No. Another signal had been agreed upon; and it was given.
A stentorian voice was heard calling out the simple monosyllable—
“Ring!”
Three or four dark figures could be seen standing by the shorn trunk on which swung the tavern bell. The command instantly set them in motion; and, along with the oscillation of their arms—dimly seen through the darkness—could be heard the sonorous tones of a bell. That bell, whose sounds had been hitherto heard only as symbols of joy—calling men together to partake of that which perpetuates life—was now listened to as a summons of death!
The “ringing in” was of short duration. The bell had made less than a score of vibrations, when the men engaged at the rope saw that their services were no longer required. The disappearance of the duellists, who had rushed inside the saloon, the quick, sharp cracking of pistols; the shivering of broken glass, admonished the ringers that theirs was but a superfluous noise; and, dropping the rope, they stood like the rest of the crowd, listening to the conflict inside.
No eyes—save those of the combatants themselves—were witnesses to that strange duel.
At the first dong of the bell both combatants had re-entered the room. Neither made an attempt to skulk outside. To have done so would have been a ruin to reputation. A hundred eyes were upon them; and the spectators understood the conditions of the duel—that neither was to fire before crossing the threshold.
Once inside, the conflict commenced, the first shots filling the room with smoke. Both kept their feet, though both were wounded—their blood spurting out over the sanded floor.
The second shots were also fired simultaneously, but at random, the smoke hindering the aim.
Then came a single shot, quickly followed by another, and succeeded by an interval of quiet.