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“With pleasure. You intimate the future will be but a repetition of the past. It’ll be my endeavor to give that statement the lie.”

“You insist on quarrelling?”

“I insist on but one thing,”–swiftly. “That you never again come into my sight, or into the sight of my wife.”

One of Ichabod’s long hands extended in gesture.

“And I insist you shall never again use the name of Camilla Maurice as your wife.”

The old mocking smile sprang to Asa Arnold’s face.

“Unconsciously, you’re amusing,” he derided. “The old story of the mouse who forbids the cat…. You forget, man, she is my wife.”

Ichabod stood up, seemingly longer and gaunter than ever before.

“Good God, Arnold,” he flashed, “haven’t you the faintest element of pride, or of consistency in your make-up? Is it necessary for a woman to tell you more than once that she hates you? By your own statement your marriage, even at first, was merely of convenience; but even if this weren’t so, every principle of the belief you hold releases her. Before God, or man, you haven’t the slightest claim, and you know it.”

“And you–“

“I love her.”

Asa Arnold did not stir, but the pupils of his eyes grew wider, until the whole eye seemed black.

“You fool!” he accented slowly. “You brazen egoist! Did it never occur to you that others than yourself could love?”

Score for the little man. Ichabod had been pinked first.

“You dare tell me to my face you loved her?”

“I do.”

“You lie!” blazed Ichabod. “Every word and action of your life gives you the lie!”

Not five minutes had passed since he came in and already he had forgotten!

Asa Arnold likewise was upon his feet and they two faced each other,–a bed length between; in their minds the past and future a blank, the present with its primitive animal hate blazing in their eyes.

“You know what it means to tell me that.” Arnold’s voice was a full note higher than usual. “You’ll apologize?”

“Never. It’s true. You lied, and you know you lied.”

The surrounding world turned dark to the little man, and the dry-goods box with the tin dipper on its top, danced before his eyes. For the first time in his memory he felt himself losing self-control, and by main force of will he turned away to the window. For the instant all the savage of his nature was on the surface, and he could fairly feel his fingers gripping at the tall man’s throat.

A moment he stood in the narrow south window, full in the smiling irony of Nature’s sunshine; but only a moment. Then the mocking smile that had become an instinctive part of his nature spread over his face.

“I see but one way to settle this difficulty,” he intimated.

A taunt sprang to Ichabod’s tongue, but was as quickly repressed.

“There is but one, unless–” with meaning pause.

“I repeat, there is but one.”

Ichabod’s long face held like wood.

“Consider yourself, then, the challenged party.”

They were both very calm, now; the immediate exciting cause in the mind of neither. It seemed as if they had been expecting this time for years, had been preparing for it.

“Perhaps, as yesterday, in the saloon?” The points of the big moustaches twitched ironically. “I promise you there’ll be no procrastination as–at certain cases recorded.”

The mockery, malice inspired, was cleverly turned, and Ichabod’s big chin protruded ominously, as he came over and fairly towered above the small man.

“Most assuredly it’ll not be as yesterday. If we’re going to reverse civilization, we may as well roll it away back. We’ll settle it alone, and here.”

Asa Arnold smiled up into the blue eyes.

“You’d prefer to make the adjustment with your hands, too, perhaps? There’d be less risk, considering–” He stopped at the look on the face above his. No man vis-a-vis with Ichabod Maurice ever made accusation of cowardice. Instead, instinctive sarcasm leaped to his lips.

“Not being of the West, I don’t ordinarily carry an arsenal with me, in anticipation of such incidents as these. If you’re prepared, however,–” and he paused again.