Señor Zorro waited until it was dark, and then urged his horse forward slowly, but off the main highway. He circled the pueblo, and in time approached the presidio from the rear.
He dismounted now, and led his horse, going forward slowly, often stopping to listen, for this was a very ticklish business and might end in disaster if a mistake were made.
He stopped the horse behind the presidio, where the wall of the building would cast a shadow if the moon came from behind the clouds again, and went forward cautiously, following the wall as he had done on that other night.
When he came to the office window, he peered inside. Captain Ramón was there, alone, looking over some reports spread on the table before him, evidently awaiting the return of his men.
Señor Zorro crept to the corner of the building, and found there was no guard. He had guessed and hoped that the comandante had sent every available man to the chase, but he knew that he would have to act quickly, for some of the troopers might return.
He slipped through the door and crossed the big lounging-room, and so came to the door of the office. His pistol was in his hand, and could a man have seen behind the mask, he would have observed that Señor Zorro's lips were crushed in a thin straight line of determination.
As upon that other night, Captain Ramón whirled around in his chair when he heard the door open behind him, and once more he saw the eyes of Señor Zorro glittering through his mask, saw the muzzle of the pistol menacing him.
"Not a move! Not a sound! It would give me pleasure to fill your body with hot lead!" Señor Zorro said. "You are alone—your silly troopers are chasing me where I am not."
"By the saints—" Captain Ramón breathed.
"Not so much as a whisper, señor, if you hope to live. Turn your back to me!"