"I will leave this town when I feel like it, Gwynne," said Lapelle, drawing himself up. "I don't take orders from you. You will hear from me later. You've got the upper hand now,—with that nigger of yours standing over there holding an axe in his hands, ready to kill me if I make a move. We'll settle this in the regular way, Gwynne,—with pistols. You may expect a friend of mine to call on you shortly."
"As you like," retorted the other, bowing stiffly. "You may name the time and place."
Lapelle bowed and then cast an eye about in quest of his hat. It was lying in the road some distance away. He strode over and picked it up. Quite naturally, perhaps unconsciously, he resorted to the habit of years: he cocked it slightly at just the right angle over his eye. Then, without a glance behind, he crossed the road and plunged into the thicket.
Kenneth watched him till he disappeared from view. Suddenly aware of a pain in his hand, he held it out before him and was astonished to find that the knuckles were already beginning to puff. He winced when he tried to clench his fist. A rueful smile twitched at the corners of his mouth.
"Mighty slim chance I'll have," he said to himself. "Won't be able to pull a trigger to save my life."
He hurried up the path and, without knocking, opened the door and entered the house. Hattie was coming down the stairs, her eyes as round as saucers.
"Where is Miss Viola?"
"She done gone up stairs, suh. Lan' sakes, Mistah Gwynne, what fo' yo' do dat to Mistah Barry? He her beau. Didn't yo'all know dat? Ah close mah eyes when she tooken dat gun out dar. Sez Ah, she gwine to shoot Mistah Gwynne—"
"Tell her I'm here, Hattie. I must see her at once. It's all right. She isn't angry with me."
The girl hesitated. "She look mighty white an' sick, suh. She never say a word. Jes' go right up stairs, she did. Ah follers, 'ca'se Ah was skeert about de way she look. She shutten de do' an' drop de bolt,—yas, suh, dat's what she do. Lordy, Ah wonder why her ma don't come home an' look after—"