“No one.”
“No one? Well, then, I suppose you’ll shake hands together, and say you’re both made fools of yourselves,” said McShane, brightening up.
“You’re quite wrong, McShane. I’m going to give your friend the fullest satisfaction—when, where, and as soon as he pleases,” and the look in the speaker’s eyes caused the Irishman’s hopes to fall to the ground. “When I said no one acted for me, I meant it. I’m going to act for myself, or better still, you can act for both.”
“Och! an’ it’s balderdash ye’re talkin’,” rejoined the other, angrily. “How the divil can I be second to both? Bedad, an’ who ever heard of such a thing! I’D have nothing to say to it, I tell ye.”
“Well, then, you see, McShane, it’ll amount to this—that we shall go out without any seconds at all; which will probably mean that the first of us who catches sight of the other will blaze away; for I don’t trust our friend any more than I do Sandili himself. I’m quite ready, however; but I don’t intend to run any other fellow’s head into this business. Who is there, for instance? Brathwaite—family man; Hicks, ditto; and so on. Poor Jack might have done, but he’s passed on his cheque. No; as you have agreed to act for the other fellow, well and good; I’m quite satisfied. But, I tell you, there’s no one I can rely upon.” And lighting his pipe he passed the match to his companion, with a hand as steady as a rock.
For a long time McShane was firm. He would have nothing to do with so preposterous an arrangement—it wasn’t fair to him—and so on. But, eventually, seeing that they were determined to fight, and would probably do more mischief if left to themselves, he reluctantly agreed to act. They were a couple of fools, he thought; and would wing each other, perhaps; but on any graver contingency the light-hearted Irishman never reckoned.
“That’s all right, McShane,” said Claverton. “I shall leave everything to you, as far as your man is concerned, and if there’s any advantage to be had it shall be yours.”
Then they arranged that the affair should come off that same night towards ten o’clock, in a lonely glen at a safe distance from the camp, and known to both of them. But, to avoid suspicion, they agreed to leave the camp at different times, and to ride in different directions.
“I tell you what it is, Claverton, this fellow’s a damned good shot,” said McShane, as he got up to leave.
“Is he? All the better—for him. But how d’you know?”