also. Their enemies rushed toward them again before they could get together—and they were no longer back to back.
Their case was desperate now. Each was surrounded and overwhelmed. Señor Zorro fought with what skill he could, keeping a wide circle with his flashing blade. He heard the voice of Sergeant Gonzales roaring in the distance. He heard, also, the thunderous voice of Barbados.
“Alive! Take them alive!” the pirate chief was screeching. “There will be rich ransom! Ransom and torture! Take them alive, fiends!”
Sanchez echoed the command, and the pirates shrieked in answer that they understood. And Señor Zorro and his friends understood also. The pirates would have rare sport baiting caballeros who were not ransomed speedily enough to suit them. Revenge and profit would be their lot.
The caballeros wasted no breath in speech. They had heard, and well they understood the meaning. They fought like maniacs, and maimed and slew their men. But there was no chance of ultimate victory, for the numbers against them were too great.
Here and there in the open space a chorus of fiendish shrieks told that a captive had been taken, his sword whipped from his hand. Señor Zorro suddenly found himself hard pressed, but fought free and made an effort to reach the side of Don Audre Ruiz again. But that was no easy feat, he discovered.
“Get that Señor Zorro!” Barbados was shouting. “A reward to the men who fetch him to me alive! Ha! This time we’ll make a ghost of him indeed!”