other half of his cockade.

'Curse your monkey-tricks!' he cried, as I wheeled my horse away from
him.

'Why should you strike at me?' said I. 'You see that I will not strike
back.'

'That's all very well,' said he; 'but you've got to come along with me
to the camp.'

'I shall never see the camp,' said I.

'I'll lay you nine to four you do,' he cried, as he made at me, sword in
hand.

But those words of his put something new into my head. Could we not
decide the matter in some better way than fighting? The Bart was
placing me in such a position that I should have to hurt him, or he
would certainly hurt me. I avoided his rush, though his sword-point was
within an inch of my neck.

'I have a proposal,' I cried. 'We shall throw dice as to which is the
prisoner of the other.'

He smiled at this. It appealed to his love of sport.

'Where are your dice?' he cried.

'I have none.'