"That was near it," he said, as he whirled and caught Carlos by the wrist.
Frank had a clutch of iron, and he gave Carlos' wrist a wrench that forced a cry from the fellow's lips, and caused the knife to drop to the ground.
"You are altogether too handy with such a weapon," said the boy, coolly. "It is evident your adeptness with a dagger comes from your mother's side. Your face is dark and treacherous, and you look well at home in this land of dark and treacherous people."
Carlos ground forth a fierce exclamation, making a desperate move to fling Frank off, but failing.
"Oh, you are smart!" the fellow with the scarred face admitted. "But you have been lucky. You were lucky at Fardale, and you were lucky in New York. Now you have come to a land where I will have my turn. You'll never leave Mexico alive!"
"I have listened to your threats before this."
"I have made no threats that shall not come true."
"What a desperate wretch you are, Carlos! I would have met you on even terms, and come to an agreement with you, if you——"
"Bah! Do you think I would make terms? Not much! You have robbed me of what is rightfully mine, and I have sworn you shall not take the good of it. I'll keep that oath!"
A strange cry broke from his lips, as he found he could not tear his wrist from Frank's fingers.