“Suppose you explain yourself, sir,” he snapped.
The wide, hard lips parted to smile. They showed small, pointed teeth. “Why,” came the mocking drawl, “I came to look at the steamboat. Then your voice made a din in my ears. I think it is you who want to quarrel, and who am I to refuse you?”
“What is being said here?” demanded Colonel O’Rourke, pushing past the Choctaw to Ben’s side. Fully a dozen bystanders had now shifted their attention from the steamboat to the two disputants.
“It is only that Ben resents an insult,” said Casimir, bristling like an angry cat. “This fellow is being rude.”
“Rude is the exact word, I think,” added Ben. “Sir, I don’t know your name—”
“I don’t know yours, either,” cut in the stranger’s drawl, “but I don’t believe that it’s a very frightening one. Please be quiet j you begin to irritate me.”
And he lifted the cambric handkerchief and flicked it at Ben’s nose, as though to brush away a speck of dirt.
Next instant Ben’s clenched knuckles barked themselves against the smiling pointed teeth. The Choctaw whooped applause as the man in the blue coat staggered back, dropping both his hat and his handkerchief.
Ben was in the act of springing in, his big fist cocked to strike another blow, when Casimir caught his arm in both hands, wrestling to hold him back.
“Ben, have care!” he cried. “Gentlemen don’t fight like that! ”
“Let me go,” growled Ben, heaving to free himself.
Half a score of others had shoved between Ben and the dark man, all talking and shouting. From every side pressed staring faces. Colonel O’Rourke’s great voice rose above all other commotion.
“This is infamous!” he roared.
“Infamous?” echoed the beautifully dressed young man who had stood beside Ben. “You may well say so, Colonel O’Rourke. Myself, I do not know how things began, but I saw this young brawler,” and he flung out a hand toward Ben, “strike with his fist, like any boor from a flatboat.”
“An animal,” supplemented another young man, in a superbly fitting coat of chocolate brown.
“Do you interest yourself in this matter, Monsieur de Marigny?” rasped Colonel O’Rourke at the man who had echoed him.
“Only as a gentleman who was taught to fight like a gentleman,” was the ready answer.
“Sir,” said the man Ben had struck, “your name’s De Marigny? Well, I’ve just come from Natchez; I’m without acquaintance in New Orleans. If you feel that I have right on my side, I would ask a favor.”
“You wish me to act for you, sir?” suggested De Marigny. “It is I who am favored when you ask my help. But you can hardly offer this ruffian the dignity of satisfaction on the field of honor.”
“Monsieur de Marigny, you talk yourself into trouble,” said Ben hotly, and again he tried to push past Casimir.
“Zut!” De Marigny flung at him in contempt. “You are a ruffian. You should be met only with a whip or a stick.”
He half raised his slender cane. With a quick effort, Ben thrust Casimir aside and stood clear.
“Touch me with that cane,” he warned with deadly chill, “and I swear by heaven that I’ll pull your arm clear out of your shoulder.”
“Silence!” shouted Colonel O’Rourke, and voices died in that blast like gnats in a rush of flame. The Colonel looked around him, eyes snapping and mustaches on end.
“Before we lose all control of our tongues,” he went on sternly, “permit me to say to all within reach of my words that this young man is Mr. Benjamin Parker, my neighbor and my valued friend. I say further that he was grossly insulted by this man, whose name I do not know.”
“I’m Roy Kirwin,” grumbled the swarthy one, who had picked up his hat. “Very much at your service.”
“Furthermore,” pursued Colonel O’Rourke, “any suggestion that Mr. Parker is not entitled to such usage as is accorded gentlemen, I shall consider as a slur upon myself. Am I plain enough ?”
Another silence. Ben, glancing sidelong, saw that Felise watched him with brown eyes wider open than he had thought possible.
“Sir,” said the man who called himself Roy Kirwin, “I have not the advantage of your acquaintance.”
“Suffer me to present you to Colonel O’Rourke,” offered De Marigny promptly.
“Colonel O’Rourke,” went on Roy Kirwin, “I have no notion of refusing your hotheaded friend, Mr. Parker, any satisfaction he feels called upon to claim.” His deep-set black eyes glared at Ben, and with the cambric handkerchief he wiped his bruised mouth. “Somebody just spoke of the way gentlemen settle their differences. Without entering into any discussion of Mr. Parker’s good manners or lack of them, I’m prepared to go into the matter with him as though he were a gentleman.”
“You are generous, Monsieur Kirwin,” applauded De Marigny. “I am enchanted to represent you.”
“And I also,” volunteered the spark in the chocolate coat. “My name is Auguste Duralde, and I am known, as I believe, to Colonel O’Rourke.”
Casimir was at Ben’s side, hat off and bowing low.
“Messieurs,” he said, “I feel justified in offering, on the part of my friend Benjamin Parker, a challenge to Monsieur Kirwin. I am Casimir Beaumont, and will do myself the honor of acting for Monsieur Parker along with Colonel O’Rourke.”
De Marigny relaxed. “Agreed,” he said. “Shall we go where we may discuss these things in a manner becoming to men of sense?”
Ben was beginning to feel ridiculous. It seemed that half the population of New Orleans had gathered to gape and listen. Colonel O’Rourke spoke in his ear.
“My carriage is yonder on the street, with my driver on the box,” he said. “I ask you, Ben, to see Felise home, then to wait for us at your own place. Have no worries about the conduct of your affairs in my hands and Casimir’s.”
“Of course not, sir,” said Ben as Felise took his arm.
He escorted her through the crowd and handed her into the carriage. Then he took his place beside her, and they rolled away.
It was the first time that Ben and Felise had been together without the Colonel or Madame O’Rourke at hand, and both were silent while the carriage traveled for the distance of several squares. Felise seemed subdued, almost absent in manner. At length Ben attempted to make conversation.
“Do you think I acted badly?” he asked.
“I? But not at all. I only wonder how it will turn out.” “A matter of some throat-cutting, I reckon,” said Ben, trying to speak carelessly, but Felise flinched and looked at him with trembling lips.
“Do you not know that he may kill you?”
“And you seem to think that I stand in fear of being killed,” Ben half accused.
“No, no, I would never call you afraid. But do you not see that he forced the quarrel upon you? Why?”
Ben shrugged. He was beginning to copy the ways of the Creoles. “Indeed, I don’t know. Maybe he took me for someone else. So far as I remember, I never set eyes on him before.” “He had the air of a bad man,” said Felise, her voice soft and troubled. “Ben, we have become friends, you and I. I do not wish you to go into danger.”
“I’m not hurt yet,” he tried to comfort her.
“Then do not get hurt.” Her hand caught his. “Guard yourself well, Ben.”
“I aim to,” he assured her. “Thank you for being worried.”
“Worried!” cried Felise, so sharply that the driver half turned around. “I do not know how to say it—I feel that you will come away safe from the meeting, that you can take care of yourself. But—I shall not rest until I know that all is well with you.”
“Thank you,” he said again.
“Heaven be with you, Ben,” she said, almost inaudibly.
He bade her good-by at her door and went into the Beaumont house. Monsieur Achille Beaumont was listening with full attention to his account of the adventure, when Archimede admitted Frank Parker with a look of concern on his plump
face.
“So you’re going to fight a duel,” he burst out at his nephew. “I’ve just heard the story at the office, and I came here at once.”
“Pm sorry, Uncle,” said Ben, as though apologizing for some oversight. “But it seems I couldn’t do anything else than what I did.”
“I know that, my boy. They told me everything. I expected that sooner or later you’d quarrel and fight. But if something happens to you, how can I face your father and mother?”
Achille Beaumont frowned and stroked his chin. “The worst of it is, Ben issued the challenge,” he observed.
“It was Casimir who issued it for me,” Ben corrected him. “I reckon that was the right of it, since Kirwin hit me first.”
“What I mean is, this Kirwin is the challenged party. He can choose his weapons.” Monsieur Beaumont’s eyes rested thoughtfully upon Ben. “From the way things fell out, I judge that he is an accomplished fighting man. He will choose his favorite weapon, the sword or the pistol. Suppose he demands swords?”
“You say I’ve made progress at fencing, sir,” reminded Ben.
“With blunted foils, yes. But now the steel will be sharp, and it is a different thing. As to pistols—”
“I’ve fired pistols in my time, too,” Ben told him.
“So, we may be sure, has this bully, Monsieur Roy Kirwin. If it is to be swords, all may be well. The least scratch will draw blood, and end the affair. But a bullet may pierce your heart or head. If it is his purpose to kill you, I think he will choose pistols.”
“But if I’m any judge of my brother, the Captain, he taught Ben how to shoot,” said Frank Parker. “Remember, Achille, Ben shot right well at Tchoupitoulas.”
Just then the door burst open. Casimir and Colonel O’Rourke tramped in, grimly serious in manner.
“All has been arranged,” announced the Colonel. “Achille, might Zeline make us some of that excellent coffee? We will tell you everything.”
Monsieur Beaumont rang the bell. “How is the matter to be carried forward?” he asked.
“We conferred with De Marigny and Duralde. At once we came to a peaceable composition of the most awkward feature.”
“A peaceable composition!” repeated Frank Parker gratefully. “There’ll be no fight, then.”
“Oh, but there will be a fight,” replied Colonel O’Rourke. “I mean, a composition as to the hasty words spoken by Bernard de Marigny. You have not forgotten, Ben, that he spoke of you as no gentleman and threatened you with his walking stick.”
As a matter of fact, Ben had indeed forgotten, but he said nothing.
“As soon as we sat down together, I came to that point,” elaborated Colonel O’Rourke. “I told De Marigny in good round terms that on Ben’s part I resented such language and treatment. De Marigny is no coward—he has fought himself several times—but he is of a fair mind. He said at once that he was more than happy to accept my own vouchment for you, Ben, and that he withdrew the offensive expressions.”
“Good, good,” said Ben. “But about Roy Kirwin—”
“All in good time,” said the Colonel. “After De Marigny made this concession, Casimir very properly said that you would prefer redress in writing. De Marigny called for pen, ink, and paper and wrote a note on the spot. Where is the note, Casimir?”
Casimir produced a folded document and handed it to Ben.
The note was in French, the penmanship flourishing and the style highly formal. Monsieur de Marigny took occasion to assure Monsieur Parker that he, De Marigny, had been told with plainness and eloquence by their mutual friend, Colonel O’Rourke, that he, Monsieur Parker, was of the best breeding and reputation. This being fully explained, continued Monsieur de Marigny, he now desired to state that to the best of his knowledge and belief, Monsieur Parker was a gentleman in all senses of the word. Monsieur de Marigny concluded by hoping that this protestation would satisfy Monsieur Parker to the full. If not, Monsieur de Marigny stood ready to afford any further satisfaction demanded of him. He remained, with profoundest respect, Bernard de Mar- igny.
Ben read the letter from beginning to end and folded it again.
“That difficulty having been well resolved,” Colonel O’Rourke was saying, “we proceeded to arrangements for the meeting with Kirwin. There was not the least trouble about time or place. Tomorrow at sunrise, on the edge of Fortin Plantation.”
“That is not far,” Casimir explained to Ben. “It is at the Bayou Saint John, just above the town. We thought it would be better than the Oaks—not so many people are apt to go to Fortin’s, on the chance of seeing a fight.”
“But what about weapons?” Frank Parker almost pleaded.
“The choice was, of course, their man’s, since we had challenged him,” said Casimir. “It was the only point on which this Monsieur Kirwin was insistent, the weapons to be used.”
“And he chose—” prompted Monsieur Beaumont.
“He demanded pistols.”
“Pistols!” Frank Parker groaned. “That means he wants to kill Ben.”
“I do not despair,” said Casimir stoutly. “I saw Ben hit his man at thirty paces, at Tchoupitoulas.”
“A lucky shot,” demurred Ben.
“Then pray for another lucky shot tomorrow,” said Colonel O’Rourke. “You will trust your life to powder and ball as the sun comes up.”
IX. Pistols a Daybreak
Archimede brought in the coffee tray, colonel O’Rourke took a cup, turned, and eyed Ben.
“You take the matter soberly,” he said. “As I judge, the formalities of duels are a new experience to you.”
“They are so, Colonel,” admitted Ben.
“Have you any fears?” inquired Colonel O’Rourke.
“Ha, Ben, do not answer that question,” spoke up Casimir, loyally nettled. “My Colonel, I know Ben, he fears neither man nor devil. You should have seen him hunting armed men, as I have.”
“I beg to be excused for the suggestion,” said Colonel O’Rourke, with all ceremony.
“No offense taken,” said Ben. “I’m not afraid. But I feel differently about this. Those men who wanted to kill Governor Claiborne were real enemies. This Kirwin fellow—someone I don’t know at all, quarreling over nothing. It’s strange and it’s stupid. I can’t think of any other word for it.”
“Since duels are new to you,” remarked the Colonel, “it becomes you to trust fully in the advice and judgment of your seconds.”
“Of course,” agreed Ben. “And what are your advice and judgment?”
“That you relax,” said Colonel O’Rourke. “You are to worry about nothing except sending your bullet point-blank into your adversary. As I have told you, all plans have been completed—the weapons, the place, the time. Beyond, there remains only to instruct you.”
“True,” agreed Monsieur Beaumont, himself as tautly businesslike as a merchant considering an important trading venture. “They are carefully conducted, these duels. Say on, my Colonel.”
“First,” resumed the old soldier, “it was no great trouble to arrive at the conclusion that no apology or other reconciliation could be expected. A blow had been given and returned. But Kirwin’s attack, made with his handkerchief, came first. That made him the aggressor. The challenge ensued from Ben, as was proper, and Kirwin chose pistols. As we seem to agree, that will mean that he is well assured of his own skill. It is necessary, Ben, that you do your best to finish him at the very first fire.”
“Finish him, Colonel?” repeated Ben.
“Suffer me to inform you further. A serious difference has risen. Blows have been exchanged. That is a matter that cannot be disposed of by an apology. In smaller degrees of provocation, a single exchange of shots may well satisfy both parties, but this is a situation in which blows have been struck. With that, or when the lie is given, it is obligatory to call for a second fire, a third, and so forward until one or both are disabled.”
Frank Parker nodded doleful agreement.
“Wait,” put i
n Monsieur Beaumont thoughtfully. “I knew of a case where a blow was given, and after an exchange of three shots with no injury done, he who gave the blow asked pardon. It was accepted, and honor was declared to be satisfied.”
“I fear this will be no such case,” said Casimir. “Monsieur Kirwin seems eager to strike whatever he shoots at.”
“That is why I urge swift and certain aim,” said Colonel O’Rourke emphatically. “We may be sure that this Roy Kirwin is no foolish novice, and Ben, too, can shoot to the mark. My boy, as your second and your close friend, I say that you must finish him at once.”
“What did you say the distance was?” asked Ben thoughtfully.
“Twenty paces,” Casimir replied. “Is it too much?”
“It seems about right,” said Ben, remembering his target practice at home in North Carolina.
“This is all new business to Ben,” said Frank Parker, studying his nephew. “Today he would have been glad to settle matters with his fists.”
“Yes, as when he and I first met two months ago,” said Casimir. “But he does not want to shoot a fellow man without knowing his reasons well.”
“And that’s the truth,” agreed Ben frankly. “He flicked my face, I banged his. It seems to me that ought to be enough.”
Colonel O’Rourke leaned forward. “I pray you, my young one, to dismiss any idle thoughts of dumb-shooting or making a deliberate miss,” he said. “A challenge has been given on your behalf, and it has been accepted. Both of you must come upon the ground to fight. Let me assure you, Ben, that child’s play is dishonorable to yourself and to your seconds, and it must not be attempted.”
Ben sighed deeply, for indeed he had thought momentarily of firing in the air. “Pm in your hands,” he said. “You’ve looked after the affair so far, continue to look after it. I’ll do what you say.”
Manly Wade Wellman - Novel 1955 Page 9
