"Lepero!" I cried, losing all temper. "Take me where you will--only be quick about it! Once on the ground, there won't be much chance for either policeman or patrol, to save you from the sword you are tempting from its scabbard. Lead on!" "There's a quiet street close by," said he, with a coolness that surprised, and, but for my rage, might have disconcerted me; "There we can have our game out, without risk of interruption. You consent to our going there?" "Certainly. The place is all one to me. As to the time, it won't take long to teach you a lesson, that will last you for your life." "_Nos veremos, senor! Nos vamos_!" was the singular response of my challenger, as he started to conduct me to the "quiet street." Mechanically I walked after him, though not without misgivings. Had I been in a proper state of mind, I might have reflected more seriously on the 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 that we were in search of. On turning into it, some vague remembrance flitted across my brain. I fancied I had been there before. I glanced up to the coign of the corner house. In black lettering I read 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, I stopped 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 you prematurely out of this? Ha! ha! ha!" "Well," he continued, "I won't disappoint you. Tell the devil, when you see him, that he is indebted to Captain Torreano Carrasco for sending him 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--evidently intending to take part in the combat. No longer to be a duel. I saw that my challenger had no thought of such a thing. He had changed his chivalric tone, and his voice was once more heard leading the contemptible cry-- "_Muera el Americano_!" CHAPTER TWENTY. RESCUED BY RED HATS. The Street of the Sparrows appeared to be my doomed spot. For the second time there seemed no chance of my getting out of it alive; and for the second time I made up my mind to die hard in it. Despite the suddenness with which Carrasco had surprised me, I was upon my guard--before he or any of his comrades could come to close quarters.