He would talk, in spite of all I could do, or say, to prevent him.
"I _will_ talk," said he, "and there's no use in your trying to stop me.
I've not much longer to live; and why should I pretend to be dead,
before I really am?"
I saw it was no use to attempt keeping him either quiet or silent. It
only excited him all the more; and would, perhaps, do more harm to him
than letting him have his way--which I at length did. He proceeded to
inform me of all the particulars of the affair. His account slightly
differed from that given me by the doctor, who had doubtless heard a
one-sided statement, from the friends of the bully.
"I don't know whether I've been sarved right or not," said Stormy, after
concluding his account. "I sartinly called the man some ugly names; and
every one about here is likely to say that it was right for him to teach
me manners. But why did he stab me with a knife? My legs were
staggering drunk; and he might have thrashed me without that!"
On hearing Stormy's statement, I became inspired with a feeling of fell
indignation against the scoundrel, who had acted in such a cowardly
manner: a determination, that my old comrade should be avenged.
I knew it would be idle to go before a magistrate, for the purpose of
getting the bully punished, for the two men had come to blows, _before_
the knife had been used.
The affair would be looked upon as an affray--in which either, or both,
had the right to use whatever weapons they pleased--and Stormy would be
thought deserving of his fate, for not protecting himself in a more
efficient manner!
I knew that he was drunk; and that even if sober he would not have used
a deadly weapon in a bar-room row; but although I knew this, others
would tell me, that my friend's being drunk was not the fault of the man
who had stabbed him; and that if he had not chosen to defend himself
according to custom, he must bear the consequences.
Impelled by my excited feelings, I left Stormy in the care of a miner
who had come in to see him; and stepped over to the tavern, where the
horrible deed had taken place.
About forty people were in the bar-room when I entered. Some were
seated around a table where "Monte" was being dealt, while others were
standing at the bar, noisily swilling their drinks.
Without making remark to any one, I listened for a few minutes to the
conversation. As the affair had occurred only that afternoon, I knew
that they would be talking about it in the bar-room--as in reality they
were. Several men were speaking on the subject, though not disputing.
There was not much difference of opinion among them. They all seemed to
regard the occurrence, as I expected they would, in the same light.
Two men had got into a quarrel, and then come to blows. One had stabbed
the other--in California an everyday occurrence of trifling interest.
That was all the bar-room loungers were disposed to make of it.
I differed in opinion with them; and told them, in plain terms, that the
fight they were talking about had not been a fair one, that the man who
had stabbed the other had committed a crime but little less than murder.
A dozen were anxious to argue with me. How could I expect a man to be
called hard names in a public room without his resenting it?
"But why did the man use a knife?" I asked. "Could the insult not have
been resented without that?"
I was told that men had no business to fight at all, if they could avoid
it; but when they did, each had a right to be in earnest, and do all the
harm he could to the other.
I was also admonished that I had better not let "Red Ned" hear me talk
as I was doing, or I might probably get served as bad as the sailor, who
had offended him that same day.
I thus learnt, for the first time, that the man who had wounded Stormy
was "Red Ned," and from what I had heard of this ruffian already, I was
not the less determined that Stormy should be avenged.
I knew, moreover, that if "Red Ned" was to receive punishment, it would
have to be inflicted by myself.
He was not in the tavern at the time; or, perhaps, he might have
received it on the instant.