'Well, he would have killed you!' he cried, tightening his hold on Dawsey's throat.
'Let him up, Frank. Let the devil have fair play,' said Joe; 'I'll give him a chance at ten paces.'
'Yes, let him up, my son; he is unarmed.'
Frank slowly and reluctantly released his hold, and the woman-whipper rose. Looking at us for a moment—a mingled look of rage and defiance—he turned, without speaking, and took some rapid strides up the bank.
'Hold on, Colonel Dawsey!' cried Joe, elevating his Derringer; 'take another step, and I'll let daylight through you. You've just got to promise you won't whip this woman, or take your chance at ten paces.'
[I afterward learned that Joe was deadly sure with the pistol.]
Dawsey turned slowly round, and, in a sullen tone, asked:
'Who are you, gentlemen, that interfere with my private affairs?'
'My name, sir, is Kirke, of New York; and this young man is my son.'
'Not Mr. Kirke, my factor?'