Down in the left-hand corner, almost as an afterthought, there were two lines: "Challenge offered," followed by Cash's blunt scrawl, and "Challenge accepted," with an empty space. Dick signed, and then glanced over the paper before he handed it back: it began, "Know all men that on this 10th day of May, 2049, a quarrel arising between Richard Jones, eldest son of Frederick Jones of Buckhill, and Cashel Jones, eldest and only son of George Jones ... " Under the last typed line, Dick's eye caught the familiar, austere shape of his father's signature, and the florid loops of Uncle George's. The capital G was small, but the J was enormous, and the last stroke of "Jones" whipped back into a descending curlicue that underlined the name.
"Well, men, it'll have to be this afternoon, if you're all agreeable," said Kunkle. "Say, in half an hour?"
6
Down the long green slope the crowd flowed in atoms of white and scarlet, lavender, dun, sky blue. Dick moved with it, protected by a little circle of relatives and servants: first the Man and Uncle Orville, walking silently together, then Blashfield the fierce little armorer on one side, and Uncle Glenn on the other; behind him, body-slobs, porters and the like. All around them, voices were subdued; no one shouted or laughed. The shadows of the great oaks and maples were heavily pooled at their roots; there was a melancholy freshness in the air. It was almost the magical twilight time of day, when all shapes blurred into a golden mist, and the ground seemed to glow faintly with its own light.
He was afraid.
It took all his will to conceal it, to walk steadily with his head up, hands at his sides. His gut was like ice, his knees were loose, his lips cold and dry.
He had played at duels a thousand times with Ad and the others, and had thought he understood what it was like: you drew yourself up, calm and cold; you waited for the word, you aimed and fired, and the other man fell down. Even when it was your turn to fall, you knew you would get up again in a moment.
But to fall, and never get up -- to disappear into that blackness forever ...
Now that it was ending, he could see the day as a whole. This was what it had been leading up to, all the time, from the very moment he had got out of bed. The frustration about breakfast, the Dixieland, Cash and himself coming together as inevitably as an axe and a tree
He was going to die. His mind flinched back in horror from that, but it was still there, grinning, implacable. His body would rot under the ground, while delicious things were still happening in the sunlight ... at Buckhill, Adam would be the Man; life would go on just the same, intolerably.
If only this feeling had come earlier, when there was still time ... He could never go through with it. He'd disgrace himself if he had to, anything; but he wanted to live.
Down on the flat, a hundred yards from the rifle range, the ground slobs had finished measuring off the distance and had planted poles. Along both sides of the dueling ground, the crowd was gathering; the line of fire was approximately north and south, so that neither he nor Cash would have the sun in his eyes.
The crowd made way for them as they came up. Dick's party moved to the north end of the ground, and he saw Cash taking his place, among the huddle of Twin Lakes men, at the other end. Cash looked unfamiliar in his white shirt, more hulking and awkward than ever.
"Give me the gun," said Uncle Orville. Carrying it, he walked down to the center pole, to meet Kunkle and Uncle Floyd. They compared the guns, then conferred for what seemed an interminable time; evidently there was some troublesome point of procedure.
Dick felt the pressure of Blashfield's hard fingers on his arm. The little man was like a gray-feathered pouter pigeon; the bristly top of his head came only to Dick's shoulder. "Everybody feels same way by first time," he said gruffly. "It's all right. It's all right."
"Oh, Blashfield," said Dick.
"You'll do fine. It's just like from high board diving, firs' time. Second time, nod so bad."
Dick managed to snort. "How do you know? You can't swim, Blashfield."
The armorer's popeyed face was grave and dignified. "No, sir, but I fought for your grandfadder by Pimple Hill."
Dick took a deep breath, and looked back down the line; Apparently the dispute had been satisfactorily decided; the two guns hung on the center pole, and Uncle Orville was walking leisurely back. Off through the crowd to the left, Dick could make out Dr. Scope and two white-coated house slobs working around the emergency cart. Two narrow cots on wheels were standing ready, and there was a plasma stand, and a pulmotor ...
Dick was thinking of the dive from the high board, the falling, and then the icy shock ... Was that what death was like? A shock, and then nothing?
"Now, misser, det won't be long," said Blashfield affectionately. "Remember for aim by det spot right under his arm. Never de head. If you miss by head, you miss, but if you miss by heart, dere's still his liver'n lights. How's your nerves?"
"All right," said Dick, from a dry throat.
"Good." Blashfield patted his arm. "Now remember dis, too, misser. A fight is a fight, it don't madder how you got into it or wedder you're by right or by wrong. You're here to kill your man if you can. Leave de sermons to de preacher."
As he spoke, the Rev. Dr. Hamper was coming slowly forward to stand in the center of the ground. With his fine white head bared in the late sunlight, the Book in his long hands, he looked around slowly before he spoke.
"Men and ladies, before that thing is done here which cannot be undone, it is my duty to ask you humbly whether this dispute may not be peaceably resolved. Men, I beg you to search your hearts. Are you determined that this quarrel shall proceed?" He turned and looked earnestly, first at Dick as the challenged party, then at Cash. No one spoke. Everyone stood around patiently, waiting for him to get it over with. Hamper faced front again and bowed his head over his joined hands. "Let us pray. O Lord, who in Thy Mercy watch-eth over us, grant that we may retire from this field with hands unsullied, and with true humility in our hearts. In Jesus' name we ask it. Amen." He straightened and walked back into the crowd. There was a hum of interrupted conversations.
"Blashfield," Dick said hurriedly, "What do you think about religion? I mean -- "
The little man looked at him gravely. "I dink we have all been here before, misser."
Kunkle, who had been talking to Dr. Scope, walked out to the center and raised his arms. "Folks, your attention, please. This duel is going to be fought according to the Cleveland Rules. The boys are using thirty-eights, with three standard cartridges in each gun. The distance is one hundred fifty feet. The duel will go on to the first hit, or until both boys have used up their three shots. Now, will the contestants please come down to the center?"
Dick moved reluctantly forward, watching Cashel walk toward him down the green avenue. His palms felt sweaty. Cashel looked pale as death.
They reached Kunkle at the center pole and stopped. "Now, boys," said the referee, "I'm going to hand you your guns, and you take 'em back to your positions. Just let 'em hang in your hand. There won't be any drawing from holsters. When you hear me say, 'Ready,' you take your place by the end pole, facing away from here. You understand, facing away. Then when I say, 'Turn,' you turn, and when I say, 'Fire,' you can fire at will." He glanced at each of them in turn. "Any questions? No? All right, now go on back, and may the best man win."