lertness.

"So have I," said Harboro.

The other's narrow eyes seemed to twinkle. His response sounded like: "The
L you say!"

"Yes," said Harboro. He added: "My wife was the woman you trapped in
Little's house last night."

Fectnor's mind went swiftly to the weapon in his holster; and something
more than his mind, surely, since Harboro knew. Yet the man's hand had
barely moved. However, he casually threw the coat he carried over his left
arm, leaving his right hand free. If he had thought of reaching for his
weapon he had probably realized that he must first get out of reach of
Harboro's arm. "You might put that a little different," he said lightly.
"You might say--the woman I met in Little's house."

Harboro took in the insinuated insult. He remained unmoved. He could see
that Fectnor was not a coward, no matter what else he was; and he realized
that this man would seek to enrage him further, so that his eyes would be
blinded, so that his hands would tremble.

"I'm going to kill you, Fectnor," Harboro continued. "But I'm going to
give you a chance for your life. I want you to turn and walk down the
street twelve paces. Then turn and draw. I'll not draw until you turn
unless you try to play a trick on me. Your best chance lies in your doing
just as I tell you to."

Fectnor regarded him shrewdly with his peering, merry eyes. He rather
liked Harboro, so far as first impressions went. Yet his lips were set in
a straight line. "All right," he drawled amiably. His voice was pitched
high--almost to a falsetto.

"Remember, you'd better not draw until you've turned around," advised
Harboro. "You'll be more likely to get your bearings right that way. You
see, I want to give you an even break. If I'd wanted to murder you I could
have slipped up from behind. You see that, of course."

"Clear as a whistle," said Fectnor. He gave Harboro a final searching look
and then turned about unflinchingly. He proceeded a few steps, his hands
held before him as if he were practising a crude cake-walk. The serge
garment depended from one arm. He was thinking with lightning-like
rapidity. Harboro had courage enough--that he could tell--but he didn't
behave like a man who knew very many tricks with a gun. Nevertheless he,
Fectnor, would be under a disadvantage in this test of skill which was
being forced upon him. When he turned he would need just a second to get a
perfect balance, to be quite sure of his footing, to get his bearings.