He was not long in doubt, however.

The voice of Valencia grated vitriolic sentences in his ear, and the free hand of Valencia was lifted to deal him a blow fair upon the blank face of him.

The circle of faces watched, motionless, above crouched bodies as quiet as the stars overhead.
A hand grasped Valencia's wrist while his arm was lifted to strike, so that the three men stood, taut-muscled and still, like a shadowy, sculptured group that pictured some mythological conflict.
"Let go, Valencia.

This is nothing to fight over.

Let go." Valencia's angry eyes questioned the unreadable ones of his majordomo; but he did not let go, and so the three stood for a moment longer.
"But they insult the Senor Allen with their jeers," he protested.