“There is still another little document in your possession—a safeguard from the American commander granted to a certain lady. It is not yours, Señor Ijurra! I beg you will deliver it to me. I wish to return it to the lady to whom it belongs.”
This was the bitterest pill I had yet presented to him. He glanced hastily first to the right and then to the left, as if desirous of making escape. He would fain have done so, but I kept him under my eye, and he saw that my hand was ready.
“Certainly there is a safeguard,” replied he, after a pause, and with a feigned attempt at laughter. “’Tis a worthless document to me; ’tis at your service, sir captain;” and as he handed me the paper, he accompanied the act with another sorry cachinnation.
I folded the precious documents, and thrust all three under the breast of my coat; then placing myself in fighting attitude, I cried out to my adversary to “draw and defend” himself.
I had already noticed that he wore a sword, and, like myself, it appeared to be the only weapon he carried. I saw no pistols upon his person. I had none myself—nothing save a light cut-and-thrust sword. It was far slighter than the sabre of my antagonist, but it was a weapon that had seen service in my hands, and I had perfect confidence in it. I had no fear for the result against so cowardly an adversary; I was not awed, either by his heavier blade, or the superior size of his person.
To my astonishment, he hesitated to unsheath his sword!
“You must draw,” I shouted with emphasis. “You or I have now to die. If you do not defend yourself, I shall run you through the body. Coward! would you have me kill you with your blade in its sheath?”
Even the taunt did not nerve him. Never saw I complete a poltroon. His white lips trembled, his eyes rolled wildly from side to side, seeking an opportunity to escape. I am certain that could he have hoped to get clear, he would at that crisis have turned and run.
All at once, and to my surprise, the coward appeared smitten with courage; and, grasping the hilt of his sabre, he drew the blade ringing from its scabbard, with all the energy of a determined man! His reluctance to fight seemed suddenly to have forsaken him. Had I mistaken my man? or was it despair that was nerving his arm?
His cowed look had disappeared: his eyes flashed with fury and vengeance; his teeth gritted together; and a fierce carajo hissed from his lips.