The challenge did not seem to frighten Firmin. Surely, he thought, Savin will not insist. “How do you mean?” queried Firmin curiously. “We will take position fifty paces apart, and then each may take ten steps forward before firing.” “But that is not a duel,” said Firmin solemnly. “Then choose a better course; but be quick about it.” “I do not wish to fight at all,” replied the poacher. “Indeed!” exclaimed Barrau, with an effort to contain himself. “No, I do not. You have mentioned your wife. Well, if she is indiscreet you must take better care of her. I am not to blame, and why should I expose myself to death when I have accumulated a neat little sum to enjoy after working hard for eighteen months? No, indeed, I am not such a fool.” “You coward! Heavens! what a craven you are!” Firmin’s head drooped and he blushed. Then he rallied. “But,” said he, “it would be no duel without witnesses.” “I expected you would find some excuse,” said Barrau impatiently. “Perhaps you prefer a duel with swords. Schemer! You want to get away and then mock me. But that will not work. You must fight.” “I say no. If I wounded you or killed you, I should be branded as an assassin. No, thanks.” “Very well, then; I shall be obliged to kill you outright.” Savin again raised his rifle, and Firmin was again terrified. Nightfall was not far off, and to be murdered in this ghostly spot was a horrible thought. It was appallingly obvious to Firmin that he was in Barrau’s power. Nothing would prevent the latter from proving his innocence should he carry out his threat. Approaching Firmin, Savin seized him by the collar and shook him violently. “Will you fight?” Firmin began to cry for help. Savin, who intended only to give him a thorough scare, now proceeded to administer a rather vigorous chastisement. At length, when he concluded he had taught the lesson to its completion he stopped. But anon he acted as though about to repeat it, Firmin meanwhile fairly quaking with fear. Then, turning on his heel, Savin walked away, leaving Firmin prostrate on the ground. As soon as the gamekeeper was lost to sight in the woods Firmin, with a muttered curse, seized the doe and went his way. Hatred burned in his breast, and it was depicted on every lineament of his wicked face. His thirst for vengeance was consuming him. [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER XII. A VILLAIN’S OFFER. Irritated beyond expression, Savin proceeded homeward, and, as it happened, the first man he met was Andoche--about a mile from St. Benoit. The blacksmith was a little the worse for liquor, but that was by no means a novelty in him. “Well, well,” he remarked, as he and Barrau came face to face, “I see you have two guns. Have you been capturing somebody?” “Better than that,” returned Savin, whose anger increased the more he recalled his recent experience. “Oh, with what have you regaled him? For I will wager it is Firmin’s rifle.”