old your arm out straight, pull the trigger, and
squint afterward."

"I sha'n't hurt the Barone," smiling faintly.

"Are you going to be ass enough to pop your gun in the air?" indignantly.

Abbott shrugged; and the colonel cursed himself for the guiltiest
scoundrel unhung.

Half an hour later the opponents stood at each end of the tennis-court.
Ellicott, the surgeon, had laid open his medical case. He was the most
agitated of the five men. His fingers shook as he spread out the lints and
bandages. The colonel and Courtlandt had solemnly gone through the
formality of loading the weapons. The sun had not climbed over the eastern
summits, but the snow on the western tops was rosy.

"At the word three, gentlemen, you will fire," said the colonel.

The two shots came simultaneously. Abbott had deliberately pointed his
into the air. For a moment he stood perfectly still; then, his knees
sagged, and he toppled forward on his face.

"Great God!" whispered the colonel; "you must have forgotten the ramrod!"

He, Courtlandt, and the surgeon rushed over to the fallen man. The Barone
stood like stone. Suddenly, with a gesture of horror, he flung aside his
smoking pistol and ran across the court.

"Gentlemen," he cried, "on my honor, I aimed three feet above his head."
He wrung his hands together in anxiety. "It is impossible! It is only that
I wished to see if he were a brave man. I shoot well. It is impossible!"
he reiterated.

[Illustration: Suddenly he flung aside his smoking pistol.]

Rapidly the cunning hand of the surgeon ran over Abbott's body. He finally
shook his head. "Nothing has touched him. His heart gave under. Fainted."

When Abbott came to his senses, he smiled weakly. The Barone was one of
the two who helped him to his feet.

"I feel like a fool," he said.

"Ah, let me apologize now," said the Barone. "What I did at the ball was
wrong, and I should not have lost my temper. I had come to you to
apologize then. But I am Italian. It is natural that I should lose my
temper," naively.

"We're both of us a pair of fools, Barone. There was always some one else.
A couple of fools."

"Yes," admitted the Barone eagerly.

"Considering," whispered the colonel in Courtlandt's ear; "considering
that neither of them knew they were shooting nothing more dangerous than
wads, they're pretty good specimens. Eh, what?"

CHAPTER XIX

COURTLANDT TELLS A STORY

The Colonel and his guests at luncheon had l