"None whatever. I'm hyar ter see fair play. I'll allow thar's some deeficulty atwixt these yere gents, an' ther Hermit feels like settlin' right now an' yere."
"It is an outrage! You have no right to come here and make trouble. Fairfax, if that ruffian touches you——"
Foster Fairfax motioned the speaker to be silent.
"This man is not a ruffian," he declared, speaking as calmly as possible. "There is a misunderstanding between us. I have wronged him, and he has a right to seek satisfaction."
The man's companions were astonished by his words. They looked at him in a dazed way.
Even the Hermit seemed a trifle surprised, but he said:
"It is true, and I demand satisfaction. Draw and defend yourself, Fairfax!"
"No; you have not wronged me. Here, March—here is my heart! Shoot! You cannot miss it at this distance."
Preston March, the Hermit of Yellowstone Park, half lifted the weapon which he had drawn. Then he fell back a step, hoarsely saying:
"Would you put a curse upon me by making me a murderer? You have a weapon. Draw it, and we will play fair and even. It shall be a duel to the death at twenty paces. One of us shall die! The other can go back to——"