“You challenge me?” said Iztlil’, in disdain.
“Does a prince of Tezcuco, son of ’Hualpilli, require a blow? Take it then.”
The blow was given.
“See! Do I not bring you princely blood?” And, in his turn, Hualpa laughed scornfully.
The Tezcucan was almost choked with rage. “This to me,—to me,—a prince and warrior!” he cried.
A danger not considered by the rash hunter now offered itself. An outcry would bring down the guard; and, in the event of his arrest, the united representations of Iztlil’ and his friend would be sufficient to have him sent forthwith to the tigers. The pride of the prince saved him.
“Have a care,—’tis an assassin! I will call the guard at the gate!” said the courtier, alarmed.
“Call them not, call them not! I am equal to my own revenge. O, for a spear or knife,—anything to kill!”
“Will you hear me,—a word?” the hunter said. “I am without arms also; but they can be had.”
“The arms, the arms!” cried Iztlil’, passionately.