All the men who had witnessed the quarrel on the previous evening were present. One of them consented to act as a second for Ketchum, who seemed to have no friends of his own.
As the insulted party, Ketchum had not only the choice of weapons, but also the decision as to the manner in which the duel should be fought out. He chose the French “barrier” method, in spite of the protest of his second that it was altogether too bloodthirsty.
A rope was stretched between two small posts driven into the earth. Each combatant was to stand at a dozen paces from the rope barrier on either side and to advance toward it to meet the other. One shot only was allowed, and it rested with the duelists to fire when they chose as soon as the signal was given by one of the seconds dropping his handkerchief.
Thus the duel, while perfectly fair, was almost certain to end in the death of at least one of the combatants.
The man who fired first, before he got to the barrier, would be absolutely at the mercy of his opponent if he missed, for he would be obliged to walk up to the rope and be shot at a few inches’ distance—unless, of course, he chose to confess himself a coward by refusing the ordeal.
It was a thrilling moment when Ketchum’s second dropped the handkerchief.
The toughest old fire eater present felt his heart beat quicker when the two men began to move slowly toward each other, step by step, gradually raising their weapons as they advanced, and eying each other like panthers.
Crack!
There was a flash—a puff of smoke—the whistle of a bullet—a quick, short, indrawn breath from all the onlookers, breaking the tense silence like a hiss.