The man in black pulled himself the rest of the way up as quickly as possible. Once he reached solid ground, he breathlessly muttered "Thank you," and immediately began to withdraw his sword.
Geraldo held up his hand. "No, that's okay. We'll wait until you're ready."
"Again--thank you," said the man in black as he collapsed on a rock, exhausted.
"Excuse me for being nosy," Geraldo said, kneeling in the dirt, "...but you don't happen to have five fingers on your right hand, do you?"
The man in black made a confused expression, but he held up all four of his perfectly normal fingers.
"My father was killed by a five-fingered man," Geraldo explained.
The man in black was quiet for a minute, noticing the sadness on the Spaniard's face. "How did it happen?" he finally asked.
"My father was an expert sword-maker," began Geraldo. "One day, a five-fingered man ordered this special sword. He worked a year before it was finished." Slowly he withdrew his sword and showed it to the man in black, who admitted that he had never seen its equal. Geraldo continued: "When the five-fingered man returned, he demanded the sword, but only offered a fraction of the price he'd promised. My father refused--so without a word, the five-fingered man....." here he fell silent, the painful memory coming back to him. "...I was only 11, and I was also pretty angry and hot-headed, so I challenged the five-fingered man to a duel. I lost, of course, but he spared my life...and he gave me this as a final insult..." He pointed to the top of his head.
"...A...a scar?" asked the man in black, who couldn't see anything unusual.
"Naw, man--a haircut! I'd been growing this nice, tall stack of hair for years...and he chopped it right off!! Grrr....my hair never was the same after that!"
The man in black tried not to smile. "So, let me guess.....after that, you dedicated the rest of your life to studying swordplay--in the hope that someday, you would get revenge on the five-fingered man?"
"Exactly," said Geraldo. "And when I find him, I'm gonna challenge him again. I'll go up to him and say--'Hello.....My name is Geraldo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die!'"
"Isn't that a great line, Arnold?" said Grandpa.
"Yeah--it's pretty good."
"Oh, but don't go around saying it....because people will start to wonder who th' heck this 'Montoya' guy is, and then you'll have to tell them the whole thing--and that could take forever."
"Uh, sure, Grandpa..."
"...Or they'll just call you a lunatic and send out the SPCA. Happened to me once while I was smuggling ferrets in Canada....but that's another story...."
"Then, we'll duel. And this time, I will not lose!" His eyes narrowed with pleasure at the thought.
"But...you haven't had any luck so far?" asked the man in black.
Geraldo shrugged. "Nope. That's just it, though; you'd think a guy with five fingers would sorta stand out! I'm beginning to wonder if this revenge thing has all been a waste of time."
The man in black got to his feet and stretched. "Well, I hope you find him someday. Anyway... I guess we ought to be getting on with that fight now."
Geraldo stood also. "If you're ready..."
"Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair about it."
They unsheathed their swords. The Spaniard smiled. "You seem like a bold dude. I hate to kill you."
The man in black smiled back. "You seem like a bold dude. I hate to die."
"All right--let's dance!"
The swords clashed with a loud cling and the duel was on.