CHAPTER NINETEEN.
A QUIET STREET.
I was not so confident of being able to keep my promise, as I steppedout into the sunlight, and saw a little before me the man who was to bemy antagonist.
He stood six feet in his russet boots, with a frame that seemed assinewy, as herculean. He had all the look of a _vieux sabreur_; and Iknew he would insist upon the sword for his weapon.
A Mexican makes but a poor fight with firearms. They are too noisy fortaking life--in the way he oft wishes to take it. I was certain mychallenger would choose the sword.
By the etiquette of the _duello_, I might have insisted upon having thechoice; but I was too angry to stand upon punctilios.
The Cathedral of Puebla stands upon a raised _dais_--with a stonestairway along its _facade_, and around three sides. Down this thestranger preceded me--having already descended several of the stepsbefore I came out.
At the bottom he paused to await me; and there, for the first time, Ihad a fair chance of scrutinising him.
Forty, but with that tough, terse figure that betokens a man who haspassed his life in energetic action, and whose nerves have never been aday out of training.
The face was not a whit improved by the light of the sun. It looked asfoul as I had fancied it, when seen under the shadow of the Saint. Ittold of an ill-spent past, and prognosticated an evil future.
What could the man want with me?
Under other circumstances I might have asked the question; but I did notthen. I had a tolerably clear comprehension, of what had stimulated himto seek the _desafio_.
Like myself, he was in love with Mercedes Villa-Senor; like myself,ready to defy to the death whoever might present himself as a rival!
He had recognised me as such; a successful one--if his interpretation ofher glances corresponded with my own.
I had no doubt about this being the reason for his having sodeliberately provoked me.
"It's rather public just here," said he, on receiving me at the bottomof the stair. "The Piazza is not the best place for a purpose likeours."
"Why not?" I asked, impatient to put an end to an episode that wascausing me annoyance.
"Oh! only that we are likely to be interrupted by policemen, or patrols.Perhaps _you_ would prefer it that way?"
"Lepero!" I cried, losing all temper. "Take me where you will--only bequick about it! Once on the ground, there won't be much chance foreither policeman or patrol, to save you from the sword you are temptingfrom its scabbard. Lead on!"
"There's a quiet street close by," said he, with a coolness thatsurprised, and, but for my rage, might have disconcerted me; "There wecan have our game out, without risk of interruption. You consent to ourgoing there?"
"Certainly. The place is all one to me. As to the time, it won't takelong to teach you a lesson, that will last you for your life."
"_Nos veremos, senor! Nos vamos_!" was the singular response of mychallenger, as he started to conduct me to the "quiet street."
Mechanically I walked after him, though not without misgivings. Had Ibeen in a proper state of mind, I might have reflected more seriously onthe step I was called upon to take.
It could scarce have appeared other than it really was--imprudent.
After passing through several streets, we came to the entrance of thatwe were in search of.
On turning into it, some vague remembrance flitted across my brain. Ifancied I had been there before.
I glanced up to the coign of the corner house. In black lettering Iread the inscription:--
"Callecito de los Pajaros!"
I next looked at my man. I had also some vague memory about _him_--associated with the "Little Street of the Sparrows."
The locality quickened my recollection; and before proceeding farther, Istopped short, and demanded his name.
"_Carrambo_! Why do you ask that?" he inquired, in a taunting tone."Do you intend to report me in the other world, for despatching youprematurely out of this? Ha! ha! ha!"
"Well," he continued, "I won't disappoint you. Tell the devil, when yousee him, that he is indebted to Captain Torreano Carrasco for sendinghim a subject. Now, senor! are you ready to die?"
There needed no further proof to tell me I was entrapped. If there had,it was furnished by sight of a half-score savage-looking _pelados_, who,issuing from the adjacent doors, came running towards us--evidentlyintending to take part in the combat.
No longer to be a duel. I saw that my challenger had no thought of sucha thing. He had changed his chivalric tone, and his voice was once moreheard leading the contemptible cry--
"_Muera el Americano_!"