The Wild Huntress: Love in the Wilderness. Reid Mayne

be the signal. That’s fair enuf, I reck’n?”

      “Perfectly fair,” I replied, still speaking mechanically – for the very justness of the proposal rendered my astonishment continuous.

      I was something more than astonished at the altered demeanour of the man. He was fast disarming me. His unexpected behaviour had subdued my ire; and, all consideration of consequences apart, I now felt a complete disinclination for the combat! Was it too late to stay our idle strife? Such was my reflection the moment after; and, with an effort conquering my pride, I gave words to the thought.

      “Yur too late, mister! ’twon’t do now,” was the reply to my pacific speech.

      “And why not?” I continued to urge; though to my chagrin, I began to perceive that it was an idle effort.

      “Yuv riz my dander; an’, by God! yuv got to fight for it!”

      “But surely – ”

      “Stop yur palaver! By the tarnal airthquake, I’ll ’gin to think you air a coward! I thort ye’d show, the white feather afore ’twur all over!”

      “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!