The Bandolero Part 15

"The street's not far off. Come out; and I shall there repeat them."

"Agreed!"

My challenger was nearest to the door, and started first. I followed three steps after.

In the vestibule I paused--only for a second--to see whether my exit was being noted by the kneeling Mercedes.

It was. She was gazing after me--no longer by stealth; but in surprise; I fancied in chagrin!

Had she divined the cause of my abrupt departure?

That was scarcely probable.

In the position lately occupied by my unknown challenger, she could not have seen him. The statue interposed; and the column covered him, as he stepped towards the door.

I returned her glance by one intended to rea.s.sure her. With my eyes I said:--

"A moment, sweet saint, and you shall see me again!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

A QUIET STREET.

I was not so confident of being able to keep my promise, as I stepped out into the sunlight, and saw a little before me the man who was to be my antagonist.

He stood six feet in his russet boots, with a frame that seemed as sinewy, as herculean. He had all the look of a _vieux sabreur_; and I knew he would insist upon the sword for his weapon.

A Mexican makes but a poor fight with firearms. They are too noisy for taking life--in the way he oft wishes to take it. I was certain my challenger would choose the sword.

By the etiquette of the _duello_, I might have insisted upon having the choice; but I was too angry to stand upon punctilios.

The Cathedral of Puebla stands upon a raised _dais_--with a stone stairway along its _facade_, and around three sides. Down this the stranger preceded me--having already descended several of the steps before I came out.

At the bottom he paused to await me; and there, for the first time, I had a fair chance of scrutinising him.

Forty, but with that tough, terse figure that betokens a man who has pa.s.sed his life in energetic action, and whose nerves have never been a day out of training.

The face was not a whit improved by the light of the sun. It looked as foul as I had fancied it, when seen under the shadow of the Saint. It told of an ill-spent past, and prognosticated an evil future.

What could the man want with me?

Under other circ.u.mstances I might have asked the question; but I did not then. I had a tolerably clear comprehension, of what had stimulated him to seek the _desafio_.

Like myself, he was in love with Mercedes Villa-Senor; like myself, ready to defy to the death whoever might present himself as a rival!

He had recognised me as such; a successful one--if his interpretation of her glances corresponded with my own.

I had no doubt about this being the reason for his having so deliberately provoked me.

"It's rather public just here," said he, on receiving me at the bottom of the stair. "The Piazza is not the best place for a purpose like ours."

"Why not?" I asked, impatient to put an end to an episode that was causing me annoyance.

"Oh! only that we are likely to be interrupted by policemen, or patrols.

Perhaps _you_ would prefer it that way?"

"Lepero!" I cried, losing all temper. "Take me where you will--only be quick about it! Once on the ground, there won't be much chance for either policeman or patrol, to save you from the sword you are tempting from its scabbard. Lead on!"

"There's a quiet street close by," said he, with a coolness that surprised, and, but for my rage, might have disconcerted me; "There we can have our game out, without risk of interruption. You consent to our going there?"

"Certainly. The place is all one to me. As to the time, it won't take long to teach you a lesson, that will last you for your life."

"_Nos veremos, senor! Nos vamos_!" was the singular response of my challenger, as he started to conduct me to the "quiet street."

Mechanically I walked after him, though not without misgivings. Had I been in a proper state of mind, I might have reflected more seriously on the step I was called upon to take.

It could scarce have appeared other than it really was--imprudent.

After pa.s.sing through several streets, we came to the entrance of that we were in search of.

On turning into it, some vague remembrance flitted across my brain. I fancied I had been there before.

I glanced up to the coign of the corner house. In black lettering I read the inscription:--

"Callecito de los Pajaros!"

I next looked at my man. I had also some vague memory about _him_-- a.s.sociated with the "Little Street of the Sparrows."

The locality quickened my recollection; and before proceeding farther, I stopped short, and demanded his name.

"_Carrambo_! Why do you ask that?" he inquired, in a taunting tone.

"Do you intend to report me in the other world, for despatching you prematurely out of this? Ha! ha! ha!"

"Well," he continued, "I won't disappoint you. Tell the devil, when you see him, that he is indebted to Captain Torreano Carrasco for sending him a subject. Now, senor! are you ready to die?"

There needed no further proof to tell me I was entrapped. If there had, it was furnished by sight of a half-score savage-looking _pelados_, who, issuing from the adjacent doors, came running towards us--evidently intending to take part in the combat.

No longer to be a duel. I saw that my challenger had no thought of such a thing. He had changed his chivalric tone, and his voice was once more heard leading the contemptible cry--

"_Muera el Americano_!"

CHAPTER TWENTY.

RESCUED BY RED HATS.