It would be absolutely safe for us, and
for him too, as he didn't for a moment believe that we could touch him
with our weapons, no matter how hard we tried.
And at last we were
persuaded, and taking off our jackets and wrapping them, gaucho-
fashion, on our left arms as a protection, we attacked him with the
big knives, and getting excited we slashed and lunged at him with all
our power, while he danced and jumped and flew about a la Jack the
Killer, using his knife only to guard himself and to try and knock
ours out of our hands; but in one such attempt at disarming me his
weapon went too far and wounded my right arm about three inches below
the shoulder. The blood rushed out and dyed my sleeve red, and the
fight came to an end. He was greatly distressed, and' running off to
the house, quickly returned with a jug of water, sponge, towel, and
linen to bind the wounded arm. It was a deep long cut, and the scar
has remained to this day, so that I can never wash in the morning
without seeing it and remembering that old fight with knives.
Eventually he succeeded in stopping the flow of blood, and binding my
arm tightly round; and then he made the desponding remark, "Of course
they will have to know all about it now."
"Oh no," I returned, "why should they?
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