“Then I am happy in having been able to serve you, señorita.”
She looked at him admiringly, and now he saw that she was, indeed, young and handsome. There was no paint or powder on her face. Her cheeks did not need paint, for they were tinted with the blush of perfect health, while her skin seemed smooth as marble and soft as silk. Her hair and eyes were dark. She had delicate, arching eyebrows, long silken eyelashes, red lips, milk-white teeth, and a throat that was smooth and white as alabaster.
There was something fascinating and dashing about her beauty, something that affected him like wine in his veins.
“You have gotten yourself into trouble, señor,” she said. “Villasca is furious; I can see that.”
Indeed, the unlucky espada was in a great rage. He was gnashing his teeth and glaring at the boy, muttering fierce and bitter curses. He realized that he had been disgraced forever by his own cowardice and confusion, and this foreign lad had become a hero in the eyes of the spectators. How he hated Frank Merriwell! He swore to have the boy’s life—to drive a dagger through his heart.
And now the boy and girl were surrounded by toreadors and the servants of the bull ring. Frank saw Gonzalez scowling blackly. The fellow seemed longing to rush upon the lad. Indeed, he was speaking swiftly to another man at his side, and both were regarding the boy with murderous looks.
Indeed, it seemed that all those men were ready to fling themselves on the unknown slayer of the bull and kill him on the spot. But the blood-dripping sword was still in Frank’s hand, and they had seen him do execution with it. They feared that sword.
Zuera seemed to read the thoughts expressed on their faces. She stepped swiftly to Frank’s side, saying, softly:
“Come away, señor. You are in danger. Come with me.”
They passed through the circle and walked toward the box of the alcalde. When the spectators saw them thus, another great cheer went up.