"Yes, yes," answered Mataseis, in a choking voice; then suddenly starting like a wounded buck, "this time, I am sure," cried he excitedly, "we are watched."
With a movement rapid as thought, Sacatripas had with one hand picked up the stakes, and with the other seized and turned one of the cards, at the very moment when Mataseis tried to slip it under the pack.
"This time, companion," said he, in a sharp and biting tone, "I catch you; you are robbing me."
"I rob you!" cried the other in a thundering voice, "I, a caballero—you dare to accuse me of such infamy! You tell a lie, miserable pícaro! It is you who are a thief."
Mataseis had but one resource—that was to get into a rage, and he did so. For that matter, he had ample reasons. He had been caught with his hand in the bag, in the very act of theft, and then—and this made him especially furious—he had lost twenty ounces; for he knew his brother too well to suppose that he would ever consent to give him back the stakes on which he had seized.
"Upon my word," said Sacatripas, with irony, "the game becomes wearisome; luck was against me; we should soon not have known what to do. Let us fight a little; that will help us to pass the time."
"Let us fight then," cried Mataseis, seizing his knife, and placing his poncho half rolled round his left arm for a shield.
"One moment," said Sacatripas, who had imitated all the movements of his brother, and, like him, was ready for a fight; "let us first settle the conditions of duel; we are caballeros."
"Very good, let us settle them," answered Mataseis, taking a step backward.
"Let us first ask ourselves this question—is the quarrel well founded?"