seizing the bull by the nose--his thumb and two fore-fingers thrust well
within its nostrils--and with his left hand grabbing the right horn, with
a mighty heave he uplifted the bull's muzzle and bore down upon its horn
until he threw it with a crash upon its side that left it momentarily
helpless.

But, himself slipping in the loose wreckage, down also _El Tigre_ fell,
the bull's sharp right horn impaling his left thigh and pinning him to
the ground.

Before the bull could rise, the men of the _cuadrilla_ had it safely
bound and _El Tigre_ released. _El Tigre_, however, did not know it.
With the shock and pain of his wound he had fainted.

When at length he regained consciousness, it was to find his head
pillowed in Sofia's lap, her soft fingers caressing his brow, her tearful
eyes looking into his, and to hear her whisper: "Mauro _mio_!"

Just at this moment the Duke de Oviedo approached, no one knew whence.

White with jealousy but steady and cool, he quietly remarked:

"Madame, I ought to kill you both, but that my rank precludes.
Lucha-sangre, in yourself, as son of a notary and hired _toreador_ and
purveyor of spectacles, you are unworthy of my sword; nevertheless blood
once noble is in your veins. And so as noble it suits me now to count
you. As soon as you are recovered of your wound I will send you my
second."

"Most happy, Duke," answered Mauro; "mine shall be ready to meet him."

One evening a week later, while the Duke de Oviedo and two Mexican army
officers were having drinks at the bar of the Cafe Concordia, General
Delmonte, a Cuban long resident in New York and a distinguished veteran
of three wars, entered with two American friends. Delmonte was
describing to his friends _El Tigre's_ last fight, lauding his prowess,
extolling his noble presence and high character. Infuriated by the
ardent praise of his enemy, the Duke grossly insulted General
Delmonte--and was very promptly slapped in the face.

They fought at daylight the next morning, beneath an arch of the ancient
aqueduct, just outside the city. Encountering in Delmonte one of the
best swordsmen of his time, early in the combat the Duke received a
mortal wound. And as he there lay gasping out his life, he murmured a
phrase that, at the moment, greatly puzzled his seconds:

_"Gana El Tigre._" (The Tiger Wins!)

CHAPTER XIII

BUNKERED

It seems it must have been somewhere about the year 4000 B. C. that we
lost sight of