"Oh, if you mean a duel, it suits me well enough," said St. Clair, who was an expert with the sword.
"Early to-morrow morning in the woods back of this point?"
"Suits me."
"Your seconds?"
Then Harry jumped to his feet in a mighty wrath and indignation.
"There won't be any duel! And there won't be any seconds!" he exclaimed.
"Why not?" asked Bertrand, his face livid.
"Because I won't allow it."
"How can you help it?"
"It's a piece of thunderation foolishness! Two good Southern soldiers trying to kill each other, when they've sworn to use all their efforts killing Yankees. It's a breach of faith and it's silliness on its own account. You've received the hospitality of my father's house, Captain Bertrand, and he's helped you and been kind to you elsewhere. You owe me enough at least to listen to me. Unless I get the promise of you two to drop this matter, I swear I'll go straight to General Jackson and tell all about it. He'll save you the trouble of shooting each other. He'll have you shot together. You needn't frown, either of you. It's not much fun breaking the rules of a Presbyterian elder who is also one of the greatest generals the world has ever seen."