"  One,"  Graham  counted,  and  at  the  word
Fiske  threw  up  his  gun  and  fired,  and  the  ball
whistled  past  my  ear.  My  pistol  was  still  hang-
ing at  my  side,  so  I  merely  pulled  the  trigger,
and  the  ball  went  into  the  ground.  But  instant-
ly I  saw  my  mistake.  Shame  and  consternation
were  written  on  the  faces  of  my  two  seconds,  and
to  the  face  of  Fiske  there  came  a  contemptuous
smile.  I  at  once  understood  my  error.  I  read
what  was  in  the  mind  of  each.  They  dared  to
think  I  had  pulled  the  trigger  through  nervous-
ness, that  I  had  fired  before  I  was  ready,  that  I
was  frightened  and  afraid.  I  am  sure  I  never
was  so  angry  in  my  life,  and  I  would  have  cried
out  to  them,  if  a  movement  on  the  part  of  Fiske
had  not  sobered  me.     Still  smiling,  he  lifted  his

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Captain  Macklin

pistol  slightly  and  aimed  for,  so  it  seemed  to  me,
some  seconds,  and  then  fired.
1  felt  the  bullet  cut  the  lining  of  my  tunic  and
burn  the  flesh  over  my  ribs,  and  the  warm  blood
tickling  my  side,  but  I  was  determined  he  should
not  know  he  had  hit  me,  and  not  even  my  lips
moved.
Then  a  change,  so  sudden  and  so  remarkable,
came  over  the  face  of  young  Fiske,  that  its  very
agony  fascinated  me.  At  first  it  was  incompre-
hensible, and  then  I  understood.  He  had  fired
his  last  shot,  he  thought  he  had  missed,  and  he
was  waiting  for  me,  at  my  leisure,  to  kill  him  with
my  second  bullet.
