They silently drew back as the master and McKinstry slowly passed out of the school-house together, and then followed in their rear.

In that interval the master turned to McKinstry and said in a low voice: "I accept your challenge and thank you for it.

You have never done me a greater kindness--whatever I have done to YOU--yet I want you to believe that neither now nor THEN--I meant you any harm." "Ef you mean by that, sir, that ye reckon ye won't return my fire, ye're blind and wrong.

For it will do you no good with them," he said with a significant wave of his crippled hand towards the following crowd, "nor me neither." Firmly resolved, however, that he would not fire at McKinstry, and clinging blindly to this which he believed was the last idea of his foolish life, he continued on without another word until they reached the open strip of chemisal that flanked the clearing.
The rude preliminaries were soon settled.

The parties armed with rifles were to fire at the word from a distance of eighty yards, and then approach each other, continuing the fight with revolvers until one or the other fell.