"Do not despair, my precious little man!" encouraged Morales, in a husky voice, from his place down the platform. "Have a high fearless heart, and the great Torreblanca will yet pull you through."
With an utterness of gratitude at having won such inspiriting words from the matador whom he so venerated, the boy thanked Morales with black eyes that were smoldering great coals in their deep pits.
Don Jaime turned to Quesada. Morales had tossed off the upper end of his blanket and the hidalgo had suddenly noticed the gold-braided green jacket about the matador's torso. With that characteristic frankness of his which so often sounded brutal and coarse, he queried:
"Who is this hombre in gold-tinsel and green that has such faith in the ability and concoctions of Torreblanca y Moncada?"
"Que, que!" exclaimed the bandolero, distinctly surprised. "What, what! Does not the senor doctor know?"
But the doctor did not even remember having seen the man in the excitement of his first rounds.
"That is Morales, the bravest espada in all the Spains!"
"Morales? Manuel Morales, that great murderer of bulls, that supremely dexterous one with the sword? And here!"
Don Jaime went at once to the side of the wanly smiling matador.
"My Manuel Morales," he said with earnestness, "all Spain mourns for its lost pastime while you lie helpless here. We must quickly get you well. But valgame Dios! no poor few remedies of mine will work the miracle half so speedily as that own brave golden Moorish heart of you!"