His friend, Gaines, cut him short by announcing that they had no time to speculate as to the cause of the contemplated duel, as they had barely time to reach the place described—a sort of cove shut in by high, shelving rocks, fully a mile from the hotel.
“John has given us no time to see him first, and attempt to mediate between him and his antagonist,” said Gaines, seizing his hat, which he had but just removed.
“Can nothing be done to prevent the affair from being carried out?” queried Ballou, turning his white, worried, anxious face toward his friend.
“It seems not,” returned Gaines, in a voice equally as troubled.
The two friends spoke no other word until they came within sight of the place. Then Ballou whispered:
“Both principals are on the ground, also his opponent’s seconds; they are evidently awaiting us.”
This proved to be the case. The antagonists were already facing each other, weapons in hand.
Although John Dinsmore had determined that it should not be his lips which should speak proclaiming his rival’s suspected guilt of a former crime, he supposed, when his friends came to his aid, their sharp eyes would soon discern the ring. His thoughts carried him no farther than that.
In the excitement attending the meeting of his opponent upon the beach, he failed to notice that Raymond Challoner had removed the ring.
Both friends knew, as they rapidly approached, that it was too late to interfere; the two combatants stood facing each other, fifteen paces apart, weapons in hand.