rcle around the ring had been dispersed; the
fight was going to commence. The voices began to die away, and the
two soltadores and the skilled gaff fitter, were alone in the middle
of the rueda. At a signal from the referee, the sheaths were removed
from the razor-like knives on the cocks' legs, and the fine blades
glistened in a menacing way.

The two brothers, gloomy and silent, approached the ring and, resting
their faces against the bamboo railing, watched the preparations. A man
approached them and said in their ears: "Hundred to ten on the blanco!"

Tarsilo looked at him stupidly. Bruno elbowed his brother, who
responded with a grunt.

The soltadores handle the roosters with masterly skill, taking
great care not to wound them. A deep silence reigns throughout the
pit. You would think that those present, with the exception of the two
soltadores, were horrible wax figures. The two roosters are brought
close together and allowed to pick at each other and thus become
irritated. Then they allow them to look at each other, so that the
poor little birds may know who has plucked out their feathers, and
with whom they should fight. The feathers around the neck stand up;
they look at each other fixedly; flashes of wrath escape from their
little, round eyes. The moment has come. The birds are placed on the
ground in the ring at a certain distance from each other.

The cocks advance slowly. Their little steps are heard upon the hard
floor. Nobody speaks; nobody breathes. Lowering and raising their
heads, as if measuring each other with a look, the two roosters mutter
sounds, perhaps of threat or contempt. They have perceived the shining
blades. Danger animates them, and they turn toward each other decided,
but they stop at a short distance, and, as they look at each other,
they bow their heads and again raise their feathers on end. With
their natural valor, they rush at each other impetuously; they strike
beak against beak; breast against breast, blade against blade, and
wing against wing. The blows have been stopped with dexterity and
skill, and only a few feathers have fallen. They again measure each
other! Suddenly the blanco turns and, raising himself in the air,
flashes his death-dealing knife, but the rojo has already doubled up
his legs, ducked his head and the blanco has only cut the air. Then,
on touching the ground, to avoid being wounded from behind, he turns
quickly and faces the other. The red attacks him wit