with the old horse-pistols, which he kept
carefully concealed.

Frank took Hans aside and said:

"This affair has assumed a much more serious aspect than seemed
possible at first."

"Vos dot Yankee abologized alretty yet?" asked Hans, anxiously.

"Far from it."

The Dutch boy gave a groan of dismay, but stiffened up to say:

"Dot seddles his coose! I knocks uf him der sduffins oudt."

"But he refused to fight that way, and, as he is the challenged party,
I was forced to allow him to select the weapons. He chose pistols."

"Bistols?" gasped Hans, turning pale.

"Yes."

"Dot vos murter in der virst degree! I don't meed dot veller mit
bistols!"

"But you will have to meet him now. If you refuse, you will be drummed
out of school--you will be tarred and feathered."

"Bud I don'd like dot peesness uf sdanding oop to be shod ad mit a
pullet oudt uf a bistol. Somepody mighd ged hurt, ain'd id?"

"Oh, there's no danger that you'll get hurt any more than to have a
bullet through your head."

"Vot vos dot?" gurgled Hans. "A pullet drough mein headt. Shimminy
Gristmas! Uf dot don'd vas pad enough, vot you vant? Oxcuse me!"

"Now, don't show the white feather," urged Frank. "That Yankee has
done this to scare you. I don't believe he really thinks you will dare
meet him with pistols, and so he is going to make a laughing stock of
you."

"Vos dot his game? Vell, I pets you your life he makes der piggest
misdake vot he nefer seen."

"That's the stuff! If you brace right up and pretend you are eager to
fight with pistols, the chances are ten to one he'll back down before
the word is given to fire."

"Vell, uf dot veller don'd dink I vos apout grazy for dot tuel, you can
kick me mit der neck in."

Frank saw that he had fixed it all right with Hans, and he wondered
what success Sammy Smiles was having with his second.

Sammy was not finding it very easy to convince Ephraim it was his duty
to fight a genuine duel with pistols, and he was talking swiftly, for
it was past sunset, and would become dark in a very short time.

"I be hanged ef this air ain't ther biggest scrape I was ever in!"
gasped the lank country boy, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead.
"I wish I'd stayed away frum this thunderin' skewl, an' bin contented
ter keep right on hoein' 'taturs an' cuttin' grass daown on dad's old
farm. Say, ain't ther no way this air matter kin be settled up 'thout
shewtin'?"

"It's too late for th