"I'll call him out."

Arthur's laugh rang out mockingly upon the still night air. "Southern
gentlemen accept a challenge only from gentlemen; and as for Travilla,
besides being a dead shot, he's too pious to fight a duel, even with his
own class."

"He'll meet me in fair fight, or I'll shoot him down, like a dog, in his
tracks." The words, spoken in low tone, of concentrated fury, were
accompanied with a volley of horrible oaths.

"You'd better not try it!" said Arthur; "you'd be lynched and hung on the
nearest tree within an hour."

"They'd have to catch me first."

"And they would, they'd set their bloodhounds on your track, and there'd
be no escape. As to the lady having been your fiancée--she never was; she
would not engage herself without my brother's consent, which you were not
able to obtain. And now you'd better take yourself off out of this
neighborhood, after such threats as you've made!"

"That means you intend to turn informer, eh?"

"It means nothing of the kind, unless I'm called up as a witness in court;
but you can't prowl about here long without being seen and arrested as a
suspicious character, an abolitionist, or some other sort of
scoundrel--which last you know you are," Arthur could not help adding in a
parenthesis. "So take my advice, and retreat while you can. Now out o' the
way, if you please, and let me pass."