WATSON and Robledo finished their supper in silence. Their thoughts were still busy with what had occurred a few hours earlier in the park of Canterac’s invention.

An invisible wall seemed to have risen between them. Watson’s expression was sombre, and he avoided looking at his partner. The latter, when from time to time he looked at him, smiled bitterly. He could not now see Watson without thinking of Elena. Undoubtedly it was she, tormented as she was by her desire to control every man in whom she was interested, who had aroused the young American’s feeling against his partner!

Watson got up from table with a few mumbled words, and picked up his hat.

“So, he’s going to see her,” thought Robledo. “He is restless if he can’t be by her side.”

In the main street Watson found various groups engaged in heated discussion. The red rectangles of the windows and doors of the boliche were frequently eclipsed by the shadows of the customers going in and out. It was not hard to guess that the subject under discussion was the scandalous occurrence of that afternoon, and that everyone was taking sides either with the French engineer or the Italian contractor.

When he reached Elena’s house Sebastiana came out and stood at the top of the outside staircase waiting for him to come up. She too, he could see, was thinking about what had happened at the “park.”

The half-breed looked at Richard with a good deal of severity. “Ay, those men!... Here was this gringo who had seemed such a good young man, and see how he was treating her little girl, her little Celinda! So he was no different from the others....”

The young engineer walked in without meeting Sebastiana’s eye, and found Elena in the drawing-room. She seemed to be expecting him.

He was about to sit down in an arm-chair, but she would have none of it.

“No, no, here beside me—so no one will hear us.”

And he sat down on the sofa beside her.

She was pale, and there was a hard expression in her eyes, as though she were still in the grip of recent and very disagreeable experiences. The fist-fight between Pirovani and Canterac now occupied second place in her thoughts. The thing that was in the very forefront of her mind was the image of Celinda with her up-raised whip. At that image she trembled with anger.

But Richard’s punctual arrival made her forget her resentment. So, he was glad to grant her request that he spend the evening with her.... She saw that he was looking somewhat uneasily at the doors leading into the room.

“No one will come in,” she reassured him. “My husband is in his room, a little upset by some bad news from home that he received today.... A family affair, that doesn’t much concern me.”

With a sudden softening in her voice she went on,

“How grateful I am for your having come! I fairly shook with terror at the thought of spending these hours alone.... I am so frightfully bored here! That is why I begged you when we parted this afternoon not to leave me all alone....”

And she caught up Watson’s hand, and looked at him with a caress in her eyes.

The young man was agreeably flattered by her glances, but at once there arose in his mind a memory of what had happened earlier that day.

“What were those men fighting about? Was it about you?”

She did not answer at once; finally, looking away, she said with a kind of surrender,

“Perhaps, but I despise them both. You are the only man here I care about, Ricardo.”

She laid her hands on his shoulders; and with a feline undulation she brought her face close to his.

“I suspect,” she murmured, “I suspect that we two are going to go beyond the limits of friendship....”

Stimulated by the novelty of being alone with one another, they became conscious of the daring and vehement desire burning hotly within them. In a few short minutes they were going to cover a distance that in his inexperience he thought would have required several long days’ journeys. She, meanwhile, thought of the young Amazon whose riding-whip had almost struck her in the face. Her outraged vanity, and her desire for vengeance, made her decide upon a cynical course of action; she laughed to herself and her laugh was reflected in a cruel glint in her eyes.

“If you’re jealous you ought to have some reason for it,” Elena was thinking. “I’ll pay you back for your whip-blow.”

In addition, when she perceived that those other two men had fought one another in her presence without causing her any but the most trifling emotion, she decided, with a lack of logic characteristic of her unbalanced brain, that the surest way to make peace between them was to give herself to a third, one who should be more deserving of her interest.

To Watson, since the moment when two men had tried to kill one another for her sake, this woman seemed all the more beautiful and desirable. A feeling of male pride and sex vanity mingled with the emotions that Elena’s words and the contact with her graceful body were arousing in him.

The hands on his shoulders had imperceptibly crept closer and closer together. They met, and the young American felt himself imprisoned by two beautiful arms. Something awakened in his thoughts, like a little flame in a dying fire. He thought he saw before him the sad, noble face of his comrade Torre Bianca, and he tried to shake his head—“No!” and draw back, pushing Elena away.... He couldn’t betray his friend.... It was unworthy of him to act in this fashion, under Torre Bianca’s own roof. Then he saw himself and Celinda riding happily along together. Again he tried to move his head “No!” He blinked and looked profoundly distressed, trying to defend himself, and at the same time certain that he would be unable to do so.

“Poor little Flor de Rio Negro!” he thought.

The arms wound around his neck pressed gently against him, drawing his head slowly toward Elena’s face; her hungry lips were close to his. Then their mouths met, and Richard thought the kiss would never end.

He felt all the surprise of one who on entering a marvelous palace, sees the doors of a second and even more beautiful hall standing wide open before him; and he passes on through a third and a fourth, until he is lost in the succession of dazzling rooms opening their doors to him.

He trembled at what her mouth revealed; shudders ran down his back.

At that moment, confusedly he thought, just like all the other simple folk at the dam who were in mad pursuit of Elena—“This is woman, the real woman who rules the world.... It is only the women who have known the elegances of life who are worthy of a man’s admiration and worship....”

His hands, as he tried to free himself from the power that threatened to drown his will, came in contact with the soft curves of her body....

Suddenly from the other side of the door came a vigorous knocking. Sebastiana was pounding away on the bare boards with her knuckles, in this fashion asking permission to enter, for the half-breed was too well-trained to come in without announcing her intention. However, before asking permission in this way, she always took the precaution to look through the keyhole. When, finally, her head appeared between the two wooden slides of the door, she said, lowering her malicious eyes,

“My old boss, don Pirovani, wants to see the marquesa. He seems to be in a hurry.”

Richard stood up to go. Elena gave him to understand that she would get rid of the intruder in short order. But the young man had regained his composure, and, aware of the peril he had just escaped, he asked for nothing better than to make use of the opportunity to escape. He didn’t want to stay alone with her again! At the door he almost fell over the contractor who came in, bowing from afar to the “seÑora marquesa.” Watson shook hands with him and hurried away.

Elena scarcely took the trouble to hide her anger at this inopportune call, and received the Italian with quite obvious ill-humor.

She remained standing to indicate that his stay was to be short, but pre-occupied by his own troubles, he asked if he might sit down, and before Elena could reply, he sank into a chair. Elena merely leaned against the edge of the table.

“My husband is ill,” she said, “and I must look after him. It isn’t anything to worry about ... just an unfortunate occurrence in his family. But now let’s talk about you. What brings you here at this hour?”

Pirovani delayed answering, in order to make his words more impressive when he did finally utter them.

“The seÑor Canterac says that after what happened this afternoon we must have a duel to the death.”

Elena was thinking only of Watson, and this man’s arrival, putting the young American to flight, made her tremble with nervousness. But for his news, she had only a slight shrug. It really didn’t interest her! Then she tried to conceal her indifference by saying,

“I don’t see anything so strange about that. If I were a man I would do the same.”

Pirovani, who up to that time had been uncertain as to how he felt about Canterac’s challenge, got up with an air of tremendous resolution.

“Then,” he said, “if you think it is all right, there is nothing more to be said. I’ll fight with the Frenchman, and I’ll fight with half the world if necessary, so that you’ll be convinced that I am worthy of your esteem.”

As he spoke he took Elena’s hand. But it lay so inert in his own that he was discouraged, and let go of it. She looked wearily towards the interior of the house where her husband was, indicating to Pirovani that he was to take his leave. The Italian made haste to obey, but while he moved towards the door he irritated her still more with words and gestures designed to inspire admiration for his devotion and heroism.

As soon as she was alone, Elena called shrilly for Sebastiana. The half-breed was slow in coming to her mistress. She had been escorting her former employer to the street.

“See if you can find the seÑor Watson!” ordered Elena hastily. “He can’t be so far away. Tell him to come back.”

The half-breed smiled, lowered her malicious eyes, and said innocently,

“It isn’t so easy to overtake him. He flew out of here like a shot from a gun. The devil must have been after him!”

When he left his former house Pirovani went to see Robledo, whom he found reading a book that was propped up against the kerosene lamp in the centre of the table. When the Spaniard saw his caller he greeted him with exclamations and reproaches.

“What got into you? Why do a thing like that?... A man of your years and reputation!... You’re not a fifteen-year-old fighting for your sweetheart!”

The Italian rejected this admonition with a haughty gesture, judging it rather tardy. Then he said solemnly, and as if his own words intoxicated his vanity,

“I am fighting a duel to the death with Captain Canterac, and I want you and Moreno to be my seconds.”

Robledo broke out into exclamations of scandalized impatience.

“But what do you take me for? Do you think that I am going in for any of your nonsense, and make a fool of myself just to keep you company?”

And he went on with a vigorous tirade against Pirovani’s absurd request, the latter nodding obstinately all the while. He was determined to face everything now after what Elena had said.

“I am a man of humble birth,” he said, “I know nothing except how to work; and I’ve got to show everybody that I’m not afraid of this gentleman, accustomed as he is to handling weapons.”

Robledo shrugged at these words, more absurd than anything that had preceded them. Finally he grew tired of his useless protests.

“I see that I might as well give up my attempts to knock a little common sense into you. Very well; I’ll consent to acting as your representative, but on condition that the affair be settled by reason and not by a duel.”

The contractor assumed the attitude becoming to a gentleman whose honor has just been slighted.

“No. I wish to have a duel ... and to the death. I am not a coward and I didn’t come here to find a way out.”

Then he gave expression to what he was thinking.

“Although I never had much education, I know what ought to be done in cases like this one. And further, I know how certain people of high station look at it. I must fight, and I shall fight.”

He spoke with such sincerity that Robledo felt sure Elena must have inspired in him this ridiculous resolution. Undoubtedly she was the person “of high station” who had advised poor Pirovani! Looking pityingly at him, he yet abruptly and emphatically refused to act as second.

Convinced finally that nothing was to be gained by further argument, Pirovani went away and betook himself to Moreno’s.

The next day, early in the morning, don Carlos Rojas, standing in the doorway of his ranch house, saw a rider approaching. The horseman was wearing “city clothes,” and his mount made the rancher smile. It was Moreno.

“Where are you going on that graveyard nag, friend ink-spiller? Stop a while and have a mate with me, eh amigo?”

They both went into the room used as a parlor and office, and while a small servant prepared the mate, Moreno caught a glimpse through a doorway of the rancher’s daughter sitting in a wicker chair; she looked worried and unhappy, and in her feminine dress seemed to have lost the joyous, rebellious audacity which she always seemed to possess when she wore boy’s clothes.

Moreno bowed to her from the room where he sat, and she acknowledged his salutation with a sad little smile.

“There, you see! She’s not herself at all, not the same girl any more. Anyone would think she was sick. That’s the way it is with young people!”

Celinda shook her head. Sick? Oh no, that wasn’t it.... Then she left the room so that her father and his guest might speak more freely together.

When they had sipped their first cup of mate, Rojas offered Moreno a cigar, “so that he would have something to puff at”; then lighting his own, he prepared to listen.

“What brings you to these parts, old boy?... You’re not much for riding, and when you come as far as this, it must be for some reason.”

Moreno went on smoking with the calm of an oriental who considers it advisable to excite the curiosity of the person addressing him before taking any part in the conversation.

“Don Carlos,” he said at last, “as a young fellow you had a good deal to do with firearms. When I was in Buenos Aires I heard that you’d fought in several duels on account of women.”

Rojas looked cautiously about to see whether his daughter happened to be within earshot. Then he smiled with all the fatuous vanity of a man well on in years at the memory of the bold, wild follies of his youth, and said, with an affectation of modesty,

“Bah! Nobody remembers that now! Boyish pranks ... they don’t do that sort of thing these days.”

Moreno thought it proper to suspend the conversation by a long pause; then he announced,

“Canterac and Pirovani are fighting a duel tomorrow. They are going to shoot to kill.”

Don Carlos was frankly amazed.

“But such things are out of style!... And here in this desert of a place?”

Moreno nodded and remained silent. The rancher also refrained from speaking but he looked questioningly at his caller. What in the world had he, don Rojas, to do with all this? And was it simply for the pleasure of giving him this bit of news that the government clerk had taken such a long ride?

“The captain,” said Moreno, “has arranged with the marquÉs of Torre Bianca and the gringo Watson to be his seconds. As they’re both of them his colleagues, they can’t very well refuse.”

This seemed quite a matter of course to Rojas. But what the devil was it to him who the seconds were!

“Pirovani has only one second so far. That is myself,” Moreno continued. “I came to ask you to help us out, don Rojas. You know how to act in this sort of affair. I wish you’d serve with me as a second for our Italian friend.”

But the rancher protested vehemently.

“Drop all this fool business, man! Why should I get mixed up in the squabbles of these people? They’re all my friends ... and anyway, I’m too old to have anything to do with this sort of thing. I don’t care to make that kind of splurge, not at my age....”

But Moreno was not to be put off so easily, and several minutes of heated argument followed. Finally the rancher gave some signs of abandoning his first position. He was more won over by what seemed to him the mysterious nature of this duel than by any of Moreno’s pleas. As a second he might learn some curious and interesting things....

“Well, then, I’ll do what you want. What the devil will this ink-spiller be after me for next?”

Then he smiled slyly, slapping Moreno on the leg, and asked him, lowering his voice,

“And why do they want to kill one another? About a woman eh?... Sure as I breathe, that marquesa has something to do with it ... she seems to drive all the men around her crazy....”

Moreno assumed a mysterious expression, at the same time raising his finger to his lips to impress Rojas with the need for caution.

“Careful, don Carlos! Remember that the marquÉs will be acting with us as a second in this duel.... Perhaps, even, as an expert in this sort of thing he will manage the whole affair.”

The rancher began to laugh, again slapping his friend on the leg. So hearty was his laughter that at times he raised his hand to his throat as though choking in the outbursts of his amusement.

“That’s a pretty thing, eh? So the husband is going to superintend the duel! And the fight is about his wife.... But these gringos are an amusing lot.... I’d like to see this business through! It beats anything I ever heard of....”

Then he added gravely,

“Yes, I’ll act as second. This is better than a play in Buenos Aires, or one of those movies my little girl is so crazy about....”

In the early afternoon, after lunching at the ranch, Moreno returned to the settlement; he dismounted in front of Pirovani’s house.

Torre Bianca was walking up and down in the room he used as an office. He was in mourning and looked even more unhappy and discouraged than usual. In his pacing back and forth he stopped every now and then beside a table on which was an open case containing a brace of revolvers. He had spent a good part of the afternoon cleaning the weapons and looking at them meditatively, as though the sight of them evoked distant memories. But at moments he forgot the revolvers and gazed at a photograph beside them on the table; it was his mother’s, and as he looked at it tears filled his eyes.

After a ceremonious salutation Moreno hastened to assure him that he had found another second, and that he came fully authorized by him to discuss the preparations for the duel. The marquÉs acknowledged his speech with a bow, and showed him the case of weapons.

“I brought them from Europe. They have played a part in several affairs at least as serious as this one. Look them over carefully. We have no others and they will have to be found acceptable by both parties.”

The government clerk indicated that he considered such an examination as the marquÉs suggested quite unnecessary, and that whatever the latter thought fit to suggest he would find quite acceptable.

The marquÉs went on talking with a courtly dignity which deeply impressed Moreno.

“This poor worthy gentleman doesn’t really know what this situation is,” he thought. “Yet he is so good and likeable.... He evidently hasn’t the faintest conception of what has been going on, of what his wife has been up to ... nor of the unfortunate part that he himself is going to play....”

“As neither of the two parties wishes to give any explanations, and as the offence is unquestionably serious, the duel will have to be to the death. Don’t you agree with me?”

Moreno had assumed a portentously solemn expression just as soon as he perceived how serious this conversation was to be, and now he silently nodded his approbation.

“My principal,” the marquÉs continued, “will not be satisfied with anything less than three shots at twenty paces, with five seconds for taking aim.”

Moreno blinked to show how amazed he was by these conditions, and wished to indicate that he was opposed to accepting them, but he remembered a second interview that he had had that morning with Pirovani before he set out for the Rojas ranch.

The Italian had appeared to be transformed by his bellicose enthusiasm. He rejoiced in this opportunity to present himself to the “seÑora marquesa” in the light of a novel hero.

“Accept all the conditions,” he said to Moreno, “however frightful they may be. I want to make it quite dear that even though I started out in life a simple workman, I am more courageous and more of a gentleman than this French captain!”

So the government employee ended by nodding.

“Tonight,” the marquÉs continued, “all four seconds are to meet at Watson’s place to put the conditions into writing, and tomorrow as soon as it is light, the duel will take place.”

Pirovani’s representative called attention to the fact that don Carlos Rojas would not be able to be present at this meeting because he had that afternoon set out for Fuerte Sarmiento in search of a doctor for the duel. But his friend had authorized him to subscribe to any conditions that might be set down. Whereupon the two seconds considered the interview at an end.

As Moreno went out of the house, he saw the police commissioner standing at the foot of the stairs leading to the street. Evidently the comisario was waiting for him. And don Roque did not take long to express his indignation.

“You people seem to think that you can do anything you like, just as though there were no law in the land, no authority, no anything, just as though the Indians were still running it. Well, I’m the police commissioner, though you don’t seem to know it, and it’s my job to keep other people from doing all the crazy things that they take it into their heads to do. When is that duel to take place? I must know.”

Moreno was not disposed to give the information requested of him, and the comisario, in view of this disinclination to obey, went on in a gentler tone,

“You might as well tell me without making any bones about it. You know very well that there isn’t one of you who would approve of such a thing taking place with me present in the town. Tell me when the thing is coming off.... So I can get out before it happens.”

Moreno murmured something in his ear and the comisario acknowledged the confidence by grasping the official’s hand. Then he walked towards his horse who was hitched near by, and just as he was about to mount him, he added, very low,

“I am going to spend the night in Fuerte Sarmiento and I won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. Do whatever you like.... I know nothing about it!”