And, whirling his formidable sabre round his head, he drove back the men who had ventured too near him. "Stop, stop!" Oliver Clary shouted, as he dashed forward. "By heaven, he is a noble soldier; let us grant him the death of a brave man. Defend, yourself, General." "Thank you, señor," the general replied with a smile; "I expected nothing less from your courtesy." "A fair fight. Back, señores," the hunter said. "No, no," a man suddenly shouted, as he hurried to the front. "You are a foreigner, Señor Don Oliver; allow me to settle this quarrel." The Canadian turned and recognized Don Aníbal de Saldibar. "Very good," he said, lowering his point with a gesture of respectful deference. "Do you accept me as an adversary, General?" the hacendero asked. "I care little whom I fight, señor," the general replied haughtily. "On guard, then!" The two blades crossed with a portentous clang. There was something grand and chivalrous in this singular duel in the midst of a battle. The two adversaries, however, had no fear of being separated. The Mexicans had suddenly stopped. As for the Spaniards, decimated by the canister, and discouraged by the loss of their chief, they fought without any order, more for the purpose of selling their lives dearly than in the hope of conquering. Don Aníbal and General Cárdenas carried on the duel they had so bravely commenced, while the Canadian and other officers kept back the spectators. The general was a very skilful swordsman, but, wearied by the violent exercise he had been taking, and rendered desperate by the probable defeat of his troops, he was not sufficiently master of himself to contend advantageously against an adversary of the strength of Don Aníbal. In a very short time he fell, run through the body. They rushed forward to help him; the general attempted to rise. For the last time, he waved his sword defiantly, and raised to heaven his eyes already glazed with death. "Long live Spain!" he shouted in a powerful voice, and he fell back. He was dead, like a soldier should die, sword in hand. The battle was won. Of five thousand men that composed the Spanish army, hardly fifteen hundred survived. The Mexicans had conquered, more through the strength of their position and the madness of their enemy, than through their skill and courage. Perhaps, though, it was the will of God, who, in His omniscience, had marked this day as the last of the Spanish rule in Mexico. CHAPTER XXXVIII. THE PURSUIT.