The next morning, accordingly, I took a carriage, and with my friend
Judge Mott drove down to the appointed place. After we had been there
some time the first stage appeared and stopped. Soon after the second
stage appeared and stopped, and Judge Barbour and Mr. Fairfax got out.
But instead of proceeding to the designated place, Barbour declared
that he was a judicial officer, and as such could not engage in a
duel. At the same time he would take occasion to say that he would
protect himself, and, if assaulted, would kill the assailant. With
these words, leaving Fairfax standing where he was, he walked over to
the first stage, and mounting rode on to Sacramento. Seeing Fairfax
standing alone on the ground I sent word to him that I would be happy
to give him a place in my carriage--an invitation which he accepted,
and we then drove to Nicolaus, where we breakfasted, and thence
returned to Marysville.[1]

The conduct of Barbour on the ground, after his fierce and savage
terms at the outset, produced a great deal of merriment and derision;
and some very sharp squibs appeared in the newspapers. One of them
gave him great annoyance, and he inquired for its author. I told the
editor of the paper in which it appeared that if it was necessary to
protect the writer, to give my name, although I did not write it, or
know beforehand that it was to be written.

On the following morning, whilst in front of my office gathering up
kindling-wood for a fire, and having my arms full--for each man was
his own servant in those days--Barbour came up and, placing a cocked
navy revolver near my head, cried out, "Draw and defend yourself." As
I had not observed his approach I was taken by surprise, but turning
on him I said, "You infernal scoundrel, you cowardly assassin--you
come behind my back and put your revolver to my head and tell me to