Part 23 (2/2)
”Then we will exchange. Here is mine.”
”And here, sah, is mine.”
”This,” said Colonel Vallier, ”precludes yo' from interfering in this othah affair, Professor Scotch.”
”Hey? It does! How's that, I'd like to know?”
”I am at your service, professor,” bowed the colonel. ”You shall make such arrangements as yo' choose. Pistols or swords make no difference to me, for I am a dead shot and an expert swordsman. I trust yo' will excuse us now, gentlemen. We will see yo' later. Good-day.”
He locked arms with the young man, and they turned away, with a sweeping salute. The throng parted, and they pa.s.sed through.
Professor Scotch stood staring after them till Frank tapped him on the shoulder, saying:
”Come, professor, we may as well get out of this.”
”Excuse-a me, senors,” said a soft, musical voice, and a young man with a Spanish face and pink cheeks was bowing before them. ”I t'ink you need-a to be tole 'bout it.”
”Told about what?” demanded Frank, who took an instant dislike to this softly smiling fellow with the womanish voice and gentle ways. ”What do you mean?”
”Excuse-a me,” repeated the stranger, who was gaudily dressed in many colors. ”Yo' are strangar-a-rs from de Noath, an' yo' do not know-a de men what you have a de troub' wid. Excuse-a me; I am Manuel Mazaro, an'
I know-a dem. De young man is son of de ver' reech Senor Roderick Raymon', dat everybody in New Orle'n know. He is ver' wile--ver'
reckless. Ha! He love-a to fight, an' he has been in two duel, dough he is ver' young. But de odare, senors--de man wid de white mustache--ah!”
Manuel Mazaro threw up his hands with an expression that plainly said words failed him.
”Well, what of the other?” asked Frank, impatiently.
”Senors,” purred Mazaro, ”he is de wor-r-rst fightar ever leeve! He like-a to fight fo' de sport of keelin'. Take-a my advice, senors, an'
go 'way from New Orle'n'. Yo' make ver' gre't mistake to get in troub'
wid dem.”
”Thank you for your kind advice,” said Frank, quietly. ”I presume it is well meant, but it is wasted. This is a free country, and a dozen fire-eaters like Colonel La Salle Vallier and Mr. Rolf Raymond cannot drive us out of New Orleans till we are ready to go. Eh, professor?”
”Well, I guess not!” rumbled the little man, stiffening up and looking as fierce as he could.
”Oh, ver' well, ver' well,” said Mazaro, lifting his eyebrows, the ghost of a scornful smile on his face. ”You know-a your own biz. Good-day, senors.”
”Good-day, sir.”
They pa.s.sed through the crowd and sought their carriage, which was waiting for them, although the driver had begun to think they had deserted him.
The procession, which had been broken up by the stampeded steers, was again forming, making it evident that the pleasure-loving people were determined that the unfortunate occurrence should not ruin the day.
The Queen of Flowers and her subjects had vanished, and the flower barge was a wreck, so a part of the programme could not be carried out.
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