The Curse of Capistrano by Johnston McCulley

Book Details

The Curse of Capistrano by Johnston McCulley (1883-1958) is better known as The Mark of Zorro. Serialized in All-Story Weekly in 1919, The Curse of Capistrano is the classic tale of the masked avenger Zorro, full of sword fights, horse chases and forbidden romance. Any number of masked and caped heroes can trace their inspirations back to Zorro, but this is the original novel.

Chapter 1 – Pedro, the Boaster
Chapter 2 – On the Heels of the Storm
Chapter 3 – Señor Zorro Pays a Visit
Chapter 4 – Swords Clash—And Pedro Explains
Chapter 5 – A Ride in the Morning
Chapter 6 – Diego Seeks a Bride
Chapter 7 – A Different Sort of Man
Chapter 8 – Don Carlos Plays a Game
Chapter 9 – The Clash of Blades
Chapter 10 – A Hint at Jealousy
Chapter 11 – Three Suitors
Chapter 12 – A Visit
Chapter 13 – Love Comes Swiftly
Chapter 14 – Captain Ramon Writes a Letter
Chapter 15 – At the Presidio
Chapter 16 – The Chase That Failed
Chapter 17 – Sergeant Gonzales Meets a Friend
Chapter 18 – Don Diego Returns
Chapter 19 – Captain Ramon Apologizes
Chapter 20 – Don Diego Shows Interest
Chapter 21 – The Whipping
Chapter 22 – Swift Punishment
Chapter 23 – More Punishment
Chapter 24 – At the Hacienda of Don Alejandro
Chapter 25 – A League is Formed
Chapter 26 – An Understanding
Chapter 27 – Orders for Arrest
Chapter 28 – The Outrage
Chapter 29 – Don Pulido Feels Ill
Chapter 30 – The Sign of the Fox
Chapter 31 – The Rescue
Chapter 32 – Close Quarters
Chapter 33 – Flight and Pursuit
Chapter 34 – The Blood of the Pulidos
Chapter 35 – The Clash of Blades Again
Chapter 36 – All Against Them
Chapter 37 – The Fox at Bay
Chapter 38 – The Man Unmasked
Chapter 39 – “Meal Mush and Goat’s Milk!”

The Zorro story has been made into over three dozen movies and TV shows.

The Curse of Capistrano has 2 illustrations.

The Curse of Capistrano is also available on Barnes & Noble

Files:

1. theCurseOfCapistrano.epub

Excerpt: The Curse of Capistrano

Chapter 1

Pedro, the Boaster

AGAIN THE SHEET of rain beat against the roof of red Spanish tile, and the wind shrieked like a soul in torment, and smoke puffed from the big fireplace as the sparks were showered over the hard dirt floor.

“Tis a night for evil deeds!” declared Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, stretching his great feet in their loose boots toward the roaring fire and grasping the hilt of his sword in one hand and a mug filled with thin wine in the other. “Devils howl in the wind, and demons are in the raindrops! Tis an evil night, indeed—eh, señor?”

“It is!” The fat landlord agreed hastily; and he made haste, also, to fill the wine mug again, for Sergeant Pedro Gonzales had a temper that was terrible when aroused, as it always was when wine was not forthcoming.

An evil night,” the big sergeant repeated, and drained the mug without stopping to draw breath, a feat that had attracted considerable attention in its time and had gained the sergeant a certain amount of notoriety up and down El Camino Real, as they called the highway that connected the missions in one long chain.

Gonzales sprawled closer to the fire and cared not that other men thus were robbed of some of its warmth. Sergeant Pedro Gonzales often had expressed his belief that a man should look out for his own comfort before considering others; and being of great size and strength, and having much skill with the blade, he found few who had the courage to declare that they believed otherwise.

Outside the wind shrieked, and the rain dashed against the ground in a solid sheet. It was a typical February storm for southern California. At the missions the frailes had cared for the stock and had closed the buildings for the night. At every great hacienda big fires were burning in the houses. The timid natives kept to their little adobe huts, glad for shelter.

And here in the little pueblo of Reina de Los Angeles, where, in years to come, a great city would grow, the tavern on one side of the plaza housed for the time being men who would sprawl before the fire until the dawn rather than face the beating rain.

Sergeant Pedro Gonzales, by virtue of his rank and size, hogged the fireplace, and a corporal and three soldiers from the presidio sat at table a little in rear of him, drinking their thin wine and playing at cards. An Indian servant crouched on his heels in one corner, no neophyte who had accepted the religion of the frailes, but a gentile and renegade.

For this was in the day of the decadence of the missions, and there was little peace between the robed Franciscans who followed in the footsteps of the sainted Junipero Serra, who had founded the first mission at San Diego de Alcala, and thus made possible an empire, and those who followed the politicians and had high places in the army. The men who drank wine in the tavern at Reina de Los Angeles had no wish for a spying neophyte about them.

Just now conversation had died out, a fact that annoyed the fat landlord and caused him some fear; for Sergeant Pedro Gonzales in an argument was Sergeant Gonzales at peace; and unless he could talk the big soldier might feel moved to action and start a brawl.

Twice before Gonzales had done so, to the great damage of furniture and men’s faces; and the landlord had appealed to the comandante of the presidio, Captain Ramon, only to be informed that the captain had an abundance of troubles of his own, and that running an inn was not one of them.

So the landlord regarded Gonzales warily and edged closer to the long table and spoke in an attempt to start a general conversation and so avert trouble.

“They are saying in the pueblo,” he announced, “that this Señor Zorro is abroad again.”

Excerpt From: Johnston McCulley. “The Curse of Capistrano.”