ng amongst the grass at his feet.

It seemed a mischance, fatal to Florence Kearney, and only the veriest
dastard would have taken advantage of it. But this Santander was, and
once more drawing back, and bringing his blade to _tierce_, he was
rushing on his now defenceless antagonist, when Crittenden called "Foul
play!" at the same time springing forward to prevent it.

His interference, however, would have been too late, and in another
instant the young Irishman would have been stretched lifeless along the
sward, but for a second individual who had watched the foul play--one
who had been suspecting it all along. The sword of Santander seen
flying off, as if struck out of his grasp, and his arm dropping by his
side, with blood pouring from the tips of his fingers, were all nearly
simultaneous incidents, as also the crack of a rifle and a cloud of blue
smoke suddenly spurting up over one of the carriages, and
half-concealing the colossal figure of Cris Rock, still seated on the
box. Out of that cloud came a cry in the enraged voice of the Texan,
with words which made all plain--

"Ye darned Creole cuss! Take that for a treetur an' a cowart! Strip
the skunk! He's got sumthin' steely under his shirt; I heerd the chink
o' it."

Saying which he bounded down from the box, sprang over the water-ditch,
and rushed on towards the spot occupied by the combatants.

In a dozen strides he was in their midst, and before either of the two
seconds, equally astonished, could interfere, he had caught Santander by
the throat, and tore open the breast of his shirt!

Underneath was then seen another shirt, not flannel, nor yet linen or
cotton, but link-and-chain steel!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A DISGRACED DUELLIST.

Impossible to describe the scene which followed, or the expression upon
the faces of those men who stood beside Santander. The Texan, strong as
he was big, still kept hold of him, though now at arm's length; in his
grasp retaining the grown man with as much apparent ease as though it
were but a child. And there, sure enough, under the torn flannel shirt,
all could see a doublet of chain armour, impenetrable to sword's point
as plate of solid steel.

Explanation this of why Carlos Santander was so ready to take the field
in a duel, and had twice left his antagonist lifeless upon it. It
explained also why, when leaping across the water-ditch, he had dropped
so heavily upon the farther bank. Weighted as he was, no