"Agreed!" they shouted.
"Then I will leave you here and now. You are to remain in this room, and none is to try to follow me. It is a command. Buenas noches, caballeros!"
He bowed before them, swung the door open and darted through it, and slammed it shut behind him.
They could hear the clatter of a horse's hoofs on the driveway.
And then they raised their wine mugs and drank to their new league for the suppression of swindlers and thieves, and to Señor Zorro, the Curse of Capistrano, and to Don Alejandro Vega, somewhat sobered by the agreement they had made and what it meant. They sat down again, and began speaking of wrongs that should be righted, each of them knowing half a dozen.
And Don Alejandro Vega sat in one corner, by himself, a grief-stricken man because his only son was asleep in the house and had not red blood enough to take a part in such an undertaking, when by all rights he should be one of the leaders.
As if to add to his misery, Don Diego at that moment came slowly into the room, rubbing his eyes and yawning, and looking as if he had been disturbed.
"It is impossible for a man to sleep in this house to-night," he said. "Give me a mug of wine, and I shall take my place with you. Why was the cheering?"
"Señor Zorro has been here—" his father began.