parently calming
his rage, and speaking with a significant sneer--intended to awe me, by
insinuating the certainty of his aim. "How ef I don't miss, Mister
Popgun?"

"You may, for all that. Don't be too sure of hitting--I've been shot at
before now."

"You'll niver be shot at _arter_ now, 'ceptin' ye leave this clarin'.
One crack from my gun'll be enuf for ye, I reck'n."

"I'll take my chance. If it should go against me, _you_ won't gain by
it. Remember, my good man, it's not a duel we're fighting! You have
chosen to attack me; and if I should fall in the affair, I've faith
enough in the law to believe it will avenge me."

I fancied that my speech produced some effect upon the fellow; and,
seeing that he remained silent, I followed up it by words of similar
import: "If it be my fate to fall, I leave behind me friends who will
inquire into my death. Trust me, they will do so! If I kill _you_, it
will be but justifiable homicide, and will be so adjudged; while your
killing me will be regarded in a different light: it will be pronounced
_murder_!" I gave full emphasis to the last word.

On hearing it my antagonist showed signs of emotion. I fancied I saw
him tremble, and turn slightly pale! With an unsteady voice he replied:

"Murder? No, no; I've gin ye warnin' to go. Ye've time enuf yet to
save yerself. Git out o' the clarin', an' thur'll be no harm done ye!"

"I shall not go out of the clearing, until you've acknowledged my
claim."

"Then you'll niver go out o' it alive--I swar by God! niver!"

"You are determined, then, to be my _murderer_?"

I again pronounced the word in the most emphatic tone. I saw that it
affected him in some singular way; whether through a fear of
consequences; or that there still lingered in his heart some spark of
humanity; or, perhaps--but least possible of all he was beginning to be
ashamed of his foul play. By which of of these three motives, or by
what other inspired, I could not guess; but he seemed to cower under the
imputation.

"Murderer!" echoed he, after a moment of apparent reflection. "No, no;
it's bad enuf to hev the blame o' that, 'ithout bein' guilty o't. I
ain't agwine to _murder_ ye; but I ain't agwine neyther to let ye go. I
mout a did so a minnit agone, but ye've lost yur chance. Ye've called
_me_ a _coward_; an' by the Etarnal! no man 'll say that word o' Hick
Holt, an' live to boast o't. No, mister! ye've got to die; an' ye may
get yurself