“I think,” she remarked in quiet tone, “that in a show-down you will best him. I’m sure of it; yes, I know it. You will play the man. You act cool. Good! Watch him very close. He’ll give you little grace, this time. But remember this: I’ll never, never, never marry him. Rather than be bound to him I’ll deal with him myself.”
“It won’t be necessary, madam,” said I—a catch in my throat; for while I was all iciness and clamminess, my hands cold and my tongue dry, I felt that I was going to kill him at last. Something told me; the sheer horror of it struck through; the inevitable loomed grisly and near indeed.
A panoramic lifetime crowds the brain of a drowning man; that same crowded my brain during the few moments which swung in to us Daniel, scowling, 247 masterful, his raw bulk and his long shambling stride never before so insolent.
From New York and home and peace I traveled clear here to desert, outlawry and blood—and thence on through a second life as a marked man; but while I knew very well where I should shoot him (right through the heart), I turned over and over the one doubtful pass: where would he shoot me? Shoot me he would—chest, shoulder, arm, head; I could not escape, did not hope to escape. Yet no matter where his ball ploughed (and I poignantly felt it enter and sear me) my final bullet would end the match. Also, I argued my rights in the business; argued them before my father and mother, before the camp, before the world.
These thoughts which precede a certain duel to the death are not inspiring thoughts; since then I have learned that other men, even practiced gun-men, have had the same trepidation to the instant of pulling weapon.
Daniel charged in for us. I did not touch revolver butt; he did not. My Lady lifted chin, to receive him. My eyes, fastened upon him, noted her, and noted, beyond us, the spying visages of the camp folk, all turned our way, transfixed and agog.
He barked first at her.
“Go whar yu belong, yu Jezebel! Then I’ll tend to this——” The rabid epithet leveled at me I shall not repeat. 248
She straightened whitely.
“Be careful what you say, Daniel. No man on this earth can speak to me like that.”