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
passed 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 circumstances 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 passing 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_--
associated 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_!"