was conscious of
no fear, of no desire to avoid the ordeal. I can recall the scene now,
clearly etched on my memory--the outlines of the trees silhouetted
against the sky, the dark shadow of the stables, the green, level turf,
the two figures--the one short and stout, the other tall and
slender--talking earnestly; the deep blue of the sky overhead, the steel
gleam of the derringer in the open case, and Le Gaire loading
carefully, his eyes now and then glancing across at me. Then the two men
wheeled with military precision, and walked back toward us. I saw Hardy
take up the second pistol, and load it in silence, while Bell whispered
to Le Gaire, the latter with his weapon tightly clasped. A moment later
the major thrust the carved stock into my hand, and I looked at it
curiously.

"Gentlemen," he said clearly, stepping to one side, "we will make this
as simple as possible. You will take positions here, back to back."

The sound of his voice, the sharp ring of authority in it, awoke me to
the reality as though I had received an electric shock. I felt the
fierce beat of my heart, and then every muscle and nerve became steel.
Without a tremor, my mind clear and alert, I advanced to the point
designated, and stood erect, facing the south; an instant, and Le
Gaire's shoulders were touching mine.

"Now listen closely," said Hardy, his voice sounding strangely far off,
yet each word distinct. "I am to give the first word, and Bell the
second. When I say 'forward' you will take ten paces--go slowly--and
halt. Then Bell will count 'one, two, three'; turn at the first word,
and fire at the third. If either man discharges his weapon before
'three' is spoken, he answers to us. Do you both understand?"

We answered together.

"Very well, gentlemen, are you ready?"

"I am."

"Go on."

There was a moment's pause, so still I could hear my own breathing, and
the slight noise Le Gaire made as he gripped his derringer stock
more tightly.

"Forward!"

I stepped out almost mechanically, endeavoring not to walk too fast, and
regulating each stride as though I were measuring the field. At the end
of the tenth I stopped, one foot slightly advanced for the turn, every
nerve pulsing from strain. It seemed a long while before Bell's deep
voice broke the silence.

"One!"

I whirled, as on a pivot, my pistol arm flung out.

"Two!"

Le Gaire stood sideways, the muzzle of his derringer covering me, his
left hand supporting his elb