And he did, as if he could see the struggle going on in Diego between his humiliation, his anger, and his sense of justice. Diego slowly rose to his feet.
“Do you want to fight any more?” asked Juan, jeeringly.
“Yes,” answered Diego, sullenly, “I want to fight till I have whipped you.”
“Come on, then, if you can see out of your eyes,” jeered Juan.
“Hey, there! you two have had enough,” said a man’s voice.
They both thought the men had returned from the ship, and they looked to where the man stood. He was a stranger to them. They fancied they must have been fighting an hour, when in fact they had not been at it for more than ten minutes. Both fighting and talking had gone on at a rapid pace.
“Well, who are you?” asked the man, with a short laugh of amusement at the sight of the two bruised faces. “I should say one of you had had enough, anyhow. Do you belong on that ship loading water?”
“Yes,” answered Juan; for the ready-tongued Diego had been silenced by the reference to the plain fact that he had been having the worst of the fight.
“And is it you who are going on that crazy voyage in search of Zipangu?” inquired the man, who was evidently a sailor.
“Yes.”