f ye fire quick mebbe ye'll take the crook out o' his finger 'fore it
has time to pull."

The other party was coming. There were six men in it. The General and
his son and one other were in military dress. The General was chatting
with a friend. The pistols were loaded by Solomon and General Clarke,
while each watched the other. The Lieutenant's friends and seconds
stood close together laughing at some jest.

"That's funny, I'll say, what--what!" said one of the gentlemen.

Jack turned to look at him, for there had been a curious inflection in
his "what, what!" He was a stout, highly colored man with large,
staring gray eyes. The young American wondered where he had seen him
before.

Preston paced the ground and laid down strips of white ribband marking
the distance which was to separate the principals. He summoned the
young men and said: "Gentlemen, is there no way in which your honor can
be satisfied without fighting?"

They shook their heads.

"Your stations have been chosen by lot. Irons, yours is there. Take
your ground, gentlemen."

The young men walked to their places and at this point the graphic
Major Solomon Binkus, whose keen eyes observed every detail of the
scene, is able to assume the position of narrator, the words which
follow being from a letter he wrote to John Irons of Albany.

"Our young David stood up thar as straight an' han'some as a young
spruce on a still day--not a quiver in ary twig. The Clarke boy was a
leetle pale an' when he raised his pistol I could see a twitch in his
lips. He looked kind o' stiff. I see they was one thing' 'bout
shootin' he hadn't learnt. It don't do to tighten up. I were
skeered--I don't deny it--'cause a gun don't allus have to be p'inted
careful to kill a man.

"We all stood watchin' every move. I could hear a bird singin' twenty
rod,--'twere that still. Preston stood a leetle out o' line 'bout
half-way betwixt 'em. Up come his hand with the han'kerchief in it.
Then Jack raised his pistol and took a peek down the line he wanted.
The han'kerchief was in the air. Don't seem so it had fell an inch
when the pistols went pop! pop! Jack's hollered fust. Clarke's pistol
fell. His arm dropped an' swung limp as a rope's end. His hand turned
red an' blood began to spurt above it. I see Jack's bullet had jumped
into his right wrist an' tore it wide open. The Lieutenant staggered,
bleedin' like a stuck whale. He'd 'a' gone to the ground but hi