Francisco Alvarez, spurred on by the sting of his wound, and urged, too,
by Braxton Wyatt, who was mad for the deed the moment he heard of it, had
done this wicked thing. The strain of cruelty in his nature, inherited
perhaps, from far-off ancestors who had looked upon pitiless games in the
arena in the Roman cities in Spain, was completely in control.
"It is better than I thought," he said to Braxton Wyatt. "The ring serves
the purpose well. We shall have some royal sport If Kaintock will but
fight."
"He will fight," said Braxton Wyatt.
The swordsman advanced upon Paul and thrust with his shining blade. Paul
felt intuitively that he was a master of the weapon, reinforced, too, by
enormous strength. He, a boy, would have but little chance. Yet he parried
the thrust and replied with one of his own that flashed dangerously near
the man's side. The crowd again shouted approval, but as before some were
silent. Long Jim made another effort to drag himself loose, but he could
not. The men held him. Nevertheless, he repeated his cry: "It's murder!
He's only a boy!"
The rapid interchange of thrust and parry followed, and the swordsman grew
angry. He was there not only to furnish sport, but to have it also for
himself.
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