The contest could not prolong itself for the combatants were exhausted. They could scarcely move; but they did not wish to yield, since although strength failed, anger more than abounded. Chance finally settled the contest. When Roque raised his arm to deal a blow with his machete upon Panfilo’s head, the latter by a quick movement tried to parry the blow, to save his head from being cleft open. But he parried it, not with his blade, but with the haft, and the heavy weapon of his antagonist severed his smaller fingers. With this there fell to the ground the sword and the amputated fingers; that tinged with blood, these livid and convulsed. “Now, yes, I have lost,” exclaimed the wounded man with a gesture of grief. “Yes, friend,” replied Roque, filled with consternation. “What need was there of this?” “It is a thing of bad luck; who may gain may lose. You have proved me a man; you cannot deny that.” “How have I to deny it? The truth is that you have much courage. Let me bind your hand with this cloth to see if the blood can be staunched.” Saying this Roque wrapped the hand with his great kerchief. “Where do you desire that I take you?” he asked. “You cannot go alone.” “Go and leave me; do not let them take you prisoner,” replied Panfilo. “Though they take me to jail, I will not leave you.” “Well, then, help me to get near to Chopo. When we are within sight of the hacienda save yourself.” “Wherever you wish; let us walk along.” They started. Panfilo advanced with difficulty; he murmured and suffered with thirst. He stopped frequently to drink in the _arroyos_ and Roque gave him water in the hollow of his hand. “Friend,” he said, “it gives me sorrow to see you so injured.” “There is no reason; I am to blame.” “It had been better that we had not fought.” “Why do we speak of this? There is now no remedy.” The wounded man was presently unable to walk. Supported on Roque’s arm he progressed very slowly. Finally it was necessary to carry him like a child. Thus they came in sight of Chopo. Panfilo did not wish Roque to carry him farther. “May God reward you,” he said to him. “Leave me upon this stone and hurry away that they may not come to seize you.” “Though they seize me, how can I leave you alone?” “Every little while the _peons_ and their women pass; they will carry me to my house. Go.” “Good friend, since you wish it, I will go; but one thing is necessary first; without it I will not go.” “What?” “That we may henceforth be good friends.” “With much pleasure--from now on.” “Do not hold hatred toward me and forget the things that have happened.” “Why should I hold hatred?” “Because of what I did.” “You did it like a man; it needs naught said.” “Then give me the good hand.” “Here it is,” answered the wounded man, extending his hot left hand. Roque grasped it with feeling. “God grant that you may soon be well,” he murmured. “With a maimed hand,” added the wounded man, his pallid and dry lips contracted in a sad smile.