"Ho, Gonzales!" he shrieked before Zorro could warn him against it. "To the rescue, Gonzales! Señor Zorro is here!"
And then he looked at the highwayman defiantly, as if telling him to do his worst.
But Señor Zorro had no desire to fire his pistol and let out the captain's life-blood, it appeared, preferring to save him for the blade when his shoulder should have healed.
"Remain where you are!" he commanded, and darted toward the nearest window.
The big sergeant had heard, however. He called upon his men to follow, and rushed across the large room to the door of the office and threw it open. A bellow of rage escaped him as he saw the masked man standing beside the table, and saw the comandante sitting before it with his hands spread out before him.
"By the saints, we have him!" Gonzales cried. "In with you, troopers! Guard the doors! Some look to the windows!"
Señor Zorro had transferred his pistol to his left hand, and had whipped out his blade. Now he swept it forward and sidewise, and the candles were struck from the table. Zorro put his foot upon the only one that remained lighted, and extinguished it in that manner—and the room was in darkness.
"Lights! Bring a torch!" Gonzales shrieked.
Señor Zorro sprang aside, against the wall, and made his way around it rapidly while Gonzales and two other men sprang into the room, and one remained guarding the door; while in the other room several ran to get a torch, and managed to get in one another's way.
The man with the torch came rushing through the door finally, and he shrieked and went down with a sword-blade through his breast, and the torch fell to the floor and was extinguished. And then, before the sergeant could reach the spot, Señor Zorro was back in the darkness again and could not be found.