Johnston McCulley

“ I'll strip your tough hide—"
"Mercy!" the landlord shrieked, and fell to the ground.
Señor Zorro cut at him again, bringing forth a yell more than blood. He wheeled his horse and darted at the nearest of his foes. Another pistol ball whistled past his head, another man sprang at him with blade ready. Señor Zorro ran the man neatly through the shoulder and put spurs to his horse again. He galloped as far as the whipping-post, and there he stopped his horse and faced them for an instant.
"There are not enough of you to make a fight interesting, señores!" he cried. ”

“ Señor Zorro said.
"He will put me in for it afterward," the landlord wailed.
"Do you prefer cárcel or a coffin, señor?" the highwayman asked.
It became evident that the landlord preferred the cárcel. He picked up the whip, and he surpassed the peons in the strength of his blows.
The magistrado was hanging heavily from the thongs now. Unconsciousness had come to him with about the fifteenth blow, more through fear than through pain and punishment. "Unfasten the man," the highwayman ordered. Two men sprang forward to do his bidding. "Carry him to his house," Señor Zorro went on. ”

“ He fenced like a maniac, maneuvering his horse to keep his antagonists separated, so that only one could get at him at a time. Now the air was filled with shrieks and cries, and men came tumbling from the houses to ascertain the cause of the commotion. ”