The word was again given. Crack went both pistols simultaneously. The smoke slowly cleared away, and the principals were discovered standing stock-still. The silence and stillness for a moment were awful. No one moved. Soon Smith was seen to reel and then to slowly fall. His second and the surgeon rushed to him. Culkins made a tremendous effort to fly from the field, but was restrained by his seconds. "The honor of the Culkinses," he roared, "is untarnished--why the divil won't yez let me go? H--ll's blazes, men, will yez be after giving me over to the bailiffs? Docther, Docther!" he shouted, "is he mortally wounded?" The Doctor said he could not tell--that he was wounded in the shoulder--that a carriage would be sent for and the wounded man taken to his house. Here a heart-rending groan came from Smith, and Culkins, with a Donnybrook shriek, burst from his seconds, knocked over the doctor's lantern, and fled towards the town like greased lightning amidst a chorus of excited voices. "Hold him!" "Stop him!" "Grab him by the coat-tails!" "Shoot him!" "Head him off!" And half of the party started after him at an express-train rate. There was some very fine running indeed. Culkins was brought to a sudden stop against a tall board fence, but he sprang back and cleared it like an English hunter, and tore like a lunatic for the city. Half an hour later the party might have been seen, if it hadn't been so pesky dark, groping blindly around the office in which Culkins had been a student at law. "Are you here, Culkins?" said one. "Before Culkins answers that," said a smothered voice in the little room, "tell me who yez are." "Friends--your seconds!" "Gintlemin, Culkins is here. The last of the Culkinses is under the bed." He was dragged out. "I hope," he said, "the ignoble wretch is not dead, but I call you to witness, gintlemen, that he grossly insulted me." (We don't care what folks say, but choking a man is a gross insult.--Ed. P.D.)