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Miss Jo intended this speech to be pathetic; the tenure of life among her lovers had hitherto been very uncertain. Culpepper turned toward her, but she had already vanished in the thicket.

The Colonel came up panting. “I’ve looked all over town for you, and be dashed to you, sir. Who was that with you?”

“A lady.” (Culpepper never lied, but he was discreet.)

“D–m ’em all! Look yar, Culp, I’ve spotted the man who gave the order to put me off the floor” (“flo” was what the Colonel said) “the other night!”

“Who was it?” asked Culpepper, listlessly.

“Jack Folinsbee.”

“Who?”

“Why, the son of that dashed nigger-worshipping psalm-singing Puritan Yankee. What’s the matter, now? Look yar, Culp, you ain’t goin’ back on your blood, ar’ ye? You ain’t goin’ back on your word? Ye ain’t going down at the feet of this trash, like a whipped hound?”

Culpepper was silent. He was very white. Presently he looked up and said quietly. “No.”

Culpepper Starbottle had challenged Jack Folinsbee, and the challenge was accepted. The cause alleged was the expelling of Culpepper’s uncle from the floor of the Assembly Ball by the order of Folinsbee. This much Madrono Hollow knew and could swear to; but there were other strange rumors afloat, of which the blacksmith was an able expounder. “You see, gentlemen,” he said to the crowd gathered around his anvil, “I ain’t got no theory of this affair, I only give a few facts as have come to my knowledge. Culpepper and Jack meets quite accidental like in Bob’s saloon. Jack goes up to Culpepper and says, ‘A word with you.’ Culpepper bows and steps aside in this way, Jack standing about HERE.” (The blacksmith demonstrates the position of the parties with two old horseshoes on the anvil.) “Jack pulls a bracelet from his pocket and says, ‘Do you know that bracelet?’ Culpepper says, ‘I do not,’ quite cool-like and easy. Jack says, ‘You gave it to my sister.’ Culpepper says, still cool as you please, ‘I did not.’ Jack says, ‘You lie, G-d d-mn you,’ and draws his derringer. Culpepper jumps forward about here” (reference is made to the diagram) “and Jack fires. Nobody hit. It’s a mighty cur’o’s thing, gentlemen,” continued the blacksmith, dropping suddenly into the abstract, and leaning meditatively on his anvil,–“it’s a mighty cur’o’s thing that nobody gets hit so often. You and me empties our revolvers sociably at each other over a little game, and the room full and nobody gets hit! That’s what gets me.”

“Never mind, Thompson,” chimed in Bill Masters, “there’s another and a better world where we shall know all that and–become better shots. Go on with your story.”

“Well, some grabs Culpepper and some grabs Jack, and so separates them. Then Jack tells ’em as how he had seen his sister wear a bracelet which he knew was one that had been given to Dolores by Colonel Starbottle. That Miss Jo wouldn’t say where she got it, but owned up to having seen Culpepper that day. Then the most cur’o’s thing of it yet, what does Culpepper do but rise up and takes all back that he said, and allows that he DID give her the bracelet. Now my opinion, gentlemen, is that he lied; it ain’t like that man to give a gal that he respects anything off of that piece, Dolores. But it’s all the same now, and there’s but one thing to be done.”

The way this one thing was done belongs to the record of Madrono Hollow. The morning was bright and clear; the air was slightly chill, but that was from the mist which arose along the banks of the river. As early as six o’clock the designated ground–a little opening in the madrono grove–was occupied by Culpepper Starbottle, Colonel Starbottle, his second, and the surgeon. The Colonel was exalted and excited, albeit in a rather imposing, dignified way, and pointed out to the surgeon the excellence of the ground, which at that hour was wholly shaded from the sun, whose steady stare is more or less discomposing to your duellist. The surgeon threw himself on the grass and smoked his cigar. Culpepper, quiet and thoughtful, leaned against a tree and gazed up the river. There was a strange suggestion of a picnic about the group, which was heightened when the Colonel drew a bottle from his coat-tails, and, taking a preliminary draught, offered it to the others. “Cocktails, sir,” he explained with dignified precision. “A gentleman, sir, should never go out without ’em. Keeps off the morning chill. I remember going out in ’53 with Hank Boompirater. Good ged, sir, the man had to put on his overcoat, and was shot in it. Fact.”