Chapter 3

Even though he knew the horse was in pain, Zorro had no choice but to continue as far as the animal could take him. He strained for a glimpse of the shooter ahead. He kept his sword unsheathed, in readiness. As Zorro dismounted from the injured horse, he heard a growling. The next thing he knew, a large object had slammed into him. As Zorro struggled to get to his feet, an enormous dog snarled and backed up several paces. He faced the dog and a guard, whom he knew was in the dark shadows nearby. Zorro was still trying to draw enough air into his lungs for a confrontation when a voice ordered, "Attack, Morte."

The huge dog raced toward him as he reached for his sword. Morte leaped at him snapping its huge jaws. Zorro grabbed the dog's lower jaw while he thrust his blade across the dog's neck. Rolling out from under the dying dog, the masked man faced his adversary who also had a sword out. By the wan moonlight, Zorro was able to make out the awkward movements of the vaquero. He was sure of the outcome of this fight.

"Señor, I do not wish to kill you. Drop your sword and walk down the trail toward the hacienda. My dispute is with your employer, not you," Zorro said.

"You will die, bandito, if for no other reason than for killing my dog," the vaquero growled, and then lunged forward. The man had few fencing skills. It was apparent he was fighting in rage. With a few deft movements, Zorro disarmed him.

"You may want to reassess your employment with Señor Wheeler. Slavery is an evil business." Zorro heard the jingle of tack and saw the vaquero's horse just ahead on the trail. "I will take your horse, señor." He rode to the crest of the hill and looked back to see what the situation was in the valley behind him. A three-quarter moon was showing through the thinning clouds, and he was astonished to see that some of the horses had been caught and there were at least ten vaqueros ready to give chase. Yelping and howling told him that there were also several dogs available to help.

"It is cursed luck tonight," Zorro murmured. He wheeled his horse around and headed down the trail. What Zorro didn't know was that the peons, with new confidence and weapons, had killed most of the dogs and stolen a number of horses. The outlaw had simply misjudged the number of animals Señor Wheeler had on his rancho.

While the moon was helpful to his enemies, it was an even greater ally to Zorro, who was in unfamiliar territory, but had the instincts of his namesake. He was able to see that this was the same trail he had followed in his search for the rancho. When he reached his camp, the outlaw was tempted to change clothes and assume the role of Diego de la Vega, feigning innocence and surprise. He realized that while the men might be fooled, the tracking dogs wouldn't. He untethered his horses and tied their leads to his saddle. Zorro quickly negotiated the trail to the El Camino Real, and then rode as swiftly as he could on the smooth roadway. He surmised it was well after midnight, and the likelihood of meeting anyone else on the road would be remote. If he could ride through the remainder of the night, he should get a fairly good lead on his pursuers before dawn.

After riding at a fast gallop for some miles, Zorro felt his 'borrowed' horse tiring. With regret he pulled the animal to the side of the road and dismounted. Checking the saddlebags, he found a pistol and extra powder and shot, as well as a water skin and some trail bread, for which he was grateful.

As Zorro added the provisions to his own coquinillo he realized that Señor Wheeler was not only a determined foe, but had the resources to continue this chase all the way to Los Angeles. With the flat of his sword, Zorro urged the vaquero's spent horse farther off the road. He listened a moment and was able to hear a distant bark, but that was all. At least three or four miles, Zorro thought. Nevertheless he urged his horse into a gallop.

The de la Vega trail horses were extremely hardy, but they, too, had been well used, even though part of the time without a rider. Zorro knew he would soon have to find a safe place where he and the horses could rest for a while. He took the chance of slowing down to a canter to conserve their energy, knowing that Wheeler's men would eventually have to do the same thing.

The sky was just beginning to lighten with the dawn when Zorro spotted a creek. He guided the horses into it and was gratified when it led to a large pond. The grateful animals paused to dip their muzzles into the water. Zorro filled the water skins and then forced the horses across the pond. "Do not fill up here, faithful ones. This chase is not done yet, and I fear we have many more miles to go."

He guided them out of the pond at the opposite end. A quick perusal of the area showed that he could cut across country for quite a few miles before having to return to the highway. The trip through the pond should have the effect of confusing the trailing dogs for a few minutes. They would have to go all the way around to pick up his trail again.

Don Paulo Wheeler surveyed the damage to his hacienda. Like churning lava in an active volcano, his wrath simmered and bubbled just beneath a thin veneer of self-control. His stable was rubble; his kennel destroyed. Most of the hacienda had been saved but that did not assuage his fury at the man who had done this. "Ramón!" he bellowed.

"Coming, Don Paulo," the vaquero tried to wipe soot from his face as he ran to Wheeler. Ramon was quick to obey; he knew the temperament of his employer.

"Tell me about this Zorro, this devil who dared to invade my rancho." Wheeler wanted to scream in rage, kick something, anything to get rid of the fury inside him, but he knew that would be futile in his quest to exact revenge. And more than anything else, he wanted revenge.

"Señor," the vaquero began, "Zorro is usually seen further south than this, nearer to the Pueblo de Los Angeles." The vaquero cringed as he heard Don Paulo's growl a vile epitaph and hurried on with his report. "I have heard that Zorro is the protector of the oppressed and those unjustly accused. I have also heard that some of the peons believe he is almost supernatural, because he has never been caught. It is said the peons feel that Zorro is their champion."

"Peons? Did you say peons?" Wheeler swung around and looked towards the peons' quarters. "Where are the peons?" he roared.

Another vaquero ran up to Wheeler. "Don Paulo, we have been able to capture about twelve of the horses, but all of the dogs in the kennels are dead. The peons have disappeared; they have apparently fled into the mountains. I believe they may have taken some of the horses, too."

Wheeler exploded. He struck the vaquero with a blow hard enough to drop him like a stone. "Every one of you who can ride, come here immediately!" As a group of vaqueros gathered, the beginning of a plan formed in his mind. The plan would work if they executed it swiftly.

"We will divide into two groups. I will lead one group to the Presidio de Santa Barbara, where I will lay my just case before the comandante. As much as I would like to catch and skewer this Zorro myself, I will be just as happy to see him hang in the Presidio. Manuel will lead the second group, since he is the best tracker in California." Wheeler paused for breath before continuing. "Manuel, you will start in the direction that we last saw this cursed Zorro go. There is only one trail in that direction that leads to the highway. I am sure he will proceed with haste towards Los Angeles since that is the area he is most familiar with. The rest of you will stay here and try to round up any more stray horses or escaped peons. Get this hacienda in readiness for the time when I return with news of Zorro's death."

Another vaquero stumbled into the group. "Don Paulo," he panted. "El Zorro took my horse after he killed Morte and wounded me. I tried to stop him, but he is like the devil himself!"

"I will kill him, even if it means tracking him to the depths of hell and back," Wheeler hissed. "No one does this to Paulo Wheeler and lives to boast of it."

He turned to Manuel. "Take four of the best men and eight of the best horses, and get on this man's trail. If you catch up with him before I join you, then go ahead and kill him but make sure that you take his body to the nearest garrison. I am sure there is a reward for this cursed pest, and it will do my heart good to use the money to build up the rancho again." He laughed at the thought, and continued laughing as Manuel and his men rode away in the same direction Zorro had taken. The sound of his maniacal laughter became more sinister as it echoed and re-echoed off the rocks.

Manuel had taken just enough time to fill and light a good lantern. It would be hard to track in the dark, but he also had a healthy enough fear of Senor Wheeler to know that waiting for dawn would be suicide. The tracker also took the three remaining dogs with him. Their noses would be invaluable, even though he was confident that he could find this Zorro without their help.

It was still an hour or so before the dawn when the group reached the campsite of Don Diego. Manuel carefully studied the ground, even though the other vaqueros grumbled at the delay.

"Quiet!" Manuel ordered them. "A small amount of precaution now will save much explanation of failure to Don Paulo later." The threat created a welcome silence.

Zorro had two horses waiting at this site, but he continued to use the horse he had stolen from the rancho. Manuel could tell they were well cared for traveling horses. One had been recently shod, and "Ahh," Manuel sighed in satisfaction. "I will have you yet, fox." He grinned as he held the lantern close to a hoof-print with a flaw on one side, one that had the appearance of a cut in the side of the horseshoe. How fortunate that the blacksmith used inferior iron, thought Manuel. The dogs sniffed the campground and then barked in anticipation, as though they felt Manuel's elation. "It doesn't matter what El Zorro does; as long as he has this animal, I will be able to follow him quite easily."

Manuel's eyes gleamed as he thought ahead to the hunt. Like the dogs, he felt great anticipation in running his quarry down and making the capture, and though he thought Zorro would be worthy of his talents, Manuel knew this fox would, in the end, be his.