The vintner flung the broken
part at the colonel's head. The latter dodged it and came on, and there
was death's intent.
Meantime Carmichael had found a short hop-pole, and with this he took a
hand in the contest. The pole was clumsy, but the tough wood was
stronger than steel. He hit the saber with good-will. Back came the
steel. The colonel did not care whom or what he struck at now. When
Carmichael returned the compliment he swung his hop-pole as the old
crusaders did their broadswords. And this made short work of the duel.
The saber dropped uninjured, but the colonel's arm dangled at his side.
He leaned back against the arbor, his teeth set in his lip, for he was
in agony. Carmichael flung aside his primitive weapon, his anger abated
none.
"You're a fine example of a soldier! Are you mad to attack a man this
way? They will break you for this, or my name's not Carmichael. You
couldn't leave her in peace, could you? Well, those two kisses will
prove expensive."
"I shall kill you for this!"
"Bah! I have fought more times than you have years to your counting,"
with good Yankee spirit. "But if you think I'll waste my time in
fighting a duel with you, you're up the wrong tree."
"Go to the devil!"
"Not just at present; there's too much for me to do.
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