"Wine—or I choke!" Gonzales howled. "Don Diego, you are my good friend, and I will cross swords with any man who belittles you! But do not try me too far this night—"
"I fail to understand," Don Diego said. "I have but asked you to tell me the story of the fight—how you mocked him as you battled; how you pressed him back at will, and presently ended it by running him through—"
"Enough! Am I to be taunted?" the big sergeant cried. He gulped down the wine and hurled the mug far from him.
"Is it possible that you did not win the battle?" Don Diego asked. "But surely this pretty highwayman could not stand up before you, my sergeant. How was the outcome?"
"He had a pistol—"
"Why did you not take it away from him, then, and crowd it down his throat? But perhaps that is what you did. Here is more wine, my sergeant. Drink!"
But Sergeant Gonzales was thrusting his way through the throng at the door.
"I must not forget my duty!" he said. "I must hurry to the presidio and report this occurrence to the comandante!"
"But, sergeant—"
"And, as to this Señor Zorro, he will be meat for my blade before I am done!" Gonzales promised.