These words were scarcely uttered, when Patterson stepped from the saloon upon the porch. Turning to the right, he stood face to face with Pinkham. The fearful glare of his bloody eyes was met by the deepening scowl of his antagonist. Hurling at Pinkham a degrading epithet, he exclaimed, “Draw, will you?” “Yes,” replied Pinkham with an oath, “I will,” and drawing his revolver, poised it in his left hand to facilitate the speed of cocking it. Patterson, with the rapidity of lightning, drew his, cocking it in the act, and firing as he raised it. The bullet lodged under Pinkham’s shoulder blade. Pinkham received a severe nervous shock from the wound, and delivered his shot too soon, the bullet passing over the head of Patterson, into the roof. At Patterson’s second fire the cap failed to explode, but before Pinkham, who was disabled by his wound, could cock his pistol for another shot, Patterson fired a third time, striking Pinkham near the heart. He reeled down the steps of the porch, and fell forward upon his face, trying with his expiring strength to cock his revolver. At the first fire of Patterson, Dunn forgot his promise to stand by Pinkham. Jumping over the banister, he sought refuge beneath the porch. Stealing thence when the firing ceased, he ran across the street, where, protected by the ample trunk of a large pine, he took furtive observation of the catastrophe. Pinkham’s other friend came from the rear of the house in time to assist Turner in removing his body. Patterson’s friends, some seven or eight in number, well pleased with the result, but fearing for his personal safety, mounted him on a good horse, armed him with revolvers, and started him for a hurried ride to Boise City. Half an hour served to carry intelligence of the encounter to Idaho City. The excitement was intense. Pinkham’s friends were clamorous for the arrest and speedy execution of Patterson; those of the latter avoided a collision by keeping their own counsel, and expressing no public opinion in justification of the conduct of their champion. Terry and James, the instigators of the contest, secreted themselves, and left town by stealth at the first opportunity. Indeed, many of Patterson’s friends believed that Terry intended that the affray should terminate differently. The pistol which he furnished Patterson had been lost, and buried in the snow the entire winter before the encounter, and it was supposed by the owner, who was afraid to fire it lest it should explode, that the loads were rusted. Terry knew of this. He stood in personal fear of Patterson, and bore an old grudge against him. Here was his opportunity. At the second attempt of Patterson to fire, the pistol failed, and the wonder is that it went off at all.