nd drawing the bow with my full strength, I loosed
the shaft through the bars of the gate at a young and gallant looking
cavalier who rode the first of all. It struck him truly between the
joint of his helm and neck piece, and stretching his arms out wide he
fell backward over the crupper of his horse, to move no more. Then they
withdrew, but presently one of their number came forward bearing a
flag of truce. He was a knightly looking man, clad in rich armour, and
watching him, it seemed to me that there was something in his bearing,
and in the careless grace with which he sat his horse, that was familiar
to me. Reining up in front of the gates he raised his visor and began to
speak.

I knew him at once; before me was de Garcia, my ancient enemy, of whom I
had neither heard nor seen anything for hard upon twelve years. Time had
touched him indeed, which was scarcely to be wondered at, for now he was
a man of sixty or more. His peaked chestnut-coloured beard was streaked
with grey, his cheeks were hollow, and at that distance his lips seemed
like two thin red lines, but the eyes were as they had always been,
bright and piercing, and the same cold smile played about his mouth.
Without a doubt it was de Garcia, who now, as at every crisis of my
life, appeared to shape my fortunes to some evil end, and I felt as I
looked upon him that the last and greatest struggle between us was at
hand, and that before many days were sped, the ancient and accumulated
hate of one or of both of us would be buried for ever in the silence of
death. How ill had fate dealt with me, now as always. But a few minutes
before, when I set that arrow on the string, I had wavered for a moment,
doubting whether to loose it at the young cavalier who lay dead, or at
the knight who rode next to him; and see! I had slain one with whom I
had no quarrel and left my enemy unharmed.

'Ho there!' cried de Garcia in Spanish. 'I desire to speak with the
leader of the rebel Otomie on behalf of the Captain Bernal Diaz, who
commands this army.'

Now I mounted on the wall by means of a ladder which was at hand, and
answered, 'Speak on, I am the man you seek.'

'You know Spanish well, friend,' said de Garcia, starting and looking at
me keenly beneath his bent brows. 'Say now, where did you learn it? And
what is your name and lineage?'

'I learned it, Juan de Garcia, from a certain Donna Luisa, whom you knew
in your days of youth. And my name is Thomas Wingfield.'