The vaquero sneered, and whirled his lasso round his head.
"Be warned, Rafaël," he said; "for the last time, will you surrender?"
"No! a thousand times no!" the boy cried, passionately.
"By the grace of God, then!" said the vaquero.
The lasso whizzed and flew through the air.
But a strange thing happened at the same moment.
Rafaël stopped his horse short, as if it had been changed into a block of granite; and, springing from the saddle, he bounded like a tiger upon the giant, whom the shock bore down upon the sand; and before anybody could oppose him, he plunged into his throat the knife which all Mexicans wear in their belts.
A long stream of blood spouted into the face of the boy, the vaquero writhed about for a few seconds, and then remained motionless.
He was dead!
The crowd uttered a cry of horror and fear.