thrust out a coated tongue and made a noise with it. In a memorized
singsong, he declared, "I challenge you to a duel, in accordance with
the laws of the Government, to be fought in the nearest duelpen at the
earliest possible hour."

"Stony, don't!" Catriona protested. "He's not wo'th it!"

Stonecypher smiled at her. "Have to follow the law," he said. He
extended his tongue, blurted, and announced, "As required by the
Government, I accept your challenge."

"We'll record it!" Dan snapped. He stalked toward the green and gold
butterflier parked in a field of seedling Sudan grass. Horns rattled on
the concrete rails of the paddock.

"Burstaard!" the bull bellowed.

Dan shied and trampled young grass under sandaled feet. His loosened
cuirass clattered rhythmically. Raising the canopy of the butterflier,
he slid out the radioak and started typing. Stonecypher and Catriona
approached the hobbyist. Catriona said, "This is cowa'dly! Stony nevah
fought a duel in his life. He won't have a chance!"

"You'll see me soon then, woman. Where'd you get all that equipment? You
look like something in a circus."

"Ah used to be in a cahnival," Catriona said. She kept Stonecypher in
place with a plump arm across his chest. "That's wheah you belong," she
told Dan. "That's all you'ah good fo'."

"Watch how you address a man, woman," Dan snarled, "or you'll end in the
duelpen, too."

Stonecypher snatched the sheet from the typer. The request read:

Duelmaster R. Smith, Watauga Duelpen, Highland Park, Tennessee.
L. Dan challenges M. Stonecypher. Cause: Interference with
basic amatory rights. July 1. 11:21 amest.

Stonecypher said, "The cause is a lie. You got no rights with Catriona.
Why didn't you tell 'em it's because I knocked you ears-over-endways,
and you're scared to fight without a gun?"

Dan shoved the request into the slot and pulled the switch. "I'll kill
you," he promised.

While the request was transmitted by radiophotography, minutes passed,
bare of further insults. Catriona and Stonecypher stood near the
concrete fence enclosing the rolling top of Bays Mountain. Interminable
labor had converted 650 acres of the top to arable land. Below the
couple, the steep side of the mountain, denuded of timber, dangerously
eroded, and scarred by limestone quarries, fell to the ragged shore of
Kings Lake. Two miles of water agitated by many boats separated the
shore and the peninsula, which resembled a wrinkled