As Jeff continued on his way down the hill, he was able to estimate his
true position. There was no chance of further self-deception. He had
walked into a trap, and the jaws had snapped home.
He realized now that this meeting on the hill had been carefully staged.
Whether Maksoutof was a party to the conspiracy he did not know—he
believed he was not—but certainly Staritsa was; he had purposely
arrived a minute or so ahead of his friends so that they might have an
opportunity to encounter Jeff as the latter descended the hill.
He had been forced into the snare partly by the machinations of his
enemies, mostly by his own tragic, all-compelling pride. Oh, they had
known how to take advantage of this pride! Karl had been careful to
stage the meeting in Templeton’s presence, thus making it certain that
the Southerner would not ignore his insults. The plan had worked well.
Although Jeff had known the Russian’s reputation as a duelist, and that
this was nothing less than a murder plot, it had been beyond his power
to avoid or decline the challenge.
An affair of honor! Romantic youth though he was, he laughed at the
thought. There was no more honor in this thing Karl had plotted than in
an assassination by a footpad. There was less: the footpad ran the
gauntlet of the law, while Karl was careful to remain within the law.
The footpad’s victim had some sort of a fighting chance while Karl,
secure in his own tried skill, meant that Jeff should have none at all.
The stakes in either case were something of the same nature. The
Southerner was no longer deceived. Not honor, not revenge, not the
sentiment of an old war; but a cargo of otter skins was the certain
target for this shooting on the hill.
Yet Jeff could not turn aside. Knowing all that he did know, it was not
in him to run away. He did not know why, and he had no arguments to
support his stand. To carry on was his inner law, and he could not help
but obey: such was the price of his pride.
Karl had arranged everything to his own satisfaction. Jeff had permitted
him to name—through a confederate—really to appoint the master of
ceremonies; and his choice was that of a man whom the former mistrusted
and disliked. This seemed only a minor point, yet it increased the odds
against him. Questions might possibly arise, the decisions on which
would be vital to Jeff’s chances; and the chance for fair play on these
was long and far. It was absurd to deny that Staritsa was biased in
Karl’s favor. Indeed, he was one of the conspirators that had forced the
Rebel into the duel, and without doubt would share in the plunder in
case of the Russian’s victory.
Staritsa was reputed a sportsman, but Jeff scorned the thought. Real
sportsmen did not play this kind of a game. For one instant Jeff found
himself questioning the virtue and justice of a system that could
sustain a man like this in a place of glory and power. There was one
fear, however, that Jeff was spared: actual betrayal on the dueling
field itself.
He did not doubt but that he would be given the duelist’s chance—almost
hopeless though it was against a superior opponent—and this was an
immeasurable consolation to the youth who to-morrow, far from his own
people, must play a lone, deadly game. He felt secure in this, partly
because his faith in princes was not yet dead—even a degenerate
nobleman, he thought, could not stoop to black betrayal of the old,
honored code of fairness to a foe—and partly because Karl was perfectly
secure in his own prowess. Such had been the Russian’s record that,
without recourse to base trickery, he could surely rely on victory over
this inexperienced adversary. In this lay Jeff’s one hope, and he had
seen or heard nothing to make him forsake it.
Some of his ideals lived in him yet; and kind circumstance had made no
provision that to-night they should perish. No strange coincidence
brought him under a certain window of the Governor’s house, to overhear
an enlightening conversation. Only the old ghosts that haunted the
garden and often hovered at the casements to survey the scenes where
once they had known life and laughter heard the hushed words; and they
could not carry them to Jeff’s ear.
The darkness hid the speakers, sitting in a side room; and the sound
creeping out was as of two disembodied voices. The language used was an
old tongue from beyond the sea; and sometimes the ghosts were chilled
with cold gusts of laughter.
“So everything turned out well—just as you planned! You are a genius,
my friend. It is by all means the best way.”
“I think so. It will look better to certain people in St. Petersburg—it
saves us trouble and embarrassing explanations. You are to be master of
ceremonies, as we planned. Templeton is my second. I don’t know who his
second will be.”
“How did he seem to take it? Terrified, I’ll warrant.”
“To tell the truth, he took it with considerable spirit. That is the one
thing I can’t understand. I expected him to accept; he was virtually
forced into it, and as you know, he prides himself on knowing the
code—on being a gentleman; but I didn’t expect him to be so easy, and I
was surprised how calm he seemed. He is either a braver man than I give
him credit for, or very self-confident.”
“Of course he has seen considerable fighting. The Civil War was no
backyard squabble. I should say the explanation is that he is unaware of
your reputation.”
“No. I don’t think he can be. The girl on the ship—Molly, they call
her—seems to know a good deal about me—probably because of an idle
feminine curiosity—and she has likely repeated everything to him.”
“I can think of only one other explanation—a rather disquieting one.”
“I know what you mean. You think he is confident of winning.”
“Precisely. That he has had enough experience with a pistol so that he
thinks he can beat you at your own game.”
“And you say—it is a disquieting possibility?”
“It is at least a possibility. Listen, my friend. You know there is no
one who has greater confidence in you than I: otherwise I would not have
followed you into this wilderness after the scrape in Moscow. But how do
we know about this American? You know what Lennox told us—how he
climbed on the bridge in plain view of the riflemen—”
“Perhaps he is just a fool. Perhaps his seeming bravery is mere folly—”
“Perhaps, but Lennox did not get that idea. He is a soldier, in the
first place—a major whose service was so distinguished that Lennox
heard of it in England.”
“Even a little bravery might carry far in an army of rail splitters.”
“Just the same—what do we really know of him? Let me bring up another
point. Have you ever heard of the gunmen who throng the American
frontier?”
“Who hasn’t! You don’t think it possible—”
“I think it entirely possible! I don’t mean that he is, strictly
speaking, a gunman, but he may know how to handle a pistol in a way that
would surprise us. You know that the best duelist in Europe could not
stand against one of the plainsmen whom the Archduke described. How do
we know he doesn’t know that game?”
“By our Lady, perhaps he does know!”
“It would be a sweet thing, would it not, for you to fall with a bullet
through your throat in combat with an American plowboy and a dolt. It
would be a fine tale to tell around St. Petersburg. And I would play
false to you if I did not urge the possibility of it occurring.”
“You have done exactly right. I am careless about such things. But what
good does it do to tell me, my friend, unless you can also suggest a
remedy?”
“There is no remedy, as long as you both stand up and shoot. It does no
good to urge you to take special precautions, because a man who gambles
with his life always does take precautions—even if there is a country
dolt behind the engaging pistol. You know, my friend, accidents
sometimes occur. The only remedy that is sure is—one that is sure.”
“You mean—some such little assurance as no powder in the fellow’s gun?”
“Yes. No powder in the cap, which is better. A cap can be easily lost in
the grass, but an empty gun is—conspicuous by its emptiness. I have
often devoted idle thought to such problems as this, and have hit upon
several safe means of solving them.”
“Perhaps they occurred to you after your little affair in Moscow.”
“Quite likely. Sometimes they are difficult to put into practice, but
not when one’s best friend is master of ceremonies! The only difficulty
that remains is—a certain natural reluctance to employ such tactics
thus to protect one’s self. You know, I would be the last one in the
world to suggest such an artifice in an affair of honor; but you would
think me a comedian if I should refer to to-morrow’s affair in that
light. The laws of chivalry have always held that a duel can only exist
between men of the same station; that when an engagement occurs between
people of opposite station—I mean between a noble and a peasant—it can
not be called a duel. Therefore, it seems to me, we are under no
obligation to observe the duelist’s code. To-morrow’s engagement is
simply an expedient, and you know that fact as well as I do.”
“You argue the case very well. In fact, you have me convinced. There is
no reason why, in a case like this, we shouldn’t make assurance doubly
sure. But, little brother, we must have safety. Safety for you as well
as for me, if you know what I mean.”
“Leave that to me. There will not be the slightest risk. We shall load
both pistols, and the Czar himself may look at them later and find
nothing wrong. It will be no fault of ours if the percussion cap used in
firing the enemy pistol proves defective! As you know, sometimes
inferior caps are fabricated, and this one—to our great sorrow—will
contain no powder!”
“And later, when the seconds make examination, they will find that the
man was felled before he had time to fire his own weapon?”
“To be sure. The worst that could possibly happen would be that they
should pick out the defective cap and examine it, but even in that case
we could plead entire innocence. However, that would be bungling. No
such thing will occur. The moment you fire I will run to the man’s side
and will snatch up the weapon to see that there has been no foul play.
As I look at it, the cap will fall out and will not be seen again, and
if necessary the weapon itself can be recocked to indicate that it has
not been fired. I will put it into the second’s hands before he has had
time to more than glance at his man, and he will never even question but
that everything has been entirely regular and fair. The only precaution
is—you must not miss! In that case, he might hear his gun misfire,
would investigate, and would of course refuse to go ahead with the duel
on the grounds of conspiracy. You must take your time: otherwise all our
trouble would be for nothing.”
“Don’t worry about me. Make the duel at ten paces, and I won’t miss. I
can drive a nail at that distance, almost. Now about Templeton. He would
have to be informed of the plan in order to insure its proper
execution—and Templeton might not see this thing the way we do.”
“I’m quite sure he would not see it the way we do. These Britains have
queer ideas as to the fitness of things—particularly when a contest is
involved. I fear we will have to leave out Templeton.”
“Then we give up the plan?”
“Most certainly not. I will have the pistols in charge, and when I offer
them, the seconds will naturally select the nearest pistol to them in
the case. What more is needed? The fewer who know about our plan the
more certain its success—and the less danger of an unpleasant tale
getting back to our royal master in Petersburg—to whom too many
unpleasant tales have already gone. If by some great mischance Templeton
or the enemy second should reach to the further pistol, instead of the
nearer, and I see no easy way to get them to change, I shall simply
suggest that both men examine their weapons thoroughly before
engaging—like the zealous master of ceremonies that I am. When you
examine yours the cap will accidentally fall out, and you shall ask me
to provide another. Of course in that case it will be—the best man
wins.”
“You are certainly thorough, my son! I give you more honor than ever. It
seems, then, that everything is arranged.”
So it seemed. Evidently no effort had been spared to make to-morrow’s
affair an overwhelming success for every one concerned. The old ghosts
whimpered in the darkness outside the window, but they were but airy
dreams of the glory and strength they once had been; and the movement of
events was beyond their power to influence. Meanwhile Jeff walked the
Sitkan streets, unaware of such gray forms as might now be walking
beside him and trying so vainly—perhaps in atonement for wrongs done in
their own brief hours, when time was a moving river passing them by
instead of a silent sea on which they sailed at will—to make their
whispered voices heard. For all he knew he was utterly, eternally alone.