“It isn’t that,” answered Juan, with a short, embarrassed laugh. “He won’t forgive me, and wishes to fight again, some time when we can finish.”
Martin Alonzo stared in wonder, as well he might.
“But,” he said, “I thought you said he would not fight any more.”
“Nor will he until he has become quits with me; and the way he will be quits, he says, is by making you my friend.”
“Well,” said Martin Alonzo, bending his keen eyes curiously on the boy, “here be plots and counterplots. And how am I to be made your friend?”
“I am to tell you something you ought to know—something on which depends this voyage—something he and I learned in the woods where we were fighting.”
“And after you have told me,” said Martin Alonzo, laughing heartily, for the whole affair seemed very funny to him, yet full of generous spirit, too, “you are to fight it out, eh?”
“Yes, he will have it so, and I will oblige him.”
“Then, tell me quickly, for I would not stand in the way of so laudable a desire on his part or on yours; and I do assure you, boy, that Diego has gained his point, and that I like you well, and that I see that you will make a future that will blot out all your past mistakes. But, for the life of me, I cannot help laughing,” and he did laugh, with a roar that was infectious. “And now tell me what you learned in the woods.”