 | An Arkansas Duel. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West |  |
12. An Arkansas Duel.
Some years ago, when horse thieves, negro stealers,
gamblers, id est omne genus, were much more common in
the Arkansas country than they are to-day, a party of six
or eight borderers were one cool evening in November
collected around the bar-room fire of the Jefferson House,
in a place well known, but which it suits our purpose not
to name. They were rather a rough-looking set of fellows,
take them all in all; and at the moment we introduce
them, were attentively listening to the wonderful exploits
of one Kelser, who was known in those parts as the leader
of a gang of bullying scoundrels—though the persons to
whom he was talking, being comparative strangers, permitted
him the rare enjoyment of telling his story, spreading
his fame, and making himself a hero in a new quarter.
Winding up the detail of his sixth bloody duel and
rencounter with an oath, he added, by way of a climax:
“I'm one of them as is never afeard of anything - white,
black, or red—and all I want is, (displaying the hilt of his
is.”
As he spoke, he straightened himself up, bent his round,
bullet-head forward, and brought his face, with its pug
nose, thin, sneering lips, and small, black, somewhat
bloodshot eyes, to bear upon each of those present.
No one made any answer; and each eye, if it did not
quail, at least fell before the contemptuous glance of the
braggadocio.
“Yes,” he repeated, with another oath, “I'm one of
them as is never afeard of anything, as I said afore; and
to prove it, I'll tell ye of my fight with Dexter—Rash
Dexter, as we used to call him.”
And then, with the air of one perfectly satisfied that he
was a hero, which no man dared dispute, he was proceeding
with his story, when a tall, slender individual, in the
dress of a Northern traveler, somewhat dusty, and with a
pair of saddle-bags thrown across his arm, quietly entered
the inn.
Approaching the bar—whither the landlord, who was
one of the party at the fire, immediately repaired—the
stranger mildly inquired if he could be entertained for the
night.
“Certainly, sir,” returned Boniface, with a cheerful air.
“A horse, I reckon, sir?”
The traveler nodded; and while he proceeded to divest
with the host, the latter called to a black servant,
and ordered him to attend to the gentleman's beast.
“Supper, sit?” pursued the landlord, with an eye to
business.
Again the traveler nodded; and perceiving the fire was
surrounded by the party already mentioned, and evidently
not wishing to intrude himself among strangers, he quietly
took his seat by a table near the wall.
Meantime he had not escaped notice—as no new-comer
in such a place does; but while most of the company
scanned him somewhat furtively, Kelser, the egotistical
hero of his own bloody exploits, angered by the interruption,
stopped his narration and regarded him with a savage
scowl.
“Another — Yankee—I'll bet high on't!” he said, in
a sneering, grating tone, intended to disconcert, irritate,
and insult the traveler.
The latter, however, seemed to take no notice of the
remark; but turning to the table, upon which there
chanced to be lying an old paper, he picked it up, as it
were mechanically, and soon appeared to be deeply absorbed
in its contents.
This quiet, inoffensive proceeding served to irritate the
ruffian still more; but contenting himself for the time by
muttering something about all Yankees being cowards, he
speaking somewhat louder than usual—especially when
he came to the bloody details of his narrative—as if to
arrest the attention of the stranger, and impress him unfavorably.
Finding the latter was not in the least disturbed, however,
Kelser closed with a tremendous oath; and then,
turning to the landlord, who had once more joined the
party, he inquired, in a loud tone if the thought there were
any “cussed thieves amongst 'em from abroad?”
“Hush!” returned the host, in a low, cautious tone;
“don't go for to make a muss here, I beg of you--for such
things ruin a man's house!”
“Do you want to take up on that fellow's side?”
sneered the bully, fixing his black, snaky eyes upon the
host, with an expression that made the latter quail.
“Oh, no, Kelser—I don't want to take anything up;
and so I beg you won't say nothing to him. Come! let's
take a drink all round, and call it quits.”
“In course we'll take a drink,” returned the other, with
a coarse laugh; “and as it's to be all round, why, we'll
have it all round.”
Saying this, and rising as he spoke, he walked over to
the inoffensive traveler, with a swaggering air, and,
slapping him somewhat heavily on the shoulder, said,
roughly:
“How d'ye do, stranger?”
The man looked up with something like a start, and displayed
features in striking contrast with those of his interrogator.
He seemed about five-and-twenty years of age—
had a smooth, broad, high forehead—a rather Grecian
slightly effeminate, and almost beardless face,—and mild,
soft, pleasant blue eyes—the general expression of the
whole countenance denoting one of a naturally timid,
retiring, and unobtrusive disposition. Fixing his eyes upon
the bully—rather with the air of one who did not exactly
comprehend the cause of being so rudely disturbed, than
with any thing like anger or resentment at the harsh,
unceremonious interruption- he seemed to wait for the
latter to volunteer some explanation of his uncivil proceeding.
“I said, how d'ye do, stranger?” repeated Kelser; “but
you don't seem to understand the civil thing.”
At this the crowd, in expectation of a quarrel, at
once started up and silently gathered around the bully
and the traveller. This seemed to startle the latter a
little; and glancing quickly from one to the other, he
replied:
“I am very well, if that is what you wish to know; but
really I do not comprehend why you should be so solicitous
about my health.”
“There's a great many things that you — Yankees
laugh.
“What does this mean, gentlemen?” inquired the
traveler, turning a little pale—his mild, blue eye beginning
to gleam with a strange, peculiar light—at the same time
rising and glancing from one to the other, till his gaze
rested upon the troubled visage of his host. “What have
I done that any one here should seek to insult me? Do
you permit this, sir?” he added, addressing the innkeeper.
“He can't help himself,” interposed the bully. “If
there's any body as wants to insult you, it's me; and Bill
Kelser always does what he likes—any where, and with
any body.”
“And why do you seek to quarrel with a man that
never saw or exchanged a word with you before?” quietly
asked the stranger, his lips slightly quivering, either with
fear or suppressed anger—a soft glow diffusing itself over
his whole face—and the pupils of his eyes seeming to
expand, and grow dark, and gleam even more strangely
than before.
“Because I hate all you cussed Yankees; and whenever
I sees one of your tribe, I always feel like cutting his heart
out! for I am one of them as never knowed what it was
to fear eyther man or devil!”
“Come!” interposed the landlord, taking the bully by
the arm—“we was going to take a drink, you know!”
“Yes, I'm in for that, too!” said Kelser; “always good
at eyther a drink or a fight, I am. You hear, stranger?”
he continued, taking hold of the latter's arm somewhat
roughly. “You hear, don't you? We're going to take a
drink with the landlord; and if you can prove you're a
decent white man, we'll honor you by taking another with
you afterwards.”
“I shall have no objection to treat, if the gentleman here
think I ought to do so,” returned the traveler, drawing
himself up with dignified firmness, and speaking in a more
positive manner than he had yet done; “but as for drinking
myself, that is something I never do.”
Nothing at that moment could have pleased the bully
better than to hear the stranger refuse to drink; for he
had long since resolved upon a quarrel with him; first,
from natural malice; secondly, because he believed him
one to be easily disposed of; and thirdly, because he might
thus make a grand display of his fighting qualities, with
little or no risk to himself—a very important consideration,
when we bear in mind that all such characters are arrant
cowards at heart.
“So you don't drink, eh?” he said to the stranger.
“D'ye hear that, gentlemen?” appealing to the crowd.
“Now every body round here has to drink or fight! And
so (walking up to the traveler) you've got to do one or
t'other—which shall it be?”
“I do not wish to do either,” was the reply; “but drink
I will not!”
“Then fight you shall!” cried the other, closing the sentence
with a wicked oath, and at the same time laying his
hand upon the hilt of his Bowie knife, and partly drawing
it from its sheath
“Do you intend to murder me? or give me a chance for
my life?” inquired the stranger, with a coolness that astonished
those who, looking upon his fine, delicate features,
and slender figure, expected to see him shrink back in
alarm and dismay.
“Give you a chance, in course!” returned the bully, in
a less confident tone—for he too had expected to see the
other succumb at once.
“Do you challenge me to a fair combat?” inquired the
other.
In course I does,” blustered Kelser; “we don't do
nothing else, in this country, but the fair thing.”
The affair now began to look serious.
“Gentlemen,” said the traveler, with a polite bow to the
company in general, “you know how quietly I came in
here, and how inoffensively I conducted myself afterwards;
and you have seen how this man has ventured beyond all
rules of good breeding, and stepped out of his way to insult
and fix a quarrel upon me. Now, then, as I am a stranger
here—though one who has always heard much of Southern
stand by and see fair play?”
“All! all of us!” was the almost simultaneous response.
“You shall have fair play, stranger!”
The bully turned slightly pale, and seemed more discomposed
and uneasy.
“I thank you, gentlemen, for convincing me, by your
offer, that you are governed by justice and honor!” pursued
the traveler; “and now I will prove to you that this
man is a cowardly braggadocio, or else one of us shall not
quit this place alive! It is understood that I am challenged
to a single fight, is it not?”
There was a general affirmative response
“The challenged party, I believe, has the choice of
weapons, time, and place?”
Another affirmative response—the bully looking still
paler and more anxious.
“Well, then, gentlemen, not being handy with the
Bowie knife, and wishing an equal chance for life, I propose
to leave the result to fate, and so test the courage of
my opponent. Any man can stand up for a fight, if he
knows he has the best of it—but only true courage can
coolly face uncertainty—and my insulter boasts of fearing
nothing. My proposition is this: Let two pistols be
selected—one be loaded—and both be concealed under a
cloth upon this table. Then my fighting friend and myself
heart of his foe, and pull the trigger—the unarmed one
standing firm, and receiving the charge or not as Heaven
shall will! Is not this fair?”
“Perfeetly fair!” coincided all except Kelser, who
demurred, and swore that nobody but a Yankee would
ever have thought of such a heathenish way of doing
business.
“Did I not tell you he was a coward—this fellow—who
a few minutes ago feared neither man nor devil?” sneered
the stranger, thus drawing a laugh from the company,
who now seemed to be all on his side.
The landlord now objected to the affair taking place in
his house—but on one of the company taking him aside,
and whispering in his ear, he made no further opposition.
Accordingly, Kelser reluctantly consenting, one was
chosen to prepare the pistols, which were immediately
produced; and in less than ten minutes they were placed
under a cloth upon the table.
“I waive all right to the first choice,” said the stranger,
as he and Kelser were brought face to face in their proper
positions.
The bully, who was really very much alarmed—and who
showed it in his pale face, trembling limbs, and quivering
muscles—at once seemed to brighten at this concession;
and thrusting his hand under the cloth, he drew forth
other, and pulled the trigger.
It did not fire; but the stranger, who knew not that
it was unloaded, neither blanched nor changed expression.
The crowd applauded, and the bully grew ghastly
pale.
“It is my turn now!” said the traveler, in a quiet, determined
tone, fixing his blue eyes steadily upon the cowering
form of Kelser.
This was more than the latter could stand.
“No, I'll be — if it is!” he shouted; and instantly
drawing the other pistol, he presented it, and pulled the
trigger also.
But with a like result—for neither pistol was loaded—
the company having secretly resolved to test the courage
of both without bloodshed.
Throwing down the pistol with a bitter curse, amid a
universal cry of “Shame! shame!” Kelser whipped out
his knife, and made a rush for his antagonist. But the
latter, gliding quickly around the table, suddenly stopped,
and exclaimed:
“Three times at my life—and now once at yours!”
And with these ominous words he raised his arm
quickly; the next instant there was a flash, a crack, and
the bully fell heavily forward, shot through the brain.
The verdict of the jury, who sat upon the case, was justifiable
journey as if nothing had happened.
Would you know who he is? If we named him, we
should name one who now holds a high official position;
and for many reasons we prefer he should be known only
by those who are already cognizant of the incident we
have recorded.
| An Arkansas Duel. Wild scenes on the frontiers, or, Heroes of the West | |