Part 94 (1/2)

”He says so.”

”Oh! I see. H'm! Brag's a good dog. He shall have every advantage, as I said before. Well--till this evening.”

McShane went out, sorely puzzled, and heartily wis.h.i.+ng he was out of it.

In a moment of impulsive good-nature he had consented to act for Truscott when mad with rage. That worthy had given his own version of what had occurred, and besought his good offices; and then, being a thorough Irishman, there was a subtle spell hanging about a row in any shape that was altogether too potent for him, and Truscott happened to be an old schoolfellow of his, though he, McShane, had never liked him much, nor did he now. And if he had cherished any hopes of talking Claverton over, they were scattered now. There was a deadly purpose in the latter's speech and manner, all the more so because so quiet. No; things must take their chance.

Left to himself, Claverton sat for a few minutes in silent rumination.

Then he got up, and, opening a chest, took out a polished wooden case and unlocked it, disclosing a revolver. It was a beautifully-finished weapon, small, but carrying a bullet of the regulation calibre, and on a silver plate let into the ebony handle were graven the initials ”H.S.”

”Poor Spalding!” he murmured. ”You were going to cut the knot of your difficulties with this little article once, and so am I, but in a different way.”

He scrutinised the weapon narrowly, clicking the lock two or three times, and taking imaginary aim.

The poise was perfect.

How calm and peaceful rides the silver-wheeled chariot of night! How tranquil, in their mysterious distance, s.h.i.+ne the golden stars, darting a twinkling glance down into this still, out-of-the-world hollow, where not even the chirp of an insect or the rustle of a disturbed leaf breaks the absolute hush of the night! On the one hand a wall of jagged rock rises to a serrated ridge, standing out sharp and clear; on the other, the sprays of the cl.u.s.tering foliage are photographed in s.h.i.+ning distinctness. Above, in a towering background, a great mountain peak rears itself, dim and misty, enflooded in the slumbrous moonlight. A scene of eternal beauty--a holy calm as of another world!

But, lo! Standing within the shade of the thick foliage is the figure of a man--erect, motionless, as though petrified. For nearly an hour has he maintained his immovable att.i.tude; and now a suspicion of a start runs through his frame. He is listening intently, for the ring of a bit and the tramp of hoofs becomes audible. It is one of those nights when the most distant of sounds would seem to be even at one's elbow; and now this sound draws nearer and nearer, and, in addition, a word or two in smothered tones. The listener's face wears a ruthless look as two hors.e.m.e.n enter the glade and, reining in, peer cautiously around.

”Perhaps our valiant friend is going to cry off,” sneered one of them.

”Cry off? The divil a bit!” was the reply. ”Claverton's all there, I can tell ye. He'll turn up in a minute.”

”Thank you, McShane,” struck in a voice, in the same low, cautious tone, as the watcher glided from his concealment.

”Och! there ye are! Now, we'd better get to business at once. First of all, we'd better lave the horses here close at hand in case we should want them.”

This was done, the three steeds being fastened securely to a small mimosa tree.

”I say, you fellows,” said the kindly Irish doctor, ”is it determined to go through with it you are? Bedad, and hadn't you better shake hands, and go straight home and have a brew o' punch together? Faith, an' it's better than riddlin' each other with lead.”

”My dear McShane, what on earth will you propose next?” said Claverton, while Truscott's face, glowering with rage in the moonlight, was answer enough on his part.

”Ah, well I see it's blood-lettin' ye mane. Now ye'll just both o' ye sign this bit o' paper. It's meself that would rather be out of it. A duel with only one second! Why, it's like an election with only one candidate--he gets kicked by both sides and thanked by neither, bedad.”

The ”bit of paper” in question set forth that Dennis McShane acted in the matter at the joint request of both parties, and it was a precaution which he had deemed advisable to take in case the transaction should terminate disastrously, or at any future time be brought to light--or both. Without a word each affixed his signature, and then Dennis proceeded to pace out the ground. The duel was to be fought with six-shooters, the first three shots at twenty-five, and the rest at twenty paces.

”Now ye'd better look at each other's pistols, as there's no one to do it for ye,” he said.

What was it that made Truscott start and turn a shade whiter, and nearly let his adversary's weapon fall as he took it into his hand to examine it? We have said that it was a beautifully-finished weapon, with a silver plate let into the handle, and on this, standing out distinctly in the moonlight, were the initials ”H.S.” And Claverton, narrowly watching his enemy's countenance, noted this effect and wondered not a little. These formalities over, the doctor proceeded to reload the weapons, which were both of the same calibre. Then he placed the combatants, twenty-five paces apart, taking scrupulous care that each should enjoy an equal proportion of advantage from the moonlight.

Truscott, to do him justice, was no coward. He had come there fully determined to slay his adversary if he could; and as for his own share of the risk, why, that must be left to the fortune of war. But, when his eye fell upon those initials, something very like a s.h.i.+ver ran through him. There was something portentous in the sight of this relic of the past rising up as it were in judgment upon him, here in this lonely nook, away at the other side of the world. There was no mistaking the weapon, he knew it only too well, for he had handled it often. It was the identical one. He would have gone so far as to object to it; but what valid reason could he give, seeing that in size and calibre it was an exact facsimile of his own? No; things must take their chance. But he felt greatly unhinged, for all that.

Claverton, on the other hand, was untroubled by any misgiving whatever.

Stay. What is that black object crouching high up on the cliff? It is alive, for it might have been seen to move had the trio beneath been less intent upon their errand of blood. Only a stray baboon wandering among the ledges of the rocks.

”Now,” said McShane, withdrawing to a safe distance. ”Be careful not to fire till I count three. Every shot must be signalled. Now, are you ready?”