dn't much like the look of your antagonist's friend, and
it's got into my head that before leaving the ground I may have
something to say to _him_ on my own account. So, if it come to that, I
shall take to the barkers."

Kearney smiled, but said nothing, feeling satisfied that in case of any
treachery, he had the right sort of man for his second.

He might have felt further secure, in a still other supporting party,
who rode on the box beside the driver. This was a man carrying a long
rifle, that stood with the barrel two feet above his shoulders, and the
butt rested between his heavily booted feet.

It was Cris Rock, who had insisted on coming along, as he said, to see
that the fight was all "fair and square." He too had conceived an
unfavourable opinion of both the men to be met, from what he had seen of
them at the _rendezvous_; for Santander's second had also been there.
With the usual caution of one accustomed to fighting Indians, he always
went armed, usually with his long "pea" rifle.

On reaching a spot of open ground alongside the road, and near the shore
of the lake, the carriage stopped. It was the place of the appointed
meeting, as arranged by the seconds on the preceding day.

Though their antagonists had not yet arrived, Kearney and Crittenden got
out, leaving the young surgeon busied with his cutlery and bandage
apparatus.

"I hope you won't have to use them, doctor," remarked Kearney, with a
light laugh, as he sprang out of the carriage. "I don't want you to
practise upon me till we've made conquest of Mexico."

"And not then, I trust," soberly responded the surgeon.

Crittenden followed, carrying the swords; and the two, leaping across
the drain which separated the road from the duelling ground, took stand
under a tree.

Rock remained firm on the coach-box, still seated and silent. As the
field was full under his view, and within range of his rifle, he knew
that, like the doctor, he would be near enough if wanted.

Ten minutes passed--most of the time in solemn silence, on the part of
the principal, with some anxious thoughts. No matter how courageous a
man may be--however skilled in weapons, or accustomed to the deadly use
of them--he cannot, at such a crisis, help having a certain tremor of
the heart, if not a misgiving of conscience. He has come there to kill,
or be killed; and the thought of either should be sufficient to disturb
mental equanimity. At such times, he who is not gi