“Stop right there, Lieutenant. There is no doubt about it. I am a man of honour, and unless you are anxious to be ducked in the fountain, you will be more careful in your choice of words. Now, then: You are about to say that, being a man of honour——”
“You would accord my friend the satisfaction which one gentleman never fails to accord another.”
“That lets me out, amigo.” Webster laughed. “Benavides isn't a gentleman. He's a cutthroat, a murdering little black-and-tan hound. Do I understand he wants me to fight a duel with him?”
Lieutenant Arredondo could not trust himself to speak, and so he bowed profoundly.
“Very well, then, Lieutenant,” Webster agreed. “I'll fight him.”
“To-morrow morning at five o'clock.”
“Five minutes from now if you say so.”
“Captain Benavides will be grateful for your willing spirit, at least,” the second replied bitterly. “You realize, of course, Mr. Webster, that as the challenged party, the choice of weapons rests with you.”
“Certainly. I wouldn't have risked a duel if the choice lay with the other fellow. With your permission, my dear sir, we'll fight with Mauser rifles at a thousand yards, for the reason that I never knew a greaser that could hit the broad side of a brewery at any range over two hundred and fifty yards.” Webster chuckled fiendishly.
Lieutenant Arredondo bit his lips in anger and vexation. “I cannot agree to such an extraordinary duel,” he complained. “Have you no other choice?”