A rope was stretched between two small posts driven into the earth. Each combatant was to stand at a dozen paces from the rope barrier on either side and to advance toward it to meet the other. One shot only was allowed, and it rested with the duelists to fire when they chose as soon as the signal was given by one of the seconds dropping his handkerchief. Thus the duel, while perfectly fair, was almost certain to end in the death of at least one of the combatants. The man who fired first, before he got to the barrier, would be absolutely at the mercy of his opponent if he missed, for he would be obliged to walk up to the rope and be shot at a few inches’ distance--unless, of course, he chose to confess himself a coward by refusing the ordeal. It was a thrilling moment when Ketchum’s second dropped the handkerchief. The toughest old fire eater present felt his heart beat quicker when the two men began to move slowly toward each other, step by step, gradually raising their weapons as they advanced, and eying each other like panthers. Crack! There was a flash--a puff of smoke--the whistle of a bullet--a quick, short, indrawn breath from all the onlookers, breaking the tense silence like a hiss. Mainwaring had fired--and missed! He advanced steadily until he touched the rope. Flinging down his useless pistol, he folded his arms on his breast and stood facing his enemy, motionless as a rock. There was not a tremor on his lips. “It’s all over now!” whispered one of the spectators, who was standing near Buffalo Bill. “Ketchum can hit a silver dollar at ten paces, and no man could miss under these circumstances.” The bully eyed the doomed lad with the grin of a demon, and then advanced toward him, step by step. It seemed an age before he reached the rope and held his pistol right against the breast of the young rancher. “Now, then, you young fool, take back that lie you told about me, or I’ll shoot you on the spot!” he said loudly enough for all the men standing around to hear. “Shoot!” replied Mainwaring sternly. “I said you cheated, and I say so still!” The spectators held their breath, for it now seemed that nothing could save the brave young fellow. But Ketchum looked around the circle before he pulled the trigger, and he caught the steely glance of the king of the scouts piercing him through and through. That look said as plainly as any words could have done: “Shoot him, and I will shoot you within five minutes! Spare him, and I will spare you.” Fear conquered even the mad passion of hatred that was raging in the breast of the bully. “The young fool is mad! He doesn’t know what he is saying!” he muttered, and he fired the pistol in the air and folded his arms sullenly. “Now, I am ready for you, if you wish, Buffalo Bill!” he said. The border king walked up to him and replied, in a high, clear voice that all could hear: