Iberville was bleeding from the wound in his side and slightly stiff from the slash of the night before, but every fibre of his hurt body was on the defensive.

Bucklaw knew it, and seemed to debate if the game were worth the candle.

The town was afoot, and he had earned a halter for his pains.

He was by no means certain that he could kill this champion and carry off the girl.

Moreover, he did not want Iberville's life, for such devils have their likes and dislikes, and he had fancied the chivalrous youngster from the first.
But he doubted only for an instant.