'I am an Englishman and I fight with the Aztecs that I may slay him whom you name Sarceda.

But with you I have no quarrel, Bernal Diaz.

Begone and escape if you can.

No, I will keep the sword with your leave.' 'Englishman, Spaniard, Aztec, or devil,' grunted the man as he drew himself from his bed of ooze, 'you are a good fellow, and I promise you that if I live through this, and it should ever come about that I get YOU by the throat, I will remember the turn you did me.

Farewell;' and without more ado he rushed up the bank and plunged into a knot of his flying countrymen, leaving his good sword in my hand.