h fury, but he
defends himself with coolness. Not without reason was he the favorite
of the crowd. All, trembling and anxious, follow the movements of
the battle, now this one and now that one giving an involuntary
shout. The ground is being covered with red and white feathers,
tinged with blood. But the duel does not go to the one who draws first
blood. The Filipino here follows the laws laid down by the Government,
which say that the cock which is killed or flees loses the fight. The
blood now wets the ground; the blows are repeated, but the victory
is still undecided. Finally, making a supreme effort, the blanco
throws himself forward to give a last blow; he drives his knife into
the wing of the rojo and buries it among the bones. But the blanco
has been wounded in the breast, and both, weak from loss of blood,
and panting, fastened together, remain immovable until the blanco
falls, bleeds through his neck, kicks violently and is in the agony
of death. The rojo, pinned by his wing, is held to the other's side;
and little by little he doubles up his legs and slowly closes his eyes.

Then the referee, in accordance with the regulations prescribed by
the Government, declares the rojo the winner. A wild and prolonged
outcry greets the decision, an outcry which is heard throughout
the town. He, who, from afar, hears the cry, understands that the
dejado has beaten the favorite, for otherwise the outcry would not
have lasted so long. So it happens among nations: when a small nation
succeeds in gaining a victory over a greater one, the song and story
of it last through centuries.

"Do you see?" said Bruno, with indignation, to his brother, "if you
had taken my advice to-day, we would have had one hundred pesos. On
your account we are without a cuarto."

Tarsilo did not reply, but, with wide-open eyes, looked around him
as if in search of some one.

"There he is talking with Pedro," added Bruno. "He is giving him
money--what a lot of money!"

Tarsilo remained silent and thoughtful. With the arm of his camisa,
he wiped away the sweat which formed in drops on his forehead.

"Brother," said Bruno, "I am decided, even if you are not. The lasak
ought to win and we ought not to lose the opportunity. I want to bet on
the next fight. What does it matter? Thus, we will avenge our father."

"Wait!" said Tarsilo to him, and looked him in the eyes. Both were
pale. "I am with you. You are right. We will avenge our father."

He s