"Turn your horse—turn your beast!" the dealer in hides and tallow cried. "Would you have me drive over you?"
The assistant gave an exclamation that was part of fear, and the dealer looked more closely at the horseman. His jaw dropped, his eyes bulged.
"'Tis Señor Zorro!" he exclaimed. "By the saints! 'tis the Curse of Capistrano, away down here near San Gabriel. You would not bother me, Señor Zorro? I am a poor man, and have no money. Only yesterday a fray swindled me, and I have been to Reina de Los Angeles seeking justice."
"Did you get it?" Señor Zorro asked.
"The magistrado was kind, señor. He ordered the fray to repay me, but I do not know when I shall get the money."
"Get out of the carreta, and your assistant also!" Señor Zorro commanded.
"But I have no money—" the dealer protested.
"Out of the carreta with you! Do I have to request it twice? Move, or lead finds a lodging place in your carcass!"
Now the dealer saw that the highwayman held a pistol in his hand, and he squealed with sudden fright and got out of the cart as speedily as possible, his assistant tumbling out at his heels. They stood in the dusty highway before Señor Zorro, trembling with fear, the dealer begging for mercy.
"I have no money with me, kind highwayman, but I shall get it for you!" the dealer cried. "I shall carry it to where you say, whenever you wish—"