"Do you realize, Valencia, that you're getting altogether too damned high and mighty?"
"You don't say!" sneered Valencia, calmly continuing his game.
"Do you know that I'm going to let you have a couple with my fist?"
"You don't say!"
Pastiri drew back with drunken awkwardness and began to hunt in the inside pocket of his coat for his knife, amidst the derisive laughter of the bystanders. Then all at once, with a sudden resolve, Leandro jumped to his feet, his face as red as flame; he seized Valencia by the lapel of his coat, gave him a rude tug and sent him smashing against the wall.
The gamblers rushed into the fray; the table was overturned and there was a pandemonium of cries and curses. Manuel awoke with a frightened start. He found himself in the midst of an awful row; most of the gamblers, with the tavern-owner's brother at their head, wanted to throw Leandro out, but the raging youth, backed against the counter, was kicking off anybody that approached him.
"Leave us alone!" shouted Valencia, his lips slavering as he tried to work himself free of the men who were holding him.
"Yes, leave them alone," said one of the gamblers.
"I'll kill the first guy that touches me," warned El Valencia, displaying a long knife with black blades.
"That's the stuff," commented Leandro mockingly. "Let's see who are the red-blooded men."