"That is well, scoundrel! You seem to me as fit to pull a trigger as to say a prayer. Load your rifle, for the moment has arrived for you to fight like a man, unless you wish to be killed like a dog."
The monk took a frightened glance around.
"Excellency," he stammered, with great hesitation, "is it necessary that I should fight?"
"Yes, if you wish to keep a whole skin; if you do not, why, you can remain quiet."
"But perhaps there is another mode?"
"What is it?"
"Flight, for instance," he said, insinuatingly.
"Try it," the other replied, with a grin.
The monk, encouraged by this semi-concession, continued, with slightly increased boldness—
"You have a very fine horse."