"Dance with me, or die!"
"Señor," said the woman, quietly, and with an unflinching eye, "you are drunk! Don't come so near to me!"
The infuriated man made a motion as if to strike at her with his knife; but, quick as lightning, the young Mexican grasped his uprisen arm and the two clenched. I could not see what was done in the struggle. Those of the crowd who were nearest rushed in, and the affray soon became general. Pistols and knives were drawn in every direction; but so sudden was the fight that nobody seemed to know where to aim or strike. In the midst of the confusion, a man jumped up on one of the benches and shouted,
"Back! back with you! The man's stabbed! Let him out!"
The swaying mass parted, and the tall Texan staggered through, then fell upon the floor. His shirt was covered with blood, and he breathed heavily. A moment after the woman uttered a low, wild cry, and, dashing through the crowd—her long black hair streaming behind her—she cast herself down by the prostrate man and sobbed,
"O cara mio! O Deos! is he dead? is he dead?"
"Who did this? Who stabbed this man?" demanded several voices, fiercely.
"No matter," answered the wounded man, faintly. "It was my own fault; I deserved it;" and, turning his face toward the weeping woman, he said, smiling, "Don't cry; don't go on so."
There was an ineffable tenderness in his voice, and something indescribably sweet in the expression of his face.
"O Deos!" cried the woman, kissing him passionately. "O cara mio! Say you will not die! Tell me you will not die!" And, tearing her dress with frantic strength, she tried to stanch the blood, which was rapidly forming a crimson pool around him.