Zorro Rides Again - José Fight

"If the trial of truth reveals your tongue is straight, you may demand anything of us, and we'll serve you," José replied.

Now they stepped up to each other, and another man came forward with leather thongs and lashed their left forearms together. And then each was handed a knife.

This trial of truth was a simple thing. Arms lashed together like that, they fought with the knives. And the man who lived – he had spoken truth. And the other had been false, hence entitled to the death which had claimed him.

There was a moment of silence while the natives stood back and formed a big circle, and waited quietly save for their heavy breathing.

"You are ready, señor?" José asked.

"I am waiting," Zorro replied.

One of the natives near the fire snapped the word. The knives met above their heads, clashed. And the fight was on.

José of the Cocopahs was strong and had skill. Zorro had learned the tricks of fighting, and he had strong cause for victory. But he knew he was facing an ordeal, knew it before half a minute had passed. The trial of truth called to José like a clarion call of some religion. He fought as he never had fought before.

Zorro tried to pull his antagonist off his feet, and failed. In turn, he was whirled through the air, but regained balance in time to prevent the knife of José entering his breast. He felt a burning streak against his left shoulder, and knew that he had been struck a glancing blow, and that it had brought blood.

Back and forth, around the fire, they fought, tugging and straining, neither able to get home a blow. The perspiration stood out on their faces in great globules, their breathing was in great gasps.

Zorro felt himself growing weak. It came to him that this fanatical native would kill, because this was the trial of truth, and it called upon him to do his utmost. To die like this, when he had so much for which to live!

Through his mind flashed visions of his father, his friends, the little señorita. To die like this – with a stain upon his name!

New strength seemed to come to him, and he made a furious attack, forcing the giant José backward. They were in the edge of the fire, kicking up a shower of hot embers. They danced away, slashing with their knives, guarding, working each for an advantage.

Again Zorro felt a streak of fire across his shoulder, and knew that the knife had slashed. But he had wrenched aside in time to prevent the thrust. And his new attack seemed to be weakening José. The giant Cocopah was slowing. His breathing was labored, and Zorro could tell by the expression in his face that he was commencing to fear the outcome.

They surged back to the edge of the fire again, and again they kicked aside a shower of embers. The natives around them were muttering now, knowing that this fight soon must end. José made another heroic effort, exerted all his strength, cut and slashed as Zorro writhed away from the knife. And then their wrists were locked above their heads again, and they strained for the mastery.

Strained, until their faces were first purple and then white, as though the blood had been drained from them. Strained until it seemed that their arms would break. A wrist turned lightly, another forced it back. A knife slipped, another slipped to ward it off.

And then José of the Cocopahs gave a great sob, and Zorro a last twist of his wrist, and José's knife fell to the ground, to clatter against a rock. He seemed to sway and sink.

But he pulled himself erect, this José of the Cocopahs, and held up his head bravely. His eyes gleamed, and he waited.

"Strike!" he said. "It is your right!"

"Did I speak true?" Zorro demanded.

"The trial has decided. You spoke true."

Zorro drew back his arm, and José stood waiting, his breast heaving as though to welcome the thrust of the knife. And then:

"I do not slay my brother!" Zorro said, and tossed his knife away. "Unlash our arms!"

"You shame me!" José cried. "Strike!"

"It is the law that I may spare your life, if I so wish, and claim it in service."

"So be it, Zorro!"

Their arms were untied, and they staggered away from each other. A man came running with a gourd filled with water from the spring, and they drank and drenched their heads and arms and sweating breasts.

Down the cañon a pony came rushing. The natives sprang to meet the rider, weapons held ready. But he proved to be one of them, a man they had sent to spy in Reina de Los Angeles. He sprang from his pony and rushed to José. He did not catch sight of Zorro.

"More evil!" the man cried. "The Señor Zorro is indeed a madman and turns against his old friends."

"Speak!" José cried.

"He attacked Juan, who lives in a hut at the edge of the pueblo – old Juan, who raises melons to sell to the people in the great houses. He beat Juan, and cut him with a sword."

"And when was this?" José demanded.

"But a short time ago. I came at once with the word."

"Señor Zorro did this?"

"Juan says so. The man was seen by others."

"But Señor Zorro was here at the time," José said. "He has been with us since early in the night. So it is the truth, then – there are two Zorros!"

José got up, while the messenger gulped in astonishment, and walked across to Zorro, to clasp his left arm in the gesture of brotherhood.

"I have wronged you, señor," Jose said. "We Cocopahs are your friends and brothers. We will help you in your trouble. Do you tell us what to do."

And then, for the space of two hours, Zorro told them.


- Zorro Rides Again, Chapter 7