it were a dream, a nightmare, and yet I was conscious of no fear, of no desire to avoid the ordeal.  I can recall the scene now, clearly etched on my memory—­the outlines of the trees silhouetted against the sky, the dark shadow of the stables, the green, level turf, the two figures—­the one short and stout, the other tall and slender—­talking earnestly; the deep blue of the sky overhead, the steel gleam of the derringer in the open case, and Le Gaire loading carefully, his eyes now and then glancing across at me.  Then the two men wheeled with military precision, and walked back toward us.  I saw Hardy take up the second pistol, and load it in silence, while Bell whispered to Le Gaire, the latter with his weapon tightly clasped.  A moment later the major thrust the carved stock into my hand, and I looked at it curiously.

“Gentlemen,” he said clearly, stepping to one side, “we will make this as simple as possible.  You will take positions here, back to back.”

The sound of his voice, the sharp ring of authority in it, awoke me to the reality as though I had received an electric shock.  I felt the fierce beat of my heart, and then every muscle and nerve became steel.  Without a tremor, my mind clear and alert, I advanced to the point designated, and stood erect, facing the south; an instant, and Le Gaire’s shoulders were touching mine.

“Now listen closely,” said Hardy, his voice sounding strangely far off, yet each word distinct.  “I am to give the first word, and Bell the second.  When I say ‘forward’ you will take ten paces—­go slowly—­and halt.  Then Bell will count ‘one, two, three’; turn at the first word, and fire at the third.  If either man discharges his weapon before ‘three’ is spoken, he answers to us.  Do you both understand?”

We answered together.

“Very well, gentlemen, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Go on.”

There was a moment’s pause, so still I could hear my own breathing, and the slight noise Le Gaire made as he gripped his derringer stock more tightly.

“Forward!”

I stepped out almost mechanically, endeavoring not to walk too fast, and regulating each stride as though I were measuring the field.  At the end of the tenth I stopped, one foot slightly advanced for the turn, every nerve pulsing from strain.  It seemed a long while before Bell’s deep voice broke the silence.

“One!”

I whirled, as on a pivot, my pistol arm flung out.

“Two!”

Le Gaire stood sideways, the muzzle of his derringer covering me, his left hand supporting his elbow.  I could see the scowling line between his eyes, the hateful curl of his lip, and my own weapon came up, held steady as a rock; over the blue steel barrel I covered the man’s forehead just below his cap visor, the expression on his face telling me he meant to shoot to kill.  I never recall feeling cooler, or more determined in my life.  How still, how deathly still it was!