“Ready! aim! fire!—one, two, three!”
At the word “one” Brazon fired, his ball cutting the foliage a yard over DeVare’s head, while the echoes rolled in solemn groans through the woods around.
After the word “three” Ramie raised his pistol and fired into the air, the smoke curling gracefully up towards Heaven, as if from the altar of a peace offering.
We each ran to our principals.
“Ramie! Ramie!” I exclaimed, “this will never do; why on earth did you not fire at him? I am afraid now he will want another shot, as he sees your harmless intentions. A shot pretty close would have frightened him off.”
“Perhaps you are right,” he said quietly; “but then I might have killed him, and that is not my object.”
Ellerton now approached, and, bowing, said:
“My principal claims another shot, as Mr. DeVare promised him satisfaction.”
“He can get it,” said DeVare, before I could interpose.