“We can make the sentinels at the gate clever by a few quills of gold; and here are enough to satisfy them.” Hualpa produced a handful of the money. “Let us try them. Outside the gate the street is clear.”
The courtier protested, but the prince was determined.
“The arms! Pledge my province and palaces,—everything for a maquahuitl now.”
They went to the gate and obtained the use of two of the weapons and as many shields. Then the party passed into the street, which they found deserted. To avoid the great thoroughfare to Iztapalapan, they turned to the north, and kept on as far as the corner of the garden wall.
“Stay we here,” said the courtier. “Short time is all you want, lord Iztlil’. The feathers on the hawk’s wings are not full-fledged.”
The man spoke confidently; and it must be confessed that the Tezcucan’s reputation and experience justified the assurance. One advantage the hunter had which his enemies both overlooked,—a surpassing composure. From a temple near by a red light flared broadly over the place, redeeming it from what would otherwise have been vague starlight; by its aid they might have seen his countenance without a trace of excitement or passion. One wish, and but one, he had,—that Guatamozin could witness the trial.
The impatience of the Tezcucan permitted but few preliminaries.
“The gods of Mictlan require no prayers. Stand out!” he said.
“Strike!” answered Hualpa.
Up rose the glassy blades of the Tezcucan, flashing in the light; quick and strong the blow, yet it clove but the empty air. “For the ’tzin!” shouted the hunter, striking back before the other was half recovered. The shield was dashed aside; a groan acknowledged a wound in the breast, and Iztlil’ staggered; another blow stretched him on the pavement. A stream of blood, black in the night, stole slowly out over the flags. The fight was over. The victor dropped the bladed end of his weapon, and surveyed his foe, with astonishment, then pity.