“Take this knife!” shouted Crisostomo, drawing out a wide-bladed Toledo knife.
But already a thousand little bubbles were rising to the surface of the water, and all that was going on in the depths below was wrapped in mystery.
“Jesús, Maria y José!” exclaimed the women. “We are going to have a misfortune. Jesús, Maria y José!”
“Don’t be alarmed, señoras,” said the old boatman. “If there is any one in this province who can do it, it is that fellow who has just gone down.”
“What is his name?” they asked.
“We call him ‘The Pilot’; he is the best I have ever seen, only he does not like his profession.”
The water was being stirred violently, and it seemed that a fierce fight was being waged in the depths of the lake. The sides of the enclosure swayed to and fro, while the water seemed to be swirled by a dozen currents. All held their breath. Ibarra grasped tightly the handle of his sharp knife.
The fight seemed to be at an end. The head of the young man rose to the surface of the water, and the sight was greeted by joyful shouts from all. The eyes of the women were full of tears.
The pilot crawled up on the platform carrying in his hand the end of the rope, and as soon as he was able pulled on it.
The monster appeared on top of the water. He had the rope tied twice around his neck, and once behind his forelegs. He was a large fellow, as Leon had already announced. He was beautifully colored and green moss was growing on his back. He bellowed like an ox, struck his tail against the sides of the enclosure, snapped at them, and opened his black, frightful-looking mouth, showing his long teeth.