For Barbados, not watched as carefully as he should have been watched, had taken vengeance himself. He thrust one of his guards aside, snatched a dagger from the belt of another. His arm went up, came forward, the dagger whistled through the air. And it lodged in Captain Ramón’s back, the point in his heart.
“That for a traitor!” Barbados cried. “Since I must be hanged, let me settle accounts first! Señor Zorro, you are a man! I, who have fought you, say it! Your blade is too true, señor, to be buried in a foul carcass such as that!”
The moonlight came again, touching the sea with glory and showing the trading schooner running up the coast before the breeze. Those of the crew who had been left aboard handled her well, and the caballeros gave aid.
Away from the scene of carnage the little ship rushed, the water hissing at her bows. Fray Felipe was polishing his beloved goblet. Don Audre Ruiz and his caballeros were dressing their hurts in the cabin. Big Sergeant Gonzales was wandering on the deck.
The sergeant stopped near the rail, leaned against it, looked over the sparkling sea toward the dark line that indicated the land.
Voices came to him, the voices of Zorro and the little señorita.
“The sword of Zorro! Let us hope that it has a long rest,” the señorita said.
“A long rest!” Señor Zorro echoed. “As soon as we are at Reina de Los Angeles we’ll be wed by Fray Felipe.”
“Sí!” she said softly.