Four Canadian Highwaymen | Page 8

had been fitted so as to cover the entire front of the hero's body down to the hips. 'You don't consider wraps of this sort necessary for a man with a cold, do you, doctor?' Harland asked, turning to the medical gentleman.
'No; I have not during my practice seen such remedies for colds,' the doctor replied, with a humorous twinkle in his eye. The high-bred Mr. Ham was a most pitiable object to look upon as his friend proceeded to divest him of a horse blanket.
'As a real guarantee against added chill, Mr. Ham should have provided himself with a buffalo robe, Mr. Drummond.' Harland observed --"skinny aide out and woolly side in," you know. We could not have objected so much to that.'
'What!' gasped out the brave Mr. Ham, while a gleam of hope shot through his eyes like a sunbeam, 'Mr. Drummond could ride away and get me one in fifteen minutes.'
'Mr. Drummond,' replied Harland, 'this would be absurd. The thing will be all over in three minutes.'
'But it would keep me warm going home.'
'For only three minutes longer, however,' Harland again replied, addressing the second. 'Besides,' he added, 'it might be'--and here stopped short with the manifest intention of torturing the cowardly wretch. It was noticed by Roland that Ham was constantly casting his eyes up the hollow, as if expecting somebody. At last a thought flashed upon him.
'Mr. Harland, I believe that craven has notified the officers of justice, and that he expects them to come and break up the affair. Let us therefore proceed. He may keep on the remainder of his wraps. No delay; measure off the ground.' The two seconds then measured off fifteen paces, and stopped.
'Not such a short distance as that!' shrieked Mr. Ham.
'Why, I thought your friend never fired except with a shot-gun at crows?' Harland observed. 'But it appears that he is a crack shot. And so generous, too; since the greater distance is intended no doubt for the safety of Mr. Gray.' This was said in a tone just loud enough to be heard by all the rest.
'Ask Mr. Ham what distance he would propose--I have no objection to the inquiry.'
'What distance would you propose, Mr. Ham!' inquired the second.
'My pistol will carry at least a hundred yards; I drove a ball through an inch board with her yesterday. Why not make it, say eighty paces?'
'Because, Mr. Drummond,' Harland replied, 'over fifteen paces is "poltroon distance," and, besides, our pistols do not carry effectively more than twenty paces. We will not, however, under any circumstances, fight on "poltroon distance."'
'I agree,' replied Mr. Drummond.
'Now then, gentlemen, take your places.'
The doctor whispered to Roland: 'Is it fair, quite, to fight him when he says that you are a crack shot, and that he has never fired?'
'He lies, doctor; it is the other way. I learn that from childhood he has been firing at all sorts of things with pistols; and _I have never fired a pistol shot in my life._'
'Your places, gentlemen,' cried Drummond. Roland was already at his post; but his opponent was not yet upon his ground.
'Why this unseemly haste?' he gasped. 'I am so unsteadied by my illness, that I am really not in a position yet to take my ground.' Harland spoke a word or two to Drummond, and then said in a voice distinct and audible to all:
'If after I call three Mr. Ham is not upon his ground the affair shall be declared off. My other alternative will then be in order. One, two----'
'Hold, hold, I'm coming,' groaned the coward, as he took his place.
'Now, gentlemen, your backs to each other,' said Harland. 'I shall count one, two, three, and at the end of the last count each man shall wheel and fire.'
'If I fall I shall have you proceeded against, Drummond-you are in a conspiracy to murder a sick man.'
'I did not know that Mr. Ham was an Irishman,' chimed in Harland.
'One!'
'Oh!' groaned the respectable Mr. Ham.
'Two--three!' Simultaneously with the word 'three' there was a pistol shot. The gentlemanly Mr. Ham had fired before his opponent turned. Before he could see the result of his shot, Gray who had turned promptly at the word, fired; and with a frightful yell Mr. Ham fell to the earth, and lay there. The doctor ran up, and putting the fingers of his left hand upon the fellow's wrist, with the other made search for the wound.
'Here it is; you have shot him in the left side.'
'Do you think it is fatal?' Roland asked composedly.
'I cannot say; but I really have little hope otherwise.' It was hard to weigh the value of this statement. It was decidedly an equivocal one.
'I would most certainly advise you to get out of the way, Mr. Gray. He seems to have