"Do you think this is a proper place to settle such a matter?" calmly
asked Westerfelt.

"D----d you; you are a coward; you are afeerd to say so!"

Harriet Floyd, with a white, startled face, tried to slip between the
two men, but Wambush roughly pushed her aside.

"You _are_ afeerd!" he repeated, shaking his fist in Westerfelt's face.

"No, I'm not," replied Westerfelt. The corners of his mouth were drawn
down and his chin was puckered. "I have fought some in my life, and
sometimes I get as mad as the next one, but I still try to be decent
before ladies. This is no place to settle a difficulty."

"Will you do it outside, then?" sneered Wambush.

Westerfelt hesitated, and looked at the crowd that filled the door and
stood peering in at the window. Mrs. Floyd was running up and down in
the hall, excitedly calling for Harriet, but the crowd was too anxious
to hear Westerfelt's reply to notice her.

"If nothing else will suit you, yes," answered Westerfelt, calmly. "I
don't think human beings ought to spill blood over a matter of
business, and I don't like to fight a man that's drinking, but since
you have behaved so in this lady's presence, I'm really kinder in the
notion."

"Come on, then," blustered Wambush. "I'm either yore meat or you are
mine." He turned to the door and pushed the crowd before him as he