Всадник без головы / The Headless Horseman

All saw that the quarrel was a serious one. The affair must end in a fight. No power on earth could prevent it from coming to that conclusion.

On receiving the alcoholic douche, Calhoun had clutched his six-shooter,[26 - six-shooter – шестизарядный револьвер] and drawn it from its holster. He only waited to get the whisky out of his eyes before advancing upon his enemy.

The mustanger, anticipating this action, had armed himself with a similar weapon, and stood ready to return the fire of his antagonist – shot for shot.

“Hold!” commanded the major in a loud authoritative tone, interposing the long blade of his his sabre between the disputants.

“Hold your fire – I command you both. Drop your muzzles; or by the Almighty[27 - the Almighty – (Всемогущий) Бог] I’ll take the arm off the first of you that touches trigger!”

“Why?” shouted Calhoun, purple with angry passion. “Why, Major Ringwood? After an insult like that, and from a low fellow—”

“You were the first to offer it, Captain Calhoun.”

“Damn me if I care! I shall be the last to let it pass unpunished. Stand out of the way, major.”

“I’m not the man to stand in the way of the honest adjustment of a quarrel,” answered the major. “You shall be quite at liberty – you and your antagonist – to kill one another, if it pleases you. But not just now. You must perceive, Mr Calhoun, that your sport endangers the lives of other people, who have not the slightest interest in it. Wait till the rest of us can withdraw to a safe distance.”

Calhoun stood, with sullen brow, gritting his teeth; while the mustanger appeared to take things as coolly as if neither angry, nor an Irishman.

“I suppose you are determined upon fighting?” said the major, knowing that, there was not much chance of adjusting the quarrel.

“I have no particular wish for it,” modestly responded Maurice. “If Mr Calhoun apologises for what he has said, and also what he has done—”

“He ought to do it: he began the quarrel!” suggested several of the bystanders.

“Never!” scornfully responded the ex-captain. “Cash Calhoun isn’t accustomed to that sort of thing. Apologise indeed! And to a masquerading monkey like that!”

“Enough!” cried the young Irishman, for the first time showing serious anger; “I gave him a chance for his life. He refuses to accept it: and now, by the Mother of God, we don’t both leave this room alive! Major! I insist that you and your friends withdraw. I can stand his insolence no longer!”

“Stay!” cried the major. “There should be some system about this. If they are to fight, let it be fair for both sides. Neither of you can object?”

“I shan’t object to anything that’s fair,” said the Irishman.

***

It was decided that Cassius Calhoun and Maurice Gerald would go outside along with everybody and then enter again – one at each door.

The duellists stood, each with eye intent upon the door, by which he was to make entrance – perhaps into eternity! They only waited for a signal to cross the threshold. It was to be given by ringing the tavern bell.

A loud voice was heard calling out the simple monosyllable—

“Ring!”

At the first dong of the bell both duellists had re-entered the room. A hundred eyes were upon them; and the spectators understood the conditions of the duel – that neither was to fire before crossing the threshold.

Once inside, the conflict commenced, the first shots filling the room with smoke. Both kept their feet, though both were wounded – their blood spurting out over the sanded floor.

The spectators outside saw only a cloud of smoke oozing out of both doors, and dimming the light of the lamps. There were heard shots – after the bell had become silent, other sounds: the sharp shivering of broken glass, the crash of falling furniture, rudely overturned in earnest struggle – the trampling of feet upon the boarded floor – at intervals the clear ringing crack of the revolvers; but neither of the voices of the men. The crowd in the street heard the confused noises, and noted the intervals of silence, without being exactly able to interpret them. The reports of the pistols[28 - report of a pistol – звук пистолетного выстрела] were all they had to proclaim the progress of the duel. Eleven had been counted; and in breathless silence they were listening for the twelfth.

Instead of it their ears were gratified by the sound of a voice, recognised as that of the mustanger.

“My pistol is at your head! I have one shot left – an apology, or you die!”

At the same instant was heard a different voice from the one which had already spoken. It was Calhoun’s – in low whining accents, almost a whisper. “Enough, damn it! Drop your shooting-iron – I apologise.”

Answer the following questions:

1) What were the officers talking about in the bar-room?

2) How did the conflict begin?

3) Did anybody try to prevent a duel?

4) Where did the duel take place?

5) How did it end?

Chapter Seven

After the duel Maurice was compelled to stay within doors. The injuries he had received, though not so severe as those of his antagonist, nevertheless made it necessary for him to keep to his chamber – a small, and scantily furnished bedroom in the hotel.