Part 58 (1/2)

every bushranger hez to 'bide by it. Why shedn't it be the same heer?”

”Why shouldn't it?” asks Slush. ”It's a good law--just and fair for all.”

”I consent to it,” says Blew, with apparent reluctance, as if doubtful of the result, yet satisfied to submit to the will of the majority. ”I mayn't be neyther so young nor so good-lookin' as Mr Gomez,” he adds; ”I know I an't eyther. Still I'll take my chance. If she I lay claim to p.r.o.nounces against me, I promise to stand aside, and say ne'er another word--much less think o' fightin' for her. She can go 'long wi'

him, an' my blessin' wi' both.”

”Bravo, Blew! You talk like a good 'un. Don't be afraid; we'll stand by you!”

This, from several of the outsiders.

”Comrades!” says Davis, ”I place myself in your hands. If my girl's against me, I'm willin' to give her up, same as Blew.”

What about the other two? What answer will they make to the proposed peaceful compromise? All eyes are turned on them, awaiting it.

De Lara speaks first, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng fire. Hitherto he has been holding his anger in check, but now it breaks out, poured forth like lava from a burning mountain.

”_Carajo_!” he cries. ”I've been listening a long time to talk--taking it too coolly. Idle talk, all of it; yours, Mr Striker, especially.

What care we about your ways in the Australian bush. They won't hold good here, or with me. My style of settling disputes is this, or this.”

He touches his pistol-b.u.t.t, and then the hilt of _machete_, hanging by his side, adding, ”Mr Blew can have his choice.”

”All right!” retorts the ex-man-o'-war's man. ”I'm good for a bout with eyther, and don't care a toss which. Pistols at six paces, or my cutla.s.s against that straight blade o' yours. Both if you like.”

”Both be it. That's best, and will make the end sure. Get ready, and quick. For, sure as I stand here, I intend killing you!”

”Say, you intend tryin'. I'm ready to give you the chance. You can begin, soon's you feel disposed.”

”And I'm ready for _you_, sir,” says Davis, confronting Hernandez.

”Knives, pistols, tomahawks--anything you like.”

Hernandez hangs back, as though he would rather decline this combat _a outrance_.

”No, Bill!” interposes Striker; ”one fight at a time. When Blew an'

Gomez hev got through wi' theirs, then you can gi'e t'other his change-- if so be he care to hev it.”

”T'other” appears gratified with Striker's speech, disregarding the innuendo. He had no thought it would come to this, and now looks as if he would surrender up his sweetheart without striking a blow. He makes no rejoinder; but shrinks back, cowed-like and craven.

”Yes; one fight at a time!” cry others, endorsing the dictum of Striker.

It is the demand of the majority, and the minority concedes it. All know it is to be a duel to the death. A glance at the antagonists--at their angry eyes and determined att.i.tudes--makes this sure. On that lonely sh.o.r.e one of the two, if not both, will sleep his last sleep!

CHAPTER SIXTY SEVEN.

A DUEL ADJOURNED.

The combat, now declared inevitable, its preliminaries are speedily arranged. Under the circ.u.mstances, and between such adversaries, the punctilios of ceremony are slight. For theirs is the rough code of honour common to robbers of all countries and climes.

No seconds are chosen, nor spoken of. All on the ground are to act as such; and at once proceed to business.

Some measure off the distance, stepping it between two stones. Others examine the pistols, to see that both are loaded with ball-cartridge, and carefully capped. The fight is to be with Colt's six-shooters, navy size. Each combatant chances to have one of this particular pattern.