searched,
but ain't able t' find him. He must hev gone down the slide. I am
sorry to say we hev no more Yankees. If this man fights any more
it will hev t' be a Britisher thet goes ag'in' 'im. Is there a
volunteer?'

"Ray he runs up 'n' says suthin' right 'n his ear. Could n't hear
whut 'twus. Did n' set well. T' other feller he flew mad, 'n'
Ray he fetched 'im a cuff, luk thet, with the back uv his hand. Ye
see, he did n' know he hed been a-fightin' Yankees, 'n' he did n'
like the idee. 'Gentlemen,' says he, 'I 'll fight anybody, but ef
this chap ain't a coward, he 'll fight me himself.' T'other feller
he off with his coat 'n' vest es quick es a flash 'n' picked up a
sword. 'Fight, then, ye cub!' says he; an' they flew at each other
hell bent fer 'lection. He wa'n' no fool with a sword, nuther, I
can tell ye, thet air spindlin' cuss. I see Ray hed his han's
full. But he wus jest es cool es a green cowcumber, eggzac'ly.
Kep' a-cuffin' t' other sword, 'n' let 'im hit 'n' lunge 'n' feint
es much es he pleased. See he wus jest a-gettin' his measure, 'n'
I knew suthin' wus goin' t' happen purty quick. Fust I knew he
ketched Ray by the shirtsleeve with the p'int uv 'is sword 'n'
ripped it t' the collar. Scairt me so I bit my tongue watchin' uv
'em. They got locked, 'n' both swords came up t' the hilts
t'gether with a swish 'n' a bang luk thet. The blades clung, 'n'
they backed off. Then Ray he begun t' feint 'n' lunge 'n' hustle
'im. Quicker 'n scat he gin 'im an awful prick 'n the shoulder. I
c'u'd see the blood come, but they kep' a-goin' back 'n' forth 'n'
up 'n' down desperit. The red streak on thet air feller's shirt
kep' a-growin'. Purty quick one side uv 'im wus red an' t' other
white. See he wus gettin' weaker 'n' weaker. Ray c'u'd 'a'
split 'im t' the navel ef he'd only hed a min' tew. All t' once he
med a jab at Ray, 'n' threw up 'is han's, 'n' went back a step er
tew, luk a boss with th' blin' staggers, 'n' tumbled head over
heels in thet air open grave. There wus hell t' pay fer a minute.
Lot on 'em clim' over the row o' lights, yellin' luk wildcats, 'n'
hauled thet air mis'able cuss out o' the grave, 'n' stud 'im up,
'n' gin 'im a drink o' liquor. In half a minute he up with his
han'kerchief 'n' waved it over 'is head t' mek 'em keep still.
Soon 's they wus quiet he up 'n' he says: 'Gentlemen,' says he,
'this 'ere chap hes stood the test o' the sword. Are ye
satisfied?' 'We