Jim's surmise of trouble on the brew set fire to my feet. At the door
of the card room I met Duff Green coming out--Duff of the Oporto nose. I
barely nodded; I could taste of insincerity and a suave false slyness on
the man as one smells secret fire in a house.
As I pushed into the card room, while it was well filled of folk, my
first glance revealed nothing to justify Jim's fears. There was Noah,
truly; and sitting with him that Kentucky Yankee, the anxious Amos
Kendall. Isaac Hill, gray and thin, and limping with his club-foot,
was also about. These were the General's friends; there was naught to
anticipate of a misunderstanding with Noah from them.
And for all that, Jim was right; calm as showed the surface, there ran
an undertow of conversation which flowed for storm. Jim, who lived long
among fighting men on fighting ground, had attained perhaps some
sharpened sense for the sign or sound of approaching strife, and could
foretell it while yet a mile away, Kendall was by Noah's side, and Hill
had paused at his elbow; yet it was with neither of these he was
engaged. Against the corner of a mantelpiece, and two paces from Noah,
leaned a young man of dissolute look. His name, I learned, was Catron,
and he came from Port Tobacco, a small hamlet in the southern toe of
Maryland. Evidently, Catron was of an upper class in his country, as his
dress, and fine hands, smallish and unmarred of toil, would give a
signal. He had been drinking, but seemed more vicious than drunk.
Catron was doing the talking, and with a manner of itself an insult
seemed bent for altercation.
“Don't cross the run of things,” warned Noah, in a whisper, as I marked
my advent by dropping a hand upon his shoulder; “I am glad you are come;
but don't interfere. Affairs go famously.”
Willing to gain some insight of the trend of traffic, I paused behind
Noah's chair.
“That I should cross words,” Catron was saying, “with a Jackson Jew does
not tell in favor of my respectability. It is what one must look for,
however, when the beggars of politics are promoted to the saddle.”
“Your epithet of 'Jackson Jew,'” responded Noah, quietly, “I take for
myself, and am much flattered thereby. And you are also to remember
there are weapons other than words which one may cross with me whenever
one's valor arouses to that pitch. Jew, yes! my ancestors were poets,
lawgivers--they read the stars, and collected the wisdom and the
learning of the world, when the slant-skulled fore-fathers of upstairs
I might indicate went clothed of sheepskin and club, ate their meat raw,
and saved their fire to pray to.”
All this flowed from Noah in tones modulate and sweet. I began to wonder
at my fair-haired friend; not unskilled in colloquy of this sort, it beat
upon me that Noah, himself, was wanting an encounter.
“If I were to own my way,” said Catron, paying no heed to Noah's
intimation of a stone-age savagery as the state of his forebears. “If I
might have my way, I'd exclude every shoe-lace Jew from the country.”
“Doubtless; if you were to have but your own way,” purred Noah. “And
yet, observe the injustice you propose. The Jew is as much the American
as you. My father fought for this country; I have fought for it; the
Jews found and gave one-third of that money which won the Revolution.
The Jews wasted their treasure and their blood like water for
independence, while folk one wots of were filling the roles of Royalists
and upholding the hands of the King.”
There now fell out a deal of talk to little purpose, I thought, and I
was on the tip of telling Noah so, when someone from over my shoulder
flung a remark.
“You are he,” said this man--his name was Witherspoon, and he a Clay
Kentuckian--“you are he,” addressing Noah, “who had this country
stricken from the muster of Christian nations. You caused the Bey of
Tunis to make the decision.”
“I but caused the Bey to expound our constitution,” said Noah, looking
carelessly back at Witherspoon.
While I was turning these last remarks in my mind, and gnawing the
enigma they offered, Catron broke forth with a cataract of malediction
upon the General, and Noah and any and all who stood the former's
supporters. It was a flood of abuse that told strongly for the ruffian's
muddy powers.
“And now this precious Jackson of yours,”--these were Catron's closing
words--“this murderer! this thief of other men's wives! would insult the
decency of our capitol with a courtesan in his cabinet.”
“Meaning whom?” asked Noah, half rising.
Noah's words had the fiber of triumph; he put his question as might he
who had trapped that result which he went seeking from the start.
“Who?” retorted the other; “who, save that Peg O'Neal who was as common
as the streets she walked.”
“You lie; you rogue and dog of Henry Clay, you lie!”
Noah fair spat out the words; it was as though they came freighted with
the venom of the viper.
Catron growled an oath and leaped towards Noah. He was met flush in the
face with a glass of whiskey which Noah in most casual fashion had just
poured. I had foreseen Noah's purpose; I'd heard him say he drank no
spirits.
For the moment Catron was stopped, the bite and anguish of the alcohol
in his eyes making him as a blind man. As Noah threw the liquor, I
seized him by the wrist; so far it had been gentleman's work; I did not
want him to spoil his position by throwing the glass.
“Don't grip so hard,” warned Noah, making not the least of struggle;
“don't grip so hard. I shall anon need this hand for what is in store;
that grasp like a hand-vise will weaken it for a sword, or shake it for
a pistol.”
Never was I more played upon and pleased than by the coolness of Noah,
who showed as steady, not to say indifferent, as he who acts a part in a
theater.
“I shall have your life for this!” screamed Catron, who, in the hands of
friends and still blind of the whiskey, was carried to another room.
When something like peace fell, I asked Noah to explain. I would
understand this violence; the more since it looked to be half-plan
on Noah's part. Kendall and Hill were with us and made four for our
conversation.
“What is the riddle, then?” I said. “I got your note; what was it you
desired?”
“Nothing, save your presence,” he replied. “As you observe, I was
provoking a fight--not a most amiable attitude, I confess. But you will
hear my reasons. Since I saw you, I have found how there exists a clique
of bloods--they are of both the Clay and Calhoun parties--who go about
grossly assailing Mrs. Eaton. There is concert in their villainy; and
they relax themselves at intervals with threats of violence against any
who shall take Mrs. Eaton's part. A duel--a prompt, sharp duel, with a
wound or two--is the best, in truth! the only way to stifle them.
There is nothing like steel or lead to teach such gentry mildness and a
Christian spirit.”
Noah laughed over the adjective.
“And have you put yourself forward,” I demanded, “as that master who is
to give these lessons of lead and steel?”
“What could be better?” returned Noah. “I am cold and steady, and not
apt for error. Again, I am of no such overt and particular emphasis in
the General's designs as to link his name too much with this ruffle.
Since it is to be, I think I am excellently the hand for the work; and I
hold it fortunate I am here when I so dovetail with events.”
“And what is to come?” said I.
“Indubitably, a challenge,” broke in Kendall. “The Maryland Catrons
are of touchwood stock. They duel for their pleasure.” Then with an
inflection of warning. “This Catron will ask for swords!”
“Swords should do exceeding well,” remarked Noah. “It should go through
sharply, this affair, for the best moral effect on others of his
ill-tongued clan. With swords we might fight in a room, since they make
no noise. Let us meet at once. In an hour this Catron's eyes will cease
to burn, and he'll see the better for it.”
“But, mind you, Catron is a master of the sword,” said Kendall. “He had
the best teachers in Florence.”
“Should he show you my blood,” returned Noah, coldly, “I will avouch him
the best fencer of America.”
There would be a duel, so much I could tell. And yet the situation put
me to deepest thought. I was sorry for Peg's name in it, too; that would
mean no end of talk.
“There is no end of talk as it stands,” argued Noah. “It were best to
make Mrs. Eaton's fame the issue. I could have forced a quarrel on his
insults for that I was a Jew. But I hold it better as it is. Mrs. Eaton
was the one question worth duelling with such a bully about; but for
the duel to be of suppressive virtue, it is required to have the _casus
belli_ surely shown.”
Noah was profoundly right in these arguments; the next day's sequel of
silence on the cautious parts of our anti-Eaton swashbucklers remarked
as much.
“You speak of this Catron as a bully,” commented Hill. “I know nothing
of your code, for it does not obtain in New Hampshire. But is a
gentleman bound to take notice of the vaporings of a bully--a mere
blackguard?”
“One may be a bully,” returned the steady Noah, “and none the less
patrician for that. Indeed, your prince oft takes his purple blood for
license. Who was Alcibiades but a bully-boy of Athens? Who have been the
bullies of London town, with their Mohocks and Hell Fire Clubs, but
the nobility and royal princes? No, believe me, sir;” and Noah's lip
twitched sarcastically, “the bully's blood is sometimes blue.”
It was settled that I should second the interests of Noah. At a first
blink, this arrangement might have the look of the General's fat in the
fire, since we professed anxiety to keep his name clear of the muddle.
But there are two ends to a lane; our purpose was attained when the
General's want of personal knowledge found demonstration. That plain, it
was next good to have it understood how the Jackson interest was at the
Noah shoulder. These reasons, and because I owned experience of such
arbitraments--for I had lived where pistols, barking at ten paces, were
rife enough--taught Noah his preference for me over Kendall and Hill,
who had seen fewer of these bickers, the latter none at all.
“They will be the challenging party,” I observed to Noah; “that gives us
the choice of arms.”
“Should Kendall be right,” said Noah, “as to the Florentine studies
of our friend, he will prefer swords. Suppose you concede swords on
condition he fight at once.”
Even while we conferred, there came Pigeon-breast, my friend of the
clanking saber and gold heels, to wait upon us. The sight of me as
sponsor for Noah caused Pigeon-breast a dubious start; possibly he
feared lest the General resent his presence as the avowed ally of the
enemy. Indeed poor Pigeon-breast expressed his thought.
“It is to be hoped,” faltered Pigeon-breast, in his high-pitched tenor,
“you will represent me, sir, in certain quarters you know of, as acting
solely for the honor of my friend. My personal position as to the
subject matter of the quarrel must not be deduced from that.”
I maintained myself with gravity, as folk about a litigation of honor
should; also, I set Pigeon-breast easy on risks and perils for himself.
In the matter of weapons Pigeon-breast fair fell upon my neck.
“It is for you to name weapons,” quoth Pigeon-breast. Then, with
hesitation: “If it meet your view, however, we for our side would
welcome swords.”
“And that is a highly improper remark, permit me to say.” My attitude
was purposely severe. It would throw Pigeon-breast into confusion.
“Since the choice is with us, it is neither graceful nor safe for you to
try to lead it.”
“Surely,” protested Pigeon-breast, “I meant no unfairness, no offence.
But with swords, sir, this might come quietly off in town. Should you
say pistols, it will mean Bladensburg; and the mud is girth deep.”
At the word “mud,” poor Pigeon-breast gazed upon his varnished boots and
bandbox regimentals with round eyes of apprehension. I took advantage
of Pigeon-breast's solicitude and feminine terror of Bladensburg mire to
say that if we might have our men up at once, it would tell strongly
in favor of swords. Of course, my haste was to have the thing finished
before some waifword of it reached the General's ear.
“Why, I believe an hour from now,” said Pigeon-breast, hopefully, “might
suit us extremely well. That would make it sharp noon. Shall we say noon?”
“And the ball room at Gadsby's?” I returned. Having considered, I deemed
it best to be out of the Indian Queen with this clash.
Gadsby's was to the taste of Pigeon-breast; it would serve admirably.
Also, Pigeon-breast would bring a brace of rapiers.
Thus was it adjusted between the militant Pigeon-breast and myself.
Pigeon-breast withdrew, giving me a most sweeping bow; but carefully
keeping his hand to himself, by which I saw that he was not unversed in
the etiquette of the field.
Returning to Noah, I laid before him our arrangements; incidentally, I
would get a morsel of food, since I had had none that morning, and my
stomach was much inclined to take this neglect in dudgeon.
Having a private parlor to ourselves, for Kendall and Hill would lunch
with me, I sent for what we craved and urged dispatch. The repast was
brought, and while we did it honor with knife and fork, Noah sipped a
thimbleful of sherry, saying he accepted it to quicken the eye and give
vigor and pliancy to the wrist.
As we lunched, Noah called for a messenger.
“Find Mr. Rivera,” said Noah; “bring him to me here.”
There was a question on my tongue; it covered the charge tossed over
my shoulder by the man, Witherspoon, that Noah had fixed the country's
status as a nation of heathen among the powers of the earth.
“The statement is true,” said Noah; “the story is brief. It was during
the last war, and while I represented the country in Tunis. A Yankee
privateer, little but valiant, came into port towing a hulking English
merchantman, whereof, cutlass in hand, he had made prize. The Yankee
would have the merchantman condemned in the courts of Tunis, and sold.
The British minister objected; he recalled the Bey, before whom we both
appeared, to his treaty made with England. One clause precluded the use
of Tunis as a port of condemnation for English ships made prize in
wars between England and any other 'Christian nation.' The phrase was
'Christian nation.' There was no going about the treaty; it stood in
ink and sheepskin. Whereupon I read the learned Bey--himself a darkened
pagan--our constitution. I showed him we were not a 'Christian nation,'
but admitted every creed or sect or sept or faith of men, Gentile or Jew
or Musselman, and all on common terms. It was impossible we should be a
'Christian nation;' the treaty with England did not in this instance tie
his hands. The Bey held with me; America was not a 'Christian nation;'
the prize was condemned and sold. The Bey would receive one-fifth of the
proceeds of that sale; which may or may not have aided his wisdom to the
decision I've described. Still, it was a decision; and since it never
has been quarreled with or overturned, a heathen country we remain to
this day in the eye of international law.”
As Noah ended his scrap of history, a tall young man, square and heavy
of shoulders, and with every movement of his body as smoothly sure and
sinuous as the movements of a cat, appeared. He was that Rivera for whom
Noah had sent.
“Go to my rooms and bring me a pair of swords,” said Noah.
“The smallswords?” asked Rivera, with just a thought of interest.
“No; the Spanish swords.”
“Who is your armorer?” I asked of Noah when Rivera was gone.
This boy I had come across before. He had drawn himself upon my
attention by the panther grace and strength told of in his motions.
Large, long of limb, and heavy, there was yet a brisk lightness with him
to hold one like a spell.
“His name,” responded Noah, “is Rivera--Michael Rivera--and his blood
flows a fantastic, almost a formidable mixture. His mother was a maid of
my mother; an Irish lass she was, and came out of Tipperary. The father,
on the far other hand, was a Spanish Jew; by trade a bull-fighter, the
foremost toreador of Seville, where, when my family was visiting in
Spain, the impressionable Tipperary maiden lost her heart to him as he
flourished bloodily about the arena. They were married by the padre, for
Rivera senior, while pure Jew, was none the less pure Catholic; under
Spanish law he could have had no place among the bull-fighters else,
since in Spain it is not permitted to be cruel unless one first be
Christian. My protege, who goes for the swords, is the fruit of that
union; now, his parents being dead, and because he was born among my
people, he abides with me. He has a drowsy, honest soul--though hot
enough when moved--and he loves me. He would accept death for me like a
dog.”
“And what is his part with you?” asked Kendall. The tale of Rivera
interested us.
“No part,” responded Noah, “more than to go where I go, and come where
I come; to fetch and to carry and to do my word. He is well taught of
books; but owns ideas not at all, for he has no width nor current of
conjecture. Yet you are not to believe him a fool. He is silent, but
blithe to obey, and true as blade to hilt. I keep him for he would have
otherwise no support. If I turned him on the world, he could not make a
dollar--nor guard it if he should. In that fiscal particular, the Jew
in him has balked and broken down.” Noah laughed lightly. “The faithful
Rivera,” he went on, “has, however, certain advantages. There is
a compensation, an equilibrium, in nature. Rivera, slow of brain,
possesses the muscle-power of a Hercules; moreover, in those twin arts
of boxing and wrestling, it's to be doubted if his over-lord exists.
Some day, in some moment of brutality--being now and again overtaken
of such--I shall have Rivera to England to beat Bendigo and Ward. The
prize-ring is his one opening for eminence. And I--as does the immortal
Byron, who has more pride of fisticuffs than verse--applaud the ring.”
While Noah talked, I was yielding him my meed of tacit admiration. Here
was a man, a creature of quills and ink, too, within minutes of meeting,
edge to edge, with one keen of his weapon, and a declared adept among
sword fighters. And clearly, the business was no more upon his spirit
than if the day bore no grim promise, but only smiles. It was more than
courage, it was the absolute absence of fear; he leaned back with his
sherry, and the little story of his young Spanish Irish-Jew, as though
hate were not at that same moment of time whetting a rapier with hope
against his life. His foreclaim of being cold and steady was not a boast
which wanted feet to stand upon.
Rivera came back, bearing the swords wrapped from casual eye in the
folds of a cloak. I drew one--a plain rapier or Spanish sword--and of as
superb temper as any to come from its birth-forge of Toledo.
“They are brothers, those swords,” said Noah; “there is none better. I
had them from the hands of that Bey who branded us as heathen, and so
fretted the friend of Henry Clay. And since, in a pastime such as we
go about, a fullest confidence in one's weapon is important, you will
prefer these for me if the choice be given you.” This was spoken to me.
Rivera knelt down, and taking off his patron's shoes, replaced them with
light fencing slippers, whereof the soles crackled with a fresh coat
of resin. Then came loose overshoes, meant to protect the others on the
road to Gads-by's from intervening mud. Having done this, and saying not
a word whether of question or remark, the boy stood back as waiting the
next command. I was ever reckoned a judge of anything on two legs or
four, as became the best quartermaster the General ever had, and I've
yet to glimpse so perfect--so splendidly, so accurately perfect--an
example of the physical man as showed in this youth, with his brown
hair, brown eyes, dark skin, and round thick neck like the carved column
of some sculptor.
It was time to be off for Gadsby's, no mighty journey, being just across
the street. As we were about departing, Noah called to Rivera, who
exhibited no more distrust of a finale than was present with the other,
and observed: “I shall be hungry on my return. Have a fowl and a flask
of wine set out for me in my own rooms.”
Rivera bowed as one who understands; and giving me the cloak to be still
a refuge for the Toledoes, watched us, as by a side door we got onto the
walk and headed for Gadsby's over the way.
There were the four of us, Noah, Kendall, Hill, and myself, when we
came into that great room of Gadsby's which was reserved for routs and
dancing. It was a large and lofty room with a gallery all about. We had
the place to ourselves for the moment; Pigeon-breast and his principal
were yet to arrive upon the scene.
Noah kicked off the overshoes, and stepped and scrubbed his feet against
the flooring boards. The experiment ended to his taste.
“The resin holds,” he remarked. Then glancing about the vast apartment,
he came back to me with a smile: “It's like fighting in a 10-acre
field,” said he.
Pigeon-breast appeared by a far door. Besides his bully principal,
there were two others, for I had named the propriety of witnesses and
suggested the number. I crossed over and greeted Pigeon-breast, and then
led him aside.
“Is either of the gentlemen with you,” said I, “a surgeon?”
“Why, no,” returned Pigeon-breast, “the thing clean slipped my mind.”
“It might be well to send, then,” I said, “for I think he will be
wanted.”
Pigeon-breast spoke to the others, who, with Catron between them, had
continued near the door. Pigeon-breast, after a word, returned to me.
“There is a surgeon below,” he reported; “he will be with us like
winking, for he loves this kind of thing.”
“And now the swords,” I said. “We may as well transact preliminaries as
far as we can go while waiting.”
Pigeon-breast suggested we spin a coin, their weapons or ours. It fell
for ours; a good omen, I thought, albeit a look at Noah, where he gazed
carelessly from a window, face immovable as granite, gave encouragement
enough to declare war for a crown. I went over to tell him we had won
the use of our Toledoes.
“That sounds well,” he said. “I like good tools, especially when the
work demanded leans upon the fine.”
“You will not slay the man?” I asked.
“For the one matter of his life,” returned Noah, “he's as safe as though
this dancing room were a church. Beyond that, however, I shall take such
measures with him that, for months, who sees him shall know what reward
is waiting on cowards who vilify a pure girl.”
Pigeon-breast signaled for a word. Taking me to a remote corner, he
argued that our duties required we discuss the possibility of apology.
“They must fight a little first,” I retorted. “There is no room between
epithets such as 'rogue' and 'liar' to squeeze in an explanation. These
folk must fight while both can hold out swords.”
This was not butcher's taste; but I began to see with Noah, that the
mouths against us must be silenced,--at least the men. We would begin
with Catron; we would duel our way through the social register, if need
beckoned, to purchase that justice of silence for our Peg.
Poor Peg! she was not to lie helpless in every cur's mouth, to be torn
at as most pleased his cruelty or best fattened his interest. The more
the situation ran before me, the more my breast took fire; I sustained
a strict face, however, engaged as I was upon the parade ground of honor
and in the service of a gentleman. Still, I said enough, and said it in
such fashion that Pigeon-breast, now a little nervous when the actual
steel was about to be drawn, saw nothing for it but to bring forward
his fellow. This, I admit, he managed in a genteel way; nor did Catron
either whiten or lag backward, but stepped to his place as might he who
is warm for vengeance. I did not like this Catron's looks; surely
the creature was a blackguard with no right to name himself among
gentlefolk, only so far as one might lie within the accident of decent
birth. But he seemed stout enough of kidney, though that may have grown
with a belief in his infallible craft of the sword.
We gave our men their arms; and as, stripped to their shirts, they stood
apart, awaiting signal to engage, Noah put point to floor, and bearing
hard upon the hilt, bent his blade double. Abruptly lifting his hand,
the honest steel sprang straight, and the sword was tossed high in the
air. As it fell, with the clear, sureness of legerdemain, Noah caught
it by the hilt. It was no more than a flourish of the fencing school,
perhaps; but it served to hearten me mightily and to put me confident
of victory. Neither was it wanting in effect, I may suppose, on the
volatile Pigeon-breast and his man, Catron; I thought on their side it
made somewhat for a certain seriousness of face.
Speaking now of the battle, I must warn you of my inability to tell the
tale in nice and hair-line strokes. It was a notable fight, valorously
sustained and fairly made; but indubitably it did not remain in one
like myself--wholly ignorant of that fencing which pushes or stabs, and
admirable with a saber no farther than striking a downright blow with
the edge--to catch close work, and taste the merit of it. I have no more
of fencing than of Sanscrit, and remember no work, of my own of that
character beyond splitting an Indian's head like a pumpkin in a skirmish
on the Tombigbee. I am strong of arm, and having the day before come
across the long hair of seven white women, murdered at Fort Mimms,
smoke-drying in the wigwams of a Creek village we sacked, I doubtless
smote upon that savage with uncommon violence.
When the pair engaged, there were preliminary moments employed in
feeling one another's strength. The swords kept up an incessant thin
rasping, with an occasional singing note as they parted company
for thrust or parry. Even my uneducated vision observed from the
commencement how Noah held the better of it. His address was superior;
and I should say that, with a stiffer wrist, he was withal the more
falcon-like in assault, and readier of recovery.
Catron, by his brow of fury, meant death if he might only clothe his
point for it. That was not to be. On the heels of a desperate stroke--it
was fellow to a dozen that preceded it--which Noah foiled with blade
describing a circle no bigger than a curtain-ring, Catron's flushed
cheek faded to ghastly gray. For the moment I thought him touched;
but no, it was but the sudden daunting conviction that he had met his
master. This, breaking on him like the boom of a death-bell, and how his
life stood now naked before one whom he had so provoked, ate the yolk
from his courage like a weasel.
Catron foresaw his downfall before we who looked on might tell. And if
I am to understand a gray, drawn face, then the news taught him the
bitterness of death itself.
In the opening exchanges, Catron attacked. He was in and out with a
hateful ferocity, thrusting and pressing, as one whose merest wish is
murder. Noah gave backward not at all, but stood like a wall, risking
all on eye and wrist. I could not catch the sleight of it, but again and
again, as Catron thrust, I could see the lead-colored blade glimmer by
Noah's side with not an open inch to give away. As Noah told me later,
however, an inch in fencing is a wide margin.
Catron felt his strength slip from him; it was like the sands running
from an hour-glass. But the rogue's heart summoned stoutness. Finding
himself going, Catron must crowd the strife to an end before it ended
him. He leaped back to get his distance; then without pause, and giving
a sort of bellowing, roaring cry that may have been a scheme for terror,
he sprang forward, sending on his point as straight as the stroke of a
serpent.
What befell was like the lightning's flash; and no man's gaze, however
trained to the trick of it, might follow. Noah did not parry, but stood
aside from the other's point, which, passing, grazed his garments.
Noah's point, in retort, entered Catron's sword arm just above the
guard. I saw Noah hold his own hand high, and with point a bit lowered.
Noah ripped up his foe's arm--split it like a mackerel!--from wrist to
shoulder.
[Illustration: 0142]
It was a gaping furrow of a wound; and the horrid shock of it, when
Noah's steel caught in the shoulder bones, brought the wretched Catron
to the floor. The blood ran away in a crimson rivulet from the prostrate
one; and to tell the best and the worst of me, I've yet to look on
blood, or anything besides, which brought me so much of comfort and of
the sweetness of peace.
While the surgeon, needle and lint going, dealt with Catron, I conveyed
Noah to the end of the room. We must await the report of yon
fellow's condition; we could not leave the field without consent of
Pigeon-breast--quite pale and stricken now, was Pigeon-breast, as he
stood watching while the bandages were wound.
Following a nod of the surgeon's, Pigeon-breast came towards me. I met
him on his way.
“The thing is ended,” said Pigeon-breast; his voice came huskily, and in
a fashion faint. “The thing is at an end. My friend can not hold sword.”
“That is enough,” said I.
“One word, sir,” said Noah, coming forward, handkerchief all red where
he had been cleaning his blade; “you are to take notice: I from this day
shall seek out with challenge each man who speaks evil of Mrs. Eaton.
That creature who lies there, and whom, maugre his wound, I still
contemn for the rogue and fetch-dog of Henry Clay I painted him, may be
for warning.”
“But has Mrs. Eaton no husband to fight for her?” sputtered
Pigeon-breast, not relishing Noah's attitude.
“Let that go by,” retorted Noah, sternly. “Your diplomacy shall not
reach. Again I tell you, he who shall assail Mrs. Eaton with word or
look, or who fails to please that lady with his conduct, replies to me.
I wounded this one; I shall slay the next.”
“What is this to be?” cried Pigeon-breast, appealing to me in a flutter
of spiteful fright. “Is it that we have a bravo?”
“A bravo whom you are like to encounter, sir,” I said, “unless you teach
your tongue some prudence--you and your tribe.”
“Sir, I would refuse to meet a bravo.”
“Sir, you would meet the bravo or meet me.” Then came a rush of temper
about my heart. I thought on poor Peg; and a great anger began to flame
in me. I glowered on the tinsel Pigeon-breast; then I thrust towards
him my huge bear-paw hands. Pigeon-breast considered them, and the hairy
wrists like pistons, with a kind of interest of dismay. “Sir,” said I,
“the first foul dog among you who shall so much as take the name of that
innocent one upon his lips, I'll find him out, and with the ruth one
grants to rattlesnakes, I'll kill him with these fingers.”
And so ended that blood letting which was meant to tie the tongue of
slander and in a measure did.
“I shall leave it to you,” observed Noah as we came away, “to place this
affair before the President in a right light. His is the only judgment
whose favor I would seek, and that, particularly, for that his name is
certain to figure in the story of this bicker whenever it is told. I
would not have him think I had rashly put him in peril of criticism.”
“There should be no alarm on that score,” I replied. “My word for it,
the General will endorse with his full name every step we have taken.”
On our return to the Indian Queen we found Rivera waiting, and a table
spread in Noah's apartment as he had commanded. Rivera received the
Spanish swords, still wrapped in the concealing cloak. He drew forth of
its scabbard the blade which had armed Noah's hand; it still carried
a stain or two of that Catron's blood, and Rivera's eye seemed to fire
with a sleepy satisfaction while he looked on it. Then he turned his
gaze on his patron in a manner of inquiry.
“No, he will live,” said Noah, as though in reply to a query put by his
protege; “it was not to kill him that we went across the way.”
At this news, Rivera took the Spanish swords and withdrew; and all with
the evident purpose of putting them in order against a next campaign.
“I think,” said I, as Noah drew up to the table--for it would seem that
his work had given his appetite an edge, not dulled it--“I think I shall
hunt up our friend the General. There is slight chance of any being
before me; and yet I would make sure to bring him the earliest word of
what has chanced.”
Both Hill and Kendall would be for leaving, also, and as we three arose
to go Noah filled a quartet of glasses with Burgundy. Offering one to
each, he said: “Let us drink to the defeat, ay! even to the death of
ones who would bear false witness against the innocent. May their best
fate be no better than the fate of him whom we met to-day.”