himself against the wall and looked around him.
All was quiet in the house; only from the distance came an amiable, musical hum of voices from the tents; a reassuring sound of men at peace with one another and with the world. And Taki’s teeth glinted white as he smiled at the moon. Then he turned, adjusted the silken mask, laid a hand on the sill of the open window, and drew himself softly into the room.
Señor
Don Hernandez Guadalmo slept but lightly; and even that silken smooth entrance of the Indian’s had roused him. Now, as Taki turned from the window, he faced Guadalmo, who was sitting bolt upright in his bed, but so paralyzed with nightmare horror that he could not move his hand. Before he recovered, he had clapped a pistol to his head.
“Don Hernandez, son of a dog,” he said, “for the sixth time we have met.”
“God receive my soul!” murmured the wretched man.
“The devil will receive it,” said the other. “But not from this room. You must step out with me,
señorl”
“If you have murder to do, do it here! But first, let me see your face!”
“Before you die, you shall see it, I promise. And if I fail, you may use your discretion upon me. Here,
Señor
Guadalmo, is your favorite sword. I make free to borrow it. Now, step before me through that window. If you cry out, if you attempt to run, I send a bullet through your back…or an ounce of lead to mingle with your brains, my friend!”
“What reward is there in the end?”
“A chance to fight with me fairly, point to point, sword to sword, and die like a murderer, as you deserve, but also like a gentleman.”
Guadalmo fairly trembled with joy. “Is it true?”
“On the honor of one whose faith has never been broken.”
“I go as to a feast!” said the duelist. He paused only to draw on a few garments. Then he slipped through the window before Taki and was rejoined by him on the ground.
“The guards?” he queried in a whisper.
Taki pointed to a tangled heap of shadow at the corner of the wall. “They will not notice your going,
señor.”
“You have confederates who have done this?”
“Confederates? Yes, my two hands. Walk straight ahead,
señor.
I shall remain just half a pace behind you.”
“My friend, the Black Rider,” said Guadalmo, “this promises to be a notable and happy night.”
And he walked straight forward down the slope and into the hollow beneath.
IX “Flashing Blades”
H ere,” said the Indian, “we will be very comfortable.”
Guadalmo paused. He found himself in a little level-bottomed clearing surrounded by the squat forms of oak trees, each with a dim, black pattern printed beneath it on the brown grass.
The moon was bright. A cool sea wind stirred across the hollow and brought to it the indescribable freshness of salt water. And from the highlands came the additional scent of the evergreens.
Guadalmo cast off the light cloak from his shoulders. “I am ready,
señor,”
he said.
“Your sword,” replied the other, and presented it to him by tossing it lightly through the air. Guadalmo caught itwith considerable dexterity and made the blade whistle in the air.
“Now God be praised.
Señor
, the Black Rider,” he said, “I see that I have to do with a gentleman and not with a cutthroat.”
“Be assured, friend,” said the Indian dryly, “that if I were a throat cutter, yours would have been slashed at our first meeting. This is to be a fair fight with equal weapons.”
“However, you still carry a pistol at your belt.”
The Indian tossed that weapon behind him and into the shrubbery.
“We are now even forces.”
There was a ring of joy in the throat of Guadalmo.
“Fool,” he said, “you are no better than a dead man! If you dare to stand up to me for ten breaths, I promise you a swift road to heaven. But as for equal forces…if I am hard-pressed, I have only to shout, and a dozen men will come for me.”
Taki started, then shook his head as though to reassure
All was quiet in the house; only from the distance came an amiable, musical hum of voices from the tents; a reassuring sound of men at peace with one another and with the world. And Taki’s teeth glinted white as he smiled at the moon. Then he turned, adjusted the silken mask, laid a hand on the sill of the open window, and drew himself softly into the room.
Señor
Don Hernandez Guadalmo slept but lightly; and even that silken smooth entrance of the Indian’s had roused him. Now, as Taki turned from the window, he faced Guadalmo, who was sitting bolt upright in his bed, but so paralyzed with nightmare horror that he could not move his hand. Before he recovered, he had clapped a pistol to his head.
“Don Hernandez, son of a dog,” he said, “for the sixth time we have met.”
“God receive my soul!” murmured the wretched man.
“The devil will receive it,” said the other. “But not from this room. You must step out with me,
señorl”
“If you have murder to do, do it here! But first, let me see your face!”
“Before you die, you shall see it, I promise. And if I fail, you may use your discretion upon me. Here,
Señor
Guadalmo, is your favorite sword. I make free to borrow it. Now, step before me through that window. If you cry out, if you attempt to run, I send a bullet through your back…or an ounce of lead to mingle with your brains, my friend!”
“What reward is there in the end?”
“A chance to fight with me fairly, point to point, sword to sword, and die like a murderer, as you deserve, but also like a gentleman.”
Guadalmo fairly trembled with joy. “Is it true?”
“On the honor of one whose faith has never been broken.”
“I go as to a feast!” said the duelist. He paused only to draw on a few garments. Then he slipped through the window before Taki and was rejoined by him on the ground.
“The guards?” he queried in a whisper.
Taki pointed to a tangled heap of shadow at the corner of the wall. “They will not notice your going,
señor.”
“You have confederates who have done this?”
“Confederates? Yes, my two hands. Walk straight ahead,
señor.
I shall remain just half a pace behind you.”
“My friend, the Black Rider,” said Guadalmo, “this promises to be a notable and happy night.”
And he walked straight forward down the slope and into the hollow beneath.
IX “Flashing Blades”
H ere,” said the Indian, “we will be very comfortable.”
Guadalmo paused. He found himself in a little level-bottomed clearing surrounded by the squat forms of oak trees, each with a dim, black pattern printed beneath it on the brown grass.
The moon was bright. A cool sea wind stirred across the hollow and brought to it the indescribable freshness of salt water. And from the highlands came the additional scent of the evergreens.
Guadalmo cast off the light cloak from his shoulders. “I am ready,
señor,”
he said.
“Your sword,” replied the other, and presented it to him by tossing it lightly through the air. Guadalmo caught itwith considerable dexterity and made the blade whistle in the air.
“Now God be praised.
Señor
, the Black Rider,” he said, “I see that I have to do with a gentleman and not with a cutthroat.”
“Be assured, friend,” said the Indian dryly, “that if I were a throat cutter, yours would have been slashed at our first meeting. This is to be a fair fight with equal weapons.”
“However, you still carry a pistol at your belt.”
The Indian tossed that weapon behind him and into the shrubbery.
“We are now even forces.”
There was a ring of joy in the throat of Guadalmo.
“Fool,” he said, “you are no better than a dead man! If you dare to stand up to me for ten breaths, I promise you a swift road to heaven. But as for equal forces…if I am hard-pressed, I have only to shout, and a dozen men will come for me.”
Taki started, then shook his head as though to reassure
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