"Now, and in the railway-cut beyond the wood," said Wolffert. We retired to two rooms in a neighboring dormitory to arrange matters. Peck and another volunteer represented Wolffert, and Sam Pleasants and Harry Houston were my seconds. I had expected that some attempt at reconciliation would be made; but there was no suggestion of it. I never saw such cold-blooded young ruffians as all our seconds were, and when Peck came to close the final cartel he had an air between that of a butcher and an undertaker. He looked at me exactly as a butcher does at a fatted calf. He positively licked his chops. I did not want to shoot Wolffert, but I could cheerfully have murdered Peck. While, however, the arrangements were being made by our friends, I had had a chance for some reflection and I had used it. I knew that Wolffert did not like me. He had no reason to do so, for I had not only left him, but had been cold and distant with him. Still, I had always treated him civilly, and had spoken of him respectfully, which was more than Peck had always done. Yet, here, without the least provocation, he had insulted me grossly. I knew there must be some misunderstanding, and I determined on my "own hook" to find out what it was. Fortune favored me. Just then Wolffert opened the door. He had gone to his own room for a few moments and, on his return, mistook the number and opened the wrong door. Seeing his error, he drew back with an apology, and was just closing the door when I called him. "Wolffert! Come in here a moment. I want to speak to you alone." He re-entered and closed the door; standing stiff and silent. "Wolffert, there has been some mistake, and I want to know what it is." He made not the least sign that he heard, except a flash, deep in his eyes, like a streak of lightning in a far-off cloud. "I am ready to fight you in any way you wish," I went on. "But I want to know what the trouble is. Why did you insult me out of a clear sky? What had I done?" "Everything." "What! Specify. What was it?" "You have made my life Hell--all of you!" His face worked, and he made a wild sweep with his arm and brought it back to his side with clenched fist. "But I?" "You were the head. You have all done it. You have treated me as an outcast--a Jew! You have given me credit for nothing, because I was a Jew. I could have stood the personal contempt and insult, and I have tried to stand it; but I will put up with it no longer. It is appointed once for a man to die, and I can die in no better cause than for my people." He was gasping with suppressed emotion, and I was beginning to gasp also--but for a different reason. He went on: "You thought I was a coward because I was a Jew, and because I wanted peace--treated me as a poltroon because I was a Jew. And I made up my mind to stop it. So this evening my chance came. That is all." "But what have I done?"