Saying this, I dismounted and threw my horse’s bridle to my friend Reyes to hold.  Then the cacique, or Pueblo chief, the father of Jtz-Li-Cama, appeared and demanded our weapons.  “I shall not interfere in this fight, senores,” said he, “if you surrender your weapons to me, the lawful alguacil (officer) of this district.”  He then took the macho’s knife, and I gave him my revolver and stripped for the fray.

I advanced and scratched a circle of about twelve feet diameter in the deep sand with my foot, then I stepped to the center of this ring and awaited my antagonist.  I cautioned my friend Reyes to see to it that no one else overstepped the line.  To the lonely sand dunes of the Rio Grande unwittingly I thus introduced the manly sport of the prize ring.  But the battle was not fought for lucre or fame, nor according to the London Prize Ring Rules; it was fought in defense of a friend’s honor, and the stake was life or death.  The Indian made a rush for me, but I avoided him and warded off his blows.  I did not touch him till I saw my chance, and then I tapped him under the chin which sent him sprawling.  He arose promptly and came for me in a rage, when I felled him with a blow on the head.  Again he came, and this time he gave me a stunning blow in the face, which maddened me so, that I took the offensive and laid him low with a terrific hit.  I was now thoroughly infuriated and threw all caution to the winds.  When he arose once more, I attacked him.  He took to his heels and I followed him up.  I noticed then that the whole crowd of Indians were running after us, but I had now become reckless and did not mind.  Then I stumbled over a root and fell face down in the sand.  Before I could arise fully the macho had turned and thrown himself upon me.  I managed to turn over on my back and gripped him by throat and face, so that he was really in my power, and I felt that he was subdued so that I could easily force him under, and, small wonder, for with the terrible grip of my hand had I once crushed a man’s fingers in a wrestling match.  Now I used the macho’s body as a shield against the furious onslaught of his people, who attacked me with rocks, clubs, and anything they could lay hands to.  I thought, and I never ceased thinking and planning for one moment, that the affair looked very serious for me, when I saw the cacique approach with my pistol in hand, exclaiming, “Now, gringo, thou shalt die, on the altar of the god, at the sacred shrine of Aztlan, I shall lay thy quivering heart!” In vain I looked for help from my companion, who had sought safety in flight.  Something had to be done and that quickly.  Surely I had one trusty friend, true as steel, who would not forsake me in the extremity of my peril.  I bethought me of my little “American bulldog” which I had picked up in the cars in Kansas, and which had ever since followed me faithfully.  “Sic-semper-Cerberus-Sic!” My right hand stole to my hip, a short sharp bark, and the treacherous cacique fell over with a crimson stain on his forehead.  At the same moment a weird, uncanny yelp pierced the night, and a tremendous shaggy phantom cloud obscured the slender sickle of the moon.  Terrified, the Indians screamed “El Perro!  El Perro de la Malinche!” and shrilly the voices of frightened squaws took up the refrain, “Perro!  Perro!  Gringo Perro!”