The heroic young commander, preferring death to dishonor, had refused to sign the order.

The affair had culminated in a sort of duel in the cabin, in which Christy, aided by his faithful steward, had hit Flanger in the nose with his revolver.
The ruffian had sworn to be revenged at the time, and he seemed to have chosen the present occasion to wreak his vengeance upon the destroyer of his nasal member.

The blow his victim had struck was a set-back to him; but he presently recovered the balance of his head which the shock had upset.

It was plain enough that he had not given up the battle, for he had drawn back with the evident intention of using his clinched fists upon his adversary.
"Hit him again, Flanger!" shouted one of the brutal occupants of the saloon, who now filled the doorway.
The affair was rapidly becoming serious, and Christy was debating with himself whether or not he should draw a revolver he carried in his pocket; but he was cool enough to realize that he was on neutral ground, and that it would be very imprudent to be the first to resort to deadly weapons.

He could not run away, for his self-respect would not permit him to do so.