He then went and planted his sword beside that of the unknown. The challenge was accepted. The stranger courteously carried his hand to his hat, and, having considered his adversary for a moment, cast a rapid look among the group of females, as if singling out some one on whom to bestow the homage of his valor. He was not long in discovering the beautiful Sacramenta, and, stepping toward her, exclaimed, with admirable self-possession, "The fandangoes of Medellin have lost all their attraction since ña Sacramenta is no longer there to enliven them with her presence. May I flatter myself that she has not forgotten them, and one of her most fervent apasionados?"
The young woman was going to reply, when Calros, whose jealousy was ever awake, approached the unknown, and said, "Pardon me, Señor Cavalier, but I have a particular liking for red ribbons. Will you surrender those that adorn your machete as forfeit for the first blood drawn?"
"With pleasure," answered the stranger. "I should hardly have ventured to offer them in homage to Doña Sacramenta; henceforth they shall have a certain value in my eyes, as being the price of blood shed for her."
After saying these words with a gracious smile, he uncovered himself, and plucked his sword out of the ground. Calros did so too. A polite altercation then took place between them as to who should be the first to place his hat on his head; but this was soon decided by bonneting at the same time. The most experienced of the spectators undertook the task of selecting a spot free from the sun's rays. This done, the combatants stood face to face, the villagers surrounded them, and they waited for the signal to begin. If the stranger was as skillful as he was brave, Calros would find in him a tough opponent, and the issue might probably be unsuccessful to this ardent lover of Sacramenta. The word was given, and the combat commenced. Their blows were so furiously put that it looked more like an encounter for life and death than a contest for the first blood.[63] Sometimes the swords cut the air with a mournful sough; sometimes they struck one another with a shrill clang. It was evident, however, that the stranger looked more to the honor of his antagonist than to his life. Now, in combats of this sort, the great point is to guard the hand. A wounded hand is the greatest stain upon the reputation of the most renowned swordsman. The loss of life even is not such a disgrace. Unluckily, the red ribbons, fluttering at the hilt of the unknown's sword, protected his hand more securely than even the best steel guard could have done. It was to deck the beautiful hair of Sacramenta that Calros was exposing his life; it was to guard these ribbons from stain that the Jarocho stood so grimly on his defense. In the course of the combat the swordsmen had now gone over a considerable space of ground. The tumultuous crowd wavered to and fro, and followed the two combatants as they were successively displaced. Neither had yet received a scratch, when the sword of the stranger, striking that of Calros, glided along the whole length of the blade. A moment after, my host's fingers being cut, he was just about to drop his machete, but a rude parry he made to save his arm failed, and the blood poured out from a wound above his wrist. At the same instant a bloody stain appeared upon the shoulder of the stranger. The two swords were lowered at once, and the combat was decided without it being possible for me to say which of the two had been first wounded; but the skilled and experienced eyes of the witnesses had decided that question. The unknown did not even appeal to their judgment; but, detaching the silk bow which adorned his machete, fixed the much-coveted ornament upon its point, and held it out to his adversary, thus confessing himself conquered. This last act of courtesy won him all hearts; and, in spite of his defeat, he partook with his rival in all the honors of victory. One thing only remained, which my host perhaps desired more. During the whole time the combat had lasted, a deadly paleness had overspread the countenance of Sacramenta, but that soon gave place to a more lively color when Calros advanced toward her. While she was receiving the precious ribbons which he had so valiantly fought for, the tumultuous heavings of her bosom, a sweet and radiant smile, and looks no more cast down to the ground, all proclaimed in the most eloquent manner to the happy Jarocho that his beloved attached as much value to the bow of scarlet ribbons as he had done to the withered suchil flower which had fallen from her hair the night before.
This last episode had passed unnoticed by almost every body. The men surrounded the stranger, who this time invited them to a ventorillo. Calros soon joined the company, and the two rivals began a contest of prodigality, to the great delight of all the villagers, who, as they swallowed the brandy in long draughts, congratulated themselves on having had such a brilliant fandango as would furnish matter for conversation for a week to come. For my part, after some words had passed between the former rivals, I was on the point of addressing the stranger, when the general attention was directed to a horseman who was seen advancing at full gallop. This cavalier was no other than the person with whom the unknown had agreed the evening before to meet at Manantial. When he saw the blood which stained his shirt, the new-comer cried, "Have you passed a pleasant time here, friend Julian?"
"Better than I could have expected, friend Ventura," answered the stranger.
"Well, did I not tell you what would happen?" said the horseman, pointing to the sky, which, having been covered with clouds for some time, now betokened a coming storm. "We shall have some hard work presently upon the beach. Will you accompany me?"
"Willingly," answered the unknown, sadly, "for I am afraid I have nothing to hope for here."
And, remounting his horse, after shaking every one by the hand, the two friends went off at a gallop. A general break-up then followed. The passage at arms between Calros and Julian had closed the fête in a worthy manner.
Who were Julian and Ventura? None of the Jarochos around me seemed to know them; but I intended to interrogate Calros about the strangers on the first opportunity. When night had come, and we were lying together under the veranda of my host's cabin, I was on the point of questioning him about the two mysterious individuals, when the light tread of a person walking over the dry grass interrupted me. It was the old woman Josefa. Carefully draped, in spite of the heat, in her rebozo, which allowed only her two sparkling dark eyes to be seen, the old woman presented a complete specimen of those sorceresses that are still to be found in Mexico among so many other remnants of the Middle Ages.