“I am not doing it for riches, but because you have been kind to my people and to the frailes,” the native said. “I must do my work swiftly.”
He had the knife out now, and began working at the tough leather of the shirt. The thong that drew the shirt about the neck was fastened with a metal clasp, a sort of lock, and so the tough leather had to be cut. The native sawed through it, and loosened the thong.
He stopped to slip noiselessly across to the door and crouch and listen there. He hurried back and began peeling the leather sack off Señor Zorro. He worked frantically, guessing what would be in store for him if he happened to be caught.
“If I escape, then must you do so,” Señor Zorro said. “And keep away from San Diego de Alcála for many moons to come.”
“I understand, señor. And, if I do not escape, remember, please, that I did what a poor man could.”
“I’ll help you, and I can.”
“A good horse belonging to one of these soldiers is just in front of the presidio, señor.”
“Good!”
“And some daggers are in leather boots near the front door, on the wall.”
“Again, good!” Señor Zorro said.