by Jules Verne
CHAPTER XXI
HOW A FRENCHMAN MANAGES AN AFFAIR
While the contract of this duel was being discussed by thepresident and the captain-- this dreadful, savage duel, in whicheach adversary became a man-hunter-- Michel Ardan was restingfrom the fatigues of his triumph. Resting is hardly anappropriate expression, for American beds rival marble orgranite tables for hardness.
Ardan was sleeping, then, badly enough, tossing about betweenthe cloths which served him for sheets, and he was dreaming ofmaking a more comfortable couch in his projectile when afrightful noise disturbed his dreams. Thundering blows shookhis door. They seemed to be caused by some iron instrument.A great deal of loud talking was distinguishable in this racket,which was rather too early in the morning. "Open the door,"some one shrieked, "for heaven's sake!" Ardan saw no reasonfor complying with a demand so roughly expressed. However, hegot up and opened the door just as it was giving way before theblows of this determined visitor. The secretary of the Gun Clubburst into the room. A bomb could not have made more noise orhave entered the room with less ceremony.
"Last night," cried J. T. Maston, _ex abrupto_, "our presidentwas publicly insulted during the meeting. He provoked hisadversary, who is none other than Captain Nicholl! They arefighting this morning in the wood of Skersnaw. I heard all theparticulars from the mouth of Barbicane himself. If he iskilled, then our scheme is at an end. We must prevent his duel;and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stophim, and that man is Michel Ardan."
While J. T. Maston was speaking, Michel Ardan, withoutinterrupting him, had hastily put on his clothes; and, in lessthan two minutes, the two friends were making for the suburbs ofTampa Town with rapid strides.
It was during this walk that Maston told Ardan the state of thecase. He told him the real causes of the hostility betweenBarbicane and Nicholl; how it was of old date, and why, thanksto unknown friends, the president and the captain had, as yet,never met face to face. He added that it arose simply froma rivalry between iron plates and shot, and, finally, that thescene at the meeting was only the long-wished-for opportunityfor Nicholl to pay off an old grudge.
Nothing is more dreadful than private duels in America. The twoadversaries attack each other like wild beasts. Then it is thatthey might well covet those wonderful properties of the Indiansof the prairies-- their quick intelligence, their ingeniouscunning, their scent of the enemy. A single mistake, a moment'shesitation, a single false step may cause death. On theseoccasions Yankees are often accompanied by their dogs, and keepup the struggle for hours.
"What demons you are!" cried Michel Ardan, when his companionhad depicted this scene to him with much energy.
"Yes, we are," replied J. T. modestly; "but we had better make haste."
Though Michel Ardan and he had crossed the plains still wet withdew, and had taken the shortest route over creeks and ricefields,they could not reach Skersnaw in under five hours and a half.
Barbicane must have passed the border half an hour ago.
There was an old bushman working there, occupied in sellingfagots from trees that had been leveled by his axe.
Maston ran toward him, saying, "Have you seen a man go into thewood, armed with a rifle? Barbicane, the president, my best friend?"
The worthy secretary of the Gun Club thought that his presidentmust be known by all the world. But the bushman did not seem tounderstand him.
"A hunter?" said Ardan.
"A hunter? Yes," replied the bushman.
"Long ago?"
"About an hour."
"Too late!" cried Maston.
"Have you heard any gunshots?" asked Ardan.
"No!"
"Not one?"
"Not one! that hunter did not look as if he knew how to hunt!"
"What is to be done?" said Maston.
"We must go into the wood, at the risk of getting a ball whichis not intended for us."
"Ah!" cried Maston, in a tone which could not be mistaken, "I wouldrather have twenty balls in my own head than one in Barbicane's."
"Forward, then," said Ardan, pressing his companion's hand.
A few moments later the two friends had disappeared in the copse.It was a dense thicket, in which rose huge cypresses, sycamores,tulip-trees, olives, tamarinds, oaks, and magnolias.These different trees had interwoven their branches into aninextricable maze, through which the eye could not penetrate.Michel Ardan and Maston walked side by side in silence throughthe tall grass, cutting themselves a path through the strongcreepers, casting curious glances on the bushes, and momentarilyexpecting to hear the sound of rifles. As for the traces whichBarbicane ought to have left of his passage through the wood,there was not a vestige of them visible: so they followed thebarely perceptible paths along which Indians had tracked someenemy, and which the dense foliage darkly overshadowed.
After an hour spent in vain pursuit the two stopped inintensified anxiety.
"It must be all over," said Maston, discouraged. "A man likeBarbicane would not dodge with his enemy, or ensnare him, wouldnot even maneuver! He is too open, too brave. He has gonestraight ahead, right into the danger, and doubtless far enoughfrom the bushman for the wind to prevent his hearing the reportof the rifles."
"But surely," replied Michel Ardan, "since we entered the woodwe should have heard!"
"And what if we came too late?" cried Maston in tones of despair.
For once Ardan had no reply to make, he and Maston resumingtheir walk in silence. From time to time, indeed, they raisedgreat shouts, calling alternately Barbicane and Nicholl, neitherof whom, however, answered their cries. Only the birds,awakened by the sound, flew past them and disappeared among thebranches, while some frightened deer fled precipitately before them.
For another hour their search was continued. The greater partof the wood had been explored. There was nothing to reveal thepresence of the combatants. The information of the bushman wasafter all doubtful, and Ardan was about to propose theirabandoning this useless pursuit, when all at once Maston stopped.
"Hush!" said he, "there is some one down there!"
"Some one?" repeated Michel Ardan.
"Yes; a man! He seems motionless. His rifle is not in his hands.What can he be doing?"
"But can you recognize him?" asked Ardan, whose short sight wasof little use to him in such circumstances.
"Yes! yes! He is turning toward us," answered Maston.
"And it is?"
"Captain Nicholl!"
"Nicholl?" cried Michel Ardan, feeling a terrible pang of grief.
"Nicholl unarmed! He has, then, no longer any fear of his adversary!"
"Let us go to him," said Michel Ardan, "and find out the truth."
But he and his companion had barely taken fifty steps, when theypaused to examine the captain more attentively. They expectedto find a bloodthirsty man, happy in his revenge.
On seeing him, they remained stupefied.
A net, composed of very fine meshes, hung between two enormoustulip-trees, and in the midst of this snare, with its wingsentangled, was a poor little bird, uttering pitiful cries, whileit vainly struggled to escape. The bird-catcher who had laidthis snare was no human being, but a venomous spider, peculiarto that country, as large as a pigeon's egg, and armed withenormous claws. The hideous creature, instead of rushing on itsprey, had beaten a sudden retreat and taken refuge in the upperbranches of the tulip-tree, for a formidable enemy menacedits stronghold.
Here, then, was Nicholl, his gun on the ground, forgetfulof danger, trying if possible to save the victim from itscobweb prison. At last it was accomplished, and the littlebird flew joyfully away and disappeared.
Nicholl lovingly watched its flight, when he heard these wordspronounced by a voice full of emotion:
"You are indeed a brave man."
He turned. Michel Ardan was before him, repeating in adifferent tone:
"And a kindhearted one!"
"Michel Ardan!" cried the captain. "
Why are you here?"
"To press your hand, Nicholl, and to prevent you from eitherkilling Barbicane or being killed by him."
"Barbicane!" returned the captain. "I have been looking for himfor the last two hours in vain. Where is he hiding?"
"Nicholl!" said Michel Ardan, "this is not courteous! we oughtalways to treat an adversary with respect; rest assureed ifBarbicane is still alive we shall find him all the more easily;because if he has not, like you, been amusing himself withfreeing oppressed birds, he must be looking for _you_. When wehave found him, Michel Ardan tells you this, there will be noduel between you."
"Between President Barbicane and myself," gravely repliedNicholl, "there is a rivalry which the death of one of us----"
"Pooh, pooh!" said Ardan. "Brave fellows like you indeed! youshall not fight!"
"I will fight, sir!"
"No!"
"Captain," said J. T. Maston, with much feeling, "I am a friendof the president's, his _alter ego_, his second self; if youreally must kill some one, _shoot me!_ it will do just as well!"
"Sir," Nicholl replied, seizing his rifle convulsively, "thesejokes----"
"Our friend Maston is not joking," replied Ardan. "I fullyunderstand his idea of being killed himself in order to savehis friend. But neither he nor Barbicane will fall before the ballsof Captain Nicholl. Indeed I have so attractive a proposal tomake to the two rivals, that both will be eager to accept it."
"What is it?" asked Nicholl with manifest incredulity.
"Patience!" exclaimed Ardan. "I can only reveal it in thepresence of Barbicane."
"Let us go in search of him then!" cried the captain.
The three men started off at once; the captain having dischargedhis rifle threw it over his shoulder, and advanced in silence.Another half hour passed, and the pursuit was still fruitless.Maston was oppressed by sinister forebodings. He looked fiercelyat Nicholl, asking himself whether the captain's vengeance hadalready been satisfied, and the unfortunate Barbicane, shot, wasperhaps lying dead on some bloody track. The same thought seemedto occur to Ardan; and both were casting inquiring glances onNicholl, when suddenly Maston paused.
The motionless figure of a man leaning against a giganticcatalpa twenty feet off appeared, half-veiled by the foliage.
"It is he!" said Maston.
Barbicane never moved. Ardan looked at the captain, but he didnot wince. Ardan went forward crying:
"Barbicane! Barbicane!"
No answer! Ardan rushed toward his friend; but in the act ofseizing his arms, he stopped short and uttered a cry of surprise.
Barbicane, pencil in hand, was tracing geometrical figures in amemorandum book, while his unloaded rifle lay beside him on the ground.
Absorbed in his studies, Barbicane, in his turn forgetful of theduel, had seen and heard nothing.
When Ardan took his hand, he looked up and stared at his visitorin astonishment.
"Ah, it is you!" he cried at last. "I have found it, my friend,I have found it!"
"What?"
"My plan!"
"What plan?"
"The plan for countering the effect of the shock at thedeparture of the projectile!"
"Indeed?" said Michel Ardan, looking at the captain out of thecorner of his eye.
"Yes! water! simply water, which will act as a spring-- ah!Maston," cried Barbicane, "you here also?"
"Himself," replied Ardan; "and permit me to introduce to you atthe same time the worthy Captain Nicholl!"
"Nicholl!" cried Barbicane, who jumped up at once. "Pardon me,captain, I had quite forgotten-- I am ready!"
Michel Ardan interfered, without giving the two enemies time tosay anything more.
"Thank heaven!" said he. "It is a happy thing that brave menlike you two did not meet sooner! we should now have beenmourning for one or other of you. But, thanks to Providence,which has interfered, there is now no further cause for alarm.When one forgets one's anger in mechanics or in cobwebs, it isa sign that the anger is not dangerous."
Michel Ardan then told the president how the captain had beenfound occupied.
"I put it to you now," said he in conclusion, "are two such goodfellows as you are made on purpose to smash each other's skullswith shot?"
There was in "the situation" somewhat of the ridiculous,something quite unexpected; Michel Ardan saw this, anddetermined to effect a reconciliation.
"My good friends," said he, with his most bewitching smile,"this is nothing but a misunderstanding. Nothing more! well! toprove that it is all over between you, accept frankly theproposal I am going to make to you."
"Make it," said Nicholl.
"Our friend Barbicane believes that his projectile will gostraight to the moon?"
"Yes, certainly," replied the president.
"And our friend Nicholl is persuaded it will fall back upon the earth?"
"I am certain of it," cried the captain.
"Good!" said Ardan. "I cannot pretend to make you agree; but Isuggest this: Go with me, and so see whether we are stopped onour journey."
"What?" exclaimed J. T. Maston, stupefied.
The two rivals, on this sudden proposal, looked steadily ateach other. Barbicane waited for the captain's answer.Nicholl watched for the decision of the president.
"Well?" said Michel. "There is now no fear of the shock!"
"Done!" cried Barbicane.
But quickly as he pronounced the word, he was not before Nicholl.
"Hurrah! bravo! hip! hip! hurrah!" cried Michel, giving a handto each of the late adversaries. "Now that it is all settled,my friends, allow me to treat you after French fashion. Let usbe off to breakfast!"
