"And so am I," returned Tomaso, promptly.
"Hands up, then, for Toro."
Half the hands were uplifted and counted over.
"Now for Tomaso."
Up went the hands of the other side, and when they came to tell them off, it was discovered that the brigands were equally divided in their choice.
"We cannot have two leaders," said the brigand Ymeniz.
"No, no."
"Then we must have neither, as the matter stands."
"Unless one gives way."
"No," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Italian, fiercely, "unless Tomaso likes to decide by the sword which of us shall have the lead."
"I"m agreed to that," retorted Tomaso, promptly. "Let us fight for it, and may the best man win."
"Agreed."
"Hurrah, hurrah!"
A ring was formed, and preparations made for the deadly encounter.
As they were not agreed about the choice of weapons, a coin was thrown up, and Toro won.
Tomaso would have chosen pistols, for he was an excellent shot, and it gave him the superiority; whereas, although not altogether unskilled in fence, Toro"s superior weight and size gave him a great advantage with the sword.
However, there was nothing for it now but to fight.
The combatants stripped to the waist, and each received his weapon from his second.
They were long, heavy swords, cut and thrust, like the heavy cavalry carry, and with these there could be but one result.
Death!
There were no half measures with these weapons.
"Now, then," exclaimed the Italian, impatiently, "why this dallying? On guard."
"I am ready," cried Tomaso, gripping his sword firmly.
The swords met with a clash which sent forth a shower of sparks, and both men recoiled with the force of the shock.
Recovering themselves quickly, however, they went to work in real savage style, and chopped away at each other with vicious earnestness.
Now Tomaso, it was clear, could not hold his own in a battle wherein mere brute force was to have the best of it, and feeling himself at a disadvantage in this respect, he dodged about his adversary as nimbly as Harlequin himself.
Being very quick-sighted, he saw what sort of a blow was coming ere it was fairly dealt, and so he shaped his defence.
If it was a desperate stroke, he jumped out of its reach.
If a light one, he turned it off upon the edge of his own weapon.
In this way he worked upon Toro to such an extent that the Italian"s temper got the mastery of him.
Tomaso was attacking him so closely that the Italian looked like losing the battle.
Toro was bleeding from a dozen small flesh wounds.
Tomaso was, up to this moment, almost unscathed.
Presently he grew over bold, and incautiously trusting himself within reach, Toro lunged so sharply out that it was only by the merest shave he escaped being spitted on the Italian"s long sword like a lark on a skewer.
As it was the sword pierced the waistband of his nether garments.
Tomaso stumbled, and so nearly lost his balance that it took him all his time to parry the next stroke, which was put in with equal smartness and vigour. One blow, that might have brought down an elephant, sent Tomaso on to his knees.
The same stroke made a notch in the Greek"s weapon half an inch deep.
Had he caught the blow upon the flat of his sword, it would have been shivered to atoms beyond all doubt.
Toro saw his chance.
Nor was he at all slow to avail himself of it.
Quick as thought, another blow fell, and out of his grasp flew the Greek"s blade.
He lay prostrate at the mercy of his adversary.
"Beg your life," cried Toro, planting his heavy foot firmly upon his adversary"s chest.
"Never,"
"Then die!"
He raised his sword.
But he paused.
Was it the action of a brave man to take the life of a defenceless foe?
Well, it was not the thought of such romantic notions which troubled Toro; it was simply because there were spectators.
These spectators, he knew, would judge it harshly.