“He’s been man enough to insult you; and, if I mistake not, you’ll find him man enough to meet you.”
“I don’t see that he did insult me.”
“Indeed; you don’t? Sticking your horse, as if it were a pig, and sending him off in a stampede that well nigh dismounted you; all before the face of your lady-love—right under her eyes! You don’t deem that an insult, eh?”
“But you must remember I gave him provocation. At your bidding, I all but rode over him. Looking at it in that light, he’s in a sense excusable for what he did. Besides, he only meant it as a joke. Didn’t you see, when it was all over, how he laughed at it?”
“Not at it, but at you. So did your sweetheart, amigo. As we reined up under the walls, I could see her long lashes drooping down, the eyes looking disdain at you, with her pretty lips pouting in very scorn. You’re evidently out of her good graces, and you’ll have to do something ere you can reinstate yourself.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I am sure of it. Never surer of anything in my life.”
“But what would you have me to do?”
“You ought to know without asking me. Call out the cub, and kill him—if you can. What I design doing with my gentleman.”
“Ah! you’re a dead shot; and that makes all the difference. These Anglo-Saxons always use pistols; and if I challenge him, he’ll have the choice of weapons.”