and he had thrown up the ruffian's arm as he pulled the trigger.

Beverly's eyes flashed like live coals, and he sprang at Rawbon's
throat, but the crowd pressed between them, and for a while the utmost
confusion prevailed, but no blows were struck. The landlord, a sullen,
black-browed man, who had hitherto leaned silently on the counter,
taking no part in the fray, now interposed.

"Come, I don't want no more loose shooting here!" and, by way of
assisting his remark, he took down his double-barrelled shot-gun and
jumped upon the counter. The fellow was well known for a desperate
though not quarrelsome character, and his action had the effect of
somewhat quieting the excited crowd.

"Boys," continued he, "it's only Yankee against Yankee, anyhow; if
they're gwine to fight, let the stranger have fair play. Here stranger,
if you're a friend of Squire Weems, you kin have a fair show in my
house, I reckon, so take hold of this," and taking a revolver from his
belt, he passed it to Beverly, who cocked it and slipped it into
Harold's hand. Rawbon, who throughout the confusion had been watching
for the opportunity of a shot at his antagonist, now found himself front
to front with the object of his hate, for the bystanders had
instinctively drawn back a space, and even Wayne and Weems, willing to
trust to their friend's coolness and judgment, had stepped aside.

Harold sighted his man as coolly as if he had been aiming at a squirrel.
Rawbon did not flinch, for he was not wanting in physical courage, but
he evidently concluded that the chances were against him, and with a
bitter smile, he walked slowly toward the door. Turning at the
threshold, he scowled for a moment at Harold, as if hesitating whether