“Enough!” cried I, stung by the taunt; “I am ready for you one way or the other. Go on.”
The squatter once more entered his cabin, and soon came out again, bringing forth the piece of venison. “Now!” cried he, “to yur stand! an’ remember! neyther fires till a bird lights on the grown! Arter that, ye may go it like blazes!”
“Stay!” said I; “there is something yet to be done. You are acting honourably in this affair—which I acknowledge is more than I was led to expect. You deserve one chance for your life; and if I should fall it will be in danger. You would be regarded as a murderer: that must not be.”
“What is’t you mean?” hurriedly interrogated my antagonist, evidently not comprehending my words. Without answering to the interrogatory, I drew out my pocket-book; and, turning to a blank leaf of the memorandum, wrote upon it: “I have fallen in fair fight.” I appended the date; signed my name; and, tearing out the leaf, handed it to my adversary. He looked at it for a moment, as if puzzled to make out what was meant. He soon saw the intention, however, as I could tell by his grim smile.
“You’re right thur!” said he, in a drawling tone, and after a pause. “I hedn’t thunk o’ that. I guess this dockyment ’ll be nothin’ the wuss o’ my name too? What’s sauce for the goose, air likewise sauce for the gander. Yur pencil, ef ye please? I ain’t much o’ a scholart; but I reck’n I kin write my name. Hyur goes!” Spreading out the paper on the top of a stump, he slowly scribbled his name below mine; and then, holding the leaf before my eyes, pointed to the signature—but without saying a word. This done, he replaced the document on the stump; and drawing his knife, stuck the blade through the paper, and left the weapon quivering in the wood! All these manoeuvres were gone through with as cool composure, as if they were only the prelude to some ordinary purpose!
“I reck’n, strenger,” said he, in the same imperturbable tone, “that’ll keep the wind from blowin’ it away, till we’ve settled who it’s to belong to. Now, to yur place! I’m agwine to throw the deer-meat!”
I had already dismounted, and stood near him rifle in hand. Unresistingly, I obeyed the request; and walked off to the stump that had been designated, without saying another word, or even looking around. I had no apprehension of being shot in the back: for the late behaviour of the man had completely disarmed me of all suspicion of treachery. I had not the slightest fear of his proving a traitor; and no more did I hold him to be a coward. That impression was gone long ago.
I confess, that never with more reluctance did I enter upon the field of fight; and at that moment, had my antagonist required it, I should not only have retracted the allegation of of cowardice, but, perhaps, have surrendered up my claim to the clearing—though I knew that this could be done, only at the expense of my name and honour. Were I to have done so, I could never have shown my face again—neither in the settlement of Swampville, nor elsewhere. Even among my polished friends of more fashionable circles, I should have been taunted—branded as a coward and poltroon! The rude character of my adversary would have been no excuse especially after the manner in which he was acting. “Backed out” would have been the universal verdict! Moreover,
notwithstanding the apparently calm demeanour the squatter had now assumed—courteous I might almost call it—I knew he was implacable in his determination. There was no alternative—I must fight!