Part 41 (1/2)

”One--two--three! Fire!” The elder Cary slowly turned the muzzle of his pistol from his waiting antagonist, and fired into the air.

The report echoed from the winding river-banks. For an appreciable moment, until it died away, the partic.i.p.ants in the meeting stood motionless, then the seconds bestirred themselves and ran forward.

”But a single shot, each, gentlemen--that was agreed upon!” cried the one, and the other, ”Ludwell, you are wounded! Where is it? Dr. McClurg!

Dr. McClurg!”

”It is nothing, Fair,--through the shoulder.” Cary waved him aside and turned a face, pale but composed, upon Lewis Rand, who now stood before him. Rand's hue was dark red, his features working. ”Why,” he demanded hoa.r.s.ely,--”why did you not fire upon me?” The agitation, marked as it was, ceased or was controlled even as he spoke. The colour faded, the brow lost its corrugations, and the voice its thickness. Before his antagonist could reply, he spoke again. ”It was yours, of course, to do what you pleased with. I sincerely trust that your wound is not deep. I have regretted the necessity--I profess myself entirely satisfied.”

”That is well,” answered Cary, ”and I thank you, Mr. Rand. The wound is utterly of no consequence.”

”Here is Dr. McClurg,” said Rand. ”I will wait yonder to hear that confirmed.”

He walked to the river-bank and stood, as Cary had stood a little earlier, gazing over the falls and eddies and fairy islands to the blue woods on the farther sh.o.r.e. Under the oak which he had left, the doctor looked and handled, with a pursed lip, a keen eye, and a final ”Humph!”

of relief. ”High and clean through and just a little splintered. You'll wear your arm in a sling for a while, Mr. Cary! Mr. Fairfax Cary, you're too white by half! There's a brandy flask in yonder case. Mr. Jones, the wound is slight.”

”Why, that's good hearing!” cried Skelton Jones. ”Mr. Cary must return to town in the coach, with Mr. Fairfax Cary and with you, Doctor. Mr.

Rand and I will take the chaise. My profound regard, and my compliments, Mr. Cary! Mr. Fairfax Cary, may I have the pleasure of acting with you again! Doctor, good-morning. Now, Mr. Rand.”

Rand turned from his contemplation of the river, advanced toward the group beneath the oak, and bowed with formality to Cary, who, arresting the doctor's ministrations, returned the salute in kind. The chaise, beckoned to by Mr. Jones, came up; there was a slight and final exchange of courtesies, and the two Republicans entered the vehicle and were driven away.

”Give them five minutes' start, Fair,” ordered Cary. ”Then call the coach; I want to get back to town for the Was.h.i.+ngton mail.”

”You'll get back to town and get to bed!” stormed the other. ”'Fire in the air,' quotha! _I_ could have brought down a kite from the blue! You might, at least, have broken a wing for him!”

”Oh, I might, I might,” said the other wearily. ”But I didn't. I never liked this work of breaking wings. Now, Doctor, that is a bandage fit for a king! Call the coach, Fair. This much of the business is over.”

The chaise carrying Lewis Rand and his companion traversed with rapidity the miles to Richmond. The road was fair, and the day bright and cool.

The meeting by the river had occupied hardly an hour; the world of the country was yet at its morning stirring, and filled with cheerful sound.

Above the fields the sky showed steel blue; the creepers upon the rail-fencing still displayed, here and there, five crimson fingers, and wayside cedars patched with shadow the pale ribbon of the road. Rand kept silence, and his late second, at first inclined to talkativeness, soon fell under the infection and stared blankly at the fence corners. A notorious duellist, he may have been busy with dramas of the past.

Rand's thought was for the future.

They came into Main Street and drove to Rand's office. ”We'll dismiss the chaise here,” said the latter. ”I have a few directions to give, and then I'm for the post-office and the Eagle.”

”I will precede you there,” answered the other. ”Allow me, sir, before we part, to express the gratification I have felt in serving, to the best of my poor abilities, a gentleman of whom the party expects so much--”

”Rather allow me, sir, to express my grat.i.tude--” and so on through the stilted compliment of the day. a.s.surances from both sides over at last, and the chaise discharged, the one walked briskly down the unpaved street toward the Eagle, and the other entered quietly the bare and business-like room from whose window, last February, he had fed the s...o...b..rds. The room was not vacant. Before the table, with his arms upon it, and his head upon his arms, sat Mocket. At the sound of the closing door he started up, stared at Rand, then fell back with a gasp of relief, and the water in his eyes.

”Lewis? Thank the Lord!”

”It's Lewis,” said the other. ”My good old fellow, did you think only to see my ghost? Well, the comedy is over.”

”Lord! it's been a long hour!” breathed his a.s.sociate. ”What did you do to him, Lewis?”

”He has a ball through his shoulder. It is not serious. I don't want to talk about it, Tom.” Rand spoke abruptly, and, walking to his desk, sat down, drew a piece of paper toward him, and dipped a quill into the ink-well. ”Is Young Isham there? He is to take this note to the house, to Mrs. Rand.”

Mocket went to find Young Isham. Rand, alone in the room, wrote in his strong, plain hand:----

JACQUELINE:--We met an hour ago. He is slightly wounded--through the shoulder. I tell you truth, it is in no wise dangerous. I am unhurt.

The hand travelling across the sheet of paper paused, and Rand sat for a moment motionless, looking straight before him; then, with an indrawn breath, he dipped the quill again into the ink and wrote on,----