s state of mind. He possessed Rita, and love made him
magnanimous. He did not want to fight, though fear was no part of his
reluctance. The manner of his antagonist soon left no doubt in Dic's
mind that the battle was sure to come off. Something in
Williams--perhaps it was his failure to meet his enemy's eyes--alarmed
Dic's suspicions, and for a moment he feared treachery at the hands of
his morose foe; but he dismissed the thought as unworthy, and opening
the gate started up the river path, taking the lead. He was ashamed to
show his distrust of Williams, though he could not entirely throw it
off, and the temptation to turn his head now and then to watch his
following enemy was irresistible. They had been walking but a few
minutes when Dic, prompted by distrust, suddenly turned his head and
looked into the barrel of a gun held firmly to the shoulder of our
gentleman from Boston. With the nimbleness of a cat, Dic sprang to one
side, and a bullet whistled past his face. One second later in turning
his head and the hunting accident would have occurred.

After the shot Williams in great agitation said:--

"I saw a squirrel and have missed it."

"You may walk ahead," answered Dic, with not a nerve ruffled. "You might
see another squirrel."

Williams began to reload his gun, but Dic interrupted the proceeding.

"Don't load now. We will soon reach the clearing."

Williams continued reloading, and was driving the patch down upon the
powder. Dic cocked his rifle, and raising it halfway to his shoulder,
said:--

"Don't put the bullet in unless you wish me to see a squirrel. I'll not
miss. Throw me your bullet pouch."

Williams, whose face looked like a mask of death, threw the bullet pouch
to Dic, and, in obedience to a gesture, walked forward on the path.
After taking a few steps he looked backward to observe the man he had
tried to murder.

"You need not watch me," Dic said; "I'm not hunting squirrels."

Soon they reached the open field. Dic had cleared every foot of the
ground, and loved it because he had won it single-handed in a battle
royal with nature; but nature was a royal foe that, when conquered, gave
royal spoils of victory. The rich bottom soil had year by year repaid
Dic many-fold for his labor. He loved the land, and if fate should prove
unkind to him, he would choose that spot of all others upon which to
fall.

"Is this the place?" asked Williams.

"Yes," answered Dic, tossing the bullet pouch. "No