“Though you have slain half the bandits on the coast, you still thirst for blood?” laughed the sergeant. “This is not levity, _señor_. You have questioned my word. Draw and defend yourself--else be called coward!” A roar like that of an angry bull came from the throat of Sergeant Cassara, and the stool upon which he had been sitting was kicked to one corner of the room as he sprang to his feet. His blade was out in an instant, his eyes flashed with anger, his face was purple with rage, and he stood ready in the centre of the room beside the table with curses rumbling in his throat. The other soldiers had dashed to the wall out of the way; the neophyte had come in at the doorway, and now crouched there, watching. With deliberation the stranger just off the highway drew his blade and stepped forward to engage. There was no haste in his manner, no nervousness apparent. He went about this business of duelling as calmly as he would have drawn on a pair of boots. The steel clashed, and the two men circled around the room, the sergeant breathing heavily, the other fencing without apparent effort. Yet the sergeant could have told that, by the feel of the blade, he was aware of the strength in the other’s wrist, and knew he was fighting with no weakling. Every trick he tried was met by a better one; the stranger had a guard for every thrust. The soldiers against the wall began to murmur with delight--here was fencing to be seen! And then the sergeant let out a bellow as a favourite thrust was turned aside, and losing his head started to force the fighting. He thrust and slashed, while the stranger’s blade darted in and out like the tongue of a serpent. Step by step, the man off the highway was forced to retreat, yet those who watched beside the wall realised he was but awaiting the proper time. In the hearts of the corporal and his soldiers there was sudden fear for the big sergeant with whom they had served for so long. In the heart of the neophyte who crouched at the door there was a sudden hope. Then came an exclamation from the corporal, who was watching closely! The stranger’s blade made a sudden dart forward; the sergeant’s sword described an arc through the air, the sun flashed from it an instant, then it crashed against the wall and its owner stood disarmed. The caballero stepped back and bowed. “Even so, _señor_!” he said. “If you will regain your blade, I’ll be glad to teach you another lesson. You are not without skill, yet your arm appears slow from too much leisure.” “Now, by the good saint----!” Cassara began. But he broke off his sentence in the middle, for he had glanced toward the doorway, and in it stood the ensign. The caballero turned, removed his sombrero, and made a sweeping bow. His eyes were twinkling again. “What brawl is this?” the ensign demanded. “A little question regarding my veracity, _señor_,” the caballero replied. “If it is your wish to see it settled----”