I arrived at the stump; and turning on my heel, stood facing him. He was already in his place--with the joint of venison in one hand, and his long rifle in the other. The moment was nigh, when one of us should make an abrupt exit from the world! Such a destiny, for one or other of us, I saw depicted in the impassible face of my adversary--as plainly as if written upon the sky. I could read there, that there was no chance of escaping the combat; and I resigned myself to meet it. "Now, mister!" cried my antagonist in a clear firm voice, "I'm agwine to chuck the meat. Remember! neyther's to fire, till a bird lights on the ground! Arter that, ye may go it like hell!" I saw him swing the joint once or twice round his head; I saw it jerked aloft, and then whirling through the air; I saw it falling--falling, till the sodden sound told that it had reached the ground. It was a fearful moment! CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. WAITING THE WORD. In truth was it a fearful moment--one to shake the steadiest nerves, or thrill the stoutest heart. To me, it was an ordeal far more terrible than that of an ordinary duel; for there was, lacking the motive--at least on my side--which usually stimulates to an affair of honour. Sense of wrong I felt, but too slightly for revenge--not enough to steel the heart to the spilling of blood. Anger I _had_ felt but the moment before; and then I could have fought, even to the death! But my blood, that had boiled up for an instant, now ran coldly through my veins. The unexpected behaviour of my adversary had calmed my wrath--acting upon it like oil upon troubled water. Thus to fight without seconds; to die without friend to speak the last word of worldly adieu; or to take the life of another, without human being to attest the fairness of the act--no earthly eye beholding us--no living creature save the black vultures--appropriate instruments to give the death-signal--ominous witnesses of the dark deed: such were the appalling reflections that came before my mind, as I stood facing my determined antagonist. It would scarcely be true to say, that I felt not fear; and yet it was less cowardice, than a sort of vague vexation at risking my life in so causeless a conflict. There was something absolutely ludicrous in standing up to be shot at, merely to square with the whim of this eccentric squatter; and to shoot at him seemed equally ridiculous. Either alternative, upon reflection, appeared the very essence of absurdity: and, having ample time to reflect, while awaiting the signal, I could not help thinking how farcical was the whole affair.