On hearing it my antagonist showed signs of emotion. I fancied I saw him tremble, and turn slightly pale! With an unsteady voice he replied:
“Murder? No, no; I’ve gin ye warnin’ to go. Ye’ve time enuf yet to save yerself. Git out o’ the clarin’, an’ thur’ll be no harm done ye!”
“I shall not go out of the clearing, until you’ve acknowledged my claim.”
“Then you’ll niver go out o’ it alive—I swar by God! niver!”
“You are determined, then, to be my murderer?”
I again pronounced the word in the most emphatic tone. I saw that it affected him in some singular way; whether through a fear of consequences; or that there still lingered in his heart some spark of humanity; or, perhaps—but least possible of all he was beginning to be ashamed of his foul play. By which of of these three motives, or by what other inspired, I could not guess; but he seemed to cower under the imputation.
“Murderer!” echoed he, after a moment of apparent reflection. “No, no; it’s bad enuf to hev the blame o’ that, ’ithout bein’ guilty o’t. I ain’t agwine to murder ye; but I ain’t agwine neyther to let ye go. I mout a did so a minnit agone, but ye’ve lost yur chance. Ye’ve called me a coward; an’ by the Etarnal! no man ’ll say that word o’ Hick Holt, an’ live to boast o’t. No, mister! ye’ve got to die; an’ ye may get yurself ready for’t, ’s soon’s ye like. Coward indeed!”
“I repeat it—your act is cowardly.”
“What act?”
“Your unprovoked attack upon me—especially since it gives you the first shot. What if I were to shoot you down now? With the pistol you see in my holster here, I could send six bullets through your body, before you could bring your rifle to your shoulder. What would you call that? Sheer cowardice, would it not be; and murder too?”