"It's lucky I'm a pretty good shot," mused Martin, "otherwise I might accidentally kill him." And looking up suddenly at O'Brien, added: "Of course it would never do to kill him. That job must be left for another time and another manner!"
The morning set for the duel dawned fair and bright, and with the first streaks of red across the sky a jaunting car and a closed carriage arrived at a quiet spot not a mile from the Blessert Arms. In the jaunting car came Martin and O'Brien, while the carriage contained Hall, Captain Carroll and a surgeon.
The parties had separated the night before and taken up quarters at different inns to avoid suspicion.
Captain Carroll having won the toss for position, placed his man with his back to the sun.
As Martin took his place he handed a letter to O'Brien. "Only in case of death," he said. It was addressed to Kate Stafford.
Whether one was too quick or the other too slow no one could say, but it was quite certain that Martin's pistol was not discharged until he fell with a bullet in his side.
Hall remained in his position until Carroll heard the surgeon's report.
"He's dangerously hurt and you had better get away to Dublin for awhile," said Carroll, hurrying back, "I've arranged with O'Brien to keep you informed of his condition. Can I do anything else?"
"Yes, send down that man of mine with all my luggage as soon as possible!"
"All right! But I don't think it's as bad as that—but be off! You take the car, he must have the carriage."