ry being heard.

The ground becomes strewn with red and white feathers dyed in blood,
but the contest is not for the first blood; the Filipino, carrying out
the laws dictated by his government, wishes it to be to the death or
until one or the other turns tail and runs. Blood covers the ground,
the blows are more numerous, but victory still hangs in the balance. At
last, with a supreme effort, the white throws himself forward for
a final stroke, fastens his gaff in the wing of the red and catches
it between the bones. But the white himself has been wounded in the
breast and both are weak and feeble from loss of blood. Breathless,
their strength spent, caught one against the other, they remain
motionless until the white, with blood pouring from his beak, falls,
kicking his death-throes. The red remains at his side with his wing
caught, then slowly doubles up his legs and gently closes his eyes.

Then the referee, in accordance with the rule prescribed by the
government, declares the red the winner. A savage yell greets
the decision, a yell that is heard over the whole town, even and
prolonged. He who hears this from afar then knows that the winner is
the one against which the odds were placed, or the joy would not be
so lasting. The same happens with the nations: when a small one gains
a victory over a large one, it is sung and recounted from age to age.

"You see now!" said Bruno dejectedly to his brother, "if you had
listened to me we should now have a hundred pesos. You're the cause
of our being penniless."

Tarsilo did not answer, but gazed about him as if looking for some one.

"There he is, talking to Pedro," added Bruno. "He's giving him money,
lots of money!"

True it was that Lucas was counting silver coins into the hand of
Sisa's husband. The two then exchanged some words in secret and
separated, apparently satisfied.

"Pedro must have agreed. That's what it is to be decided," sighed
Bruno.

Tarsilo remained gloomy and thoughtful, wiping away with the cuff of
his camisa the perspiration that ran down his forehead.

"Brother," said Bruno, "I'm going to accept, if you don't decide. The
_law_ [129] continues, the _lasak_ must win and we ought not
to lose any chance. I want to bet on the next fight. What's the
difference? We'll revenge our father."

"Wait!" said Tarsilo, as he gazed at him fixedly, eye to eye, while
both turned pale. "I'll go with you, you're right. We'll revenge our
father." Still, he