“What’s the matter with giving him one? Wait till I get my box.”
He gave it to the fellow, who struck a match, and after lighting his cigarette held it so that the faint illumination touched Dick’s face.
“Thanks, señor,” said the half-breed, who turned to his companion as he added softly in Castilian: “The other.”
Dick understood. It was not Jake but himself who was threatened; and he thought he knew why.
“Look out for that fellow, Jake!” he cried. “Get back to the wall!”
Jake, to Dick’s relief, did as he was told, but next moment another man ran out of the arch, and somebody in the darkness called out in Castilian. Dick thought he knew the voice; but the men were behind him now, and he turned to face them. The nearest had his hand at his ragged sash, and Dick saw that he must act before the long Spanish knife came out. He struck hard, leaning forward as he did so, and the man reeled back; but the other two closed with him, and although his knuckles jarred as a second blow got home, he felt a stinging pain high up in his side. His breathing suddenly got difficult, but as he staggered towards the wall he saw Jake dash his soft hat in the face of another antagonist and spring upon the fellow. There seemed to be four men round them and one was like Oliva, the contractor; but Dick’s sight was going and he had a fit of coughing that was horribly painful.
He heard Jake shout and footsteps farther up the street, and tried to lean against the house for support, but slipped and fell upon the pavement. He could neither see nor hear well, but made out that his assailants had slunk away and men were running towards Jake, who stood, calling for help, in the middle of the street. Shortly afterwards a group of dark figures gathered round and he heard confused voices. He thought Jake knelt down and tried to lift him, but this brought on a stab of burning pain and he knew nothing more.