Part 13 (2/2)
”But what would you have me to do?”
”You ought to know without asking me. Call out the cub, and _kill_ him--if you can. What I design doing with my gentleman.”
”Ah! you're a dead shot; and that makes all the difference. These Anglo-Saxons always use pistols; and if I challenge him, he'll have the choice of weapons.”
”Quite true. With me it will be different. I took care to _give_ the affront, and you should have done the same. Seeing you got the worst of it, you ought to have followed up your first dash at him by something besides--a slap across the cheek, or a cut with your whip.”
”I'm sorry now I didn't give him one or the other.”
”Well, you may find an opportunity yet. For my quarrel, I don't care a toss whether it be settled with swords or pistols. We Creoles of Louisiana are accustomed to the use of either weapon. Thanks to old Gardalet of the Rue Royale, I've got the trick of both; and am equally ready to send a half-ounce of lead, or twelve inches of steel, through the body of this Britisher. By the way, what's his name?”
The speaker pulls out the card given him by the English officer, and glancing at it, answers his own question: ”Edward Crozier, H.M.S.
_Crusader_.”
”Ha! Mr Ned Crozier!” he exclaims, speaking in plain English, the sight of the card seemingly giving a fresh fillip to his spleen; ”you've had your triumph to-day. 'Twill be mine to-morrow. And, if my fortune don't fail me, there'll be an empty seat at the mess-table of the s.h.i.+p _Crusader_.”
”You really intend fighting him?”
”Now, Don Faustino Calderon, why do you ask that question?”
”Because I think all might be arranged without--”
”Without what? Speak out, man!”
”Why, without any spilling of blood.”
”You may arrange it that way, if you like. Your quarrel is a distinct one, and I've nothing to do with it--having my own hands full. Indeed, if they were empty, I'm not so sure I should be your second--talking as you do. However, that's not the purpose now. In answer to your first question, I can only say what I've said before. I not only intend fighting this Crozier, but _killing_ him. True, I may fail in my intention; if so, there's an end of it, and of _me_. For, once on the ground, I don't leave it a living man, if he do. One or both of us shall stay there, till we're carried off--feet-foremost.”
”_Carramba_! your talk gives one the trembles. It's not pleasant to think of such things, let alone doing them.”
”Think your own way, and welcome. To me it would be less pleasant to leave them undone; less now, than ever in my life. After what I've gone through, I don't care much for character--in truth, not a straw. That's all stuff and pretension. Money makes the man, and without it he's nothing; though he were a saint. Respectability--bah! I don't value it a _claco_. But there's a reputation of another kind I _do_ value, and intend to preserve. Because in my world it counts for something--has counted already.”
”What is that?”
”Courage. Losing it, I should lose everything. And in this very city of San Francisco, I'd be only a hound where I'm now a hunter; barked at by every cur, and kicked by every coward who choose to pick a quarrel with me.”
”There's no danger of that, Don Francisco. All who have had dealings with you know better. There's little fear of any one putting a slight upon _you_.”
”There would be, if I refused to fight this fellow. Then you'd see the difference. Why, Faustino Calderon. I couldn't sit at our monte table, and keep the red-s.h.i.+rts from robbing us, if they didn't know 'twould be a dangerous game to play. However, it isn't _their_ respect I value now, but that of one very different.”
”Of whom?”
”Again you ask an idle question; so idle, that I don't believe you care a straw for Inez Alvarez--or know what love is.”
”What has she to do with it?”
”She--nothing. That's true enough. I don't care aught for her, or what she might think of me. But I do care for Carmen Montijo; above all things I value her good opinion. At least, so far, that she sha'n't think me either a fool or a coward. She may be fancying me the first; but if so, she'll find herself mistaken. At all events, she'll get convinced I'm not the last. And if it be as rumour reports, and as you say you've heard, that she's given her heart to this _gringo_, I'll take care she don't bestow her _hand_ upon him--not while I live. When I'm dead, she can do as she likes.”
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