"I suppose they must have fresh news of this highwayman to send them riding furiously through dust and sun like that. He appears to be an elusive rascal. By the saints! Had I been here when the governor arrived, no doubt he would have put up at my house. Now some other caballero will have the honor of entertaining him. It is much to be regretted."
And then Don Diego went into the house, and the man who had heard him speak did not know whether to doubt the sincerity of that last remark.
Led by the courier, who knew the way, the squad of troopers galloped swiftly along the highroad, and presently turned up the trail toward Don Carlos's house. They went at this business as they would have gone about capturing a desperado. As they struck the driveway, they scattered to left and right, tearing up Doña Catalina's flower-beds and sending chickens squawking out of the way, and so surrounded the house in almost an instant of time.
Don Carlos had been sitting on the veranda in his accustomed place, half in a doze, and he did not notice the advance of the troopers until he heard the beating of their horses' hoofs. He got to his feet in alarm, wondering whether Señor Zorro was in the vicinity again and the soldiers after him.
Three dismounted in a cloud of dust before the steps, and the sergeant who commanded them made his way forward, slapping the dust from his uniform.
"You are Don Carlos Pulido?" he asked in a loud voice.
"I have that honor, señor."
"I have order to place you under military arrest."
"Arrest!" Don Carlos cried. "Who gave you such orders?"
"His excellency, the governor. He now is in Reina de Los Angeles, señor."