Mrs. Swinger’s arm fell like a tragic heroine’s, and she stood proudly contemplating the object of her wrath, perhaps hoping the attorney would await the arrival of “her Jerry,” in whose prowess she seemed to place unlimited confidence.

Vernon, who was waiting near the vehicle he had procured, heard the loud and angry words of the excited dame, and now approached the house to ascertain the cause of the confusion.  This redoubtable worthy had received the reward of his villany, and considered the deed accomplished; but he had no objection to a little excitement.  A fight was his element, and he never let slip an opportunity to join in one.

The worthy Jerry Swinger; the good woman’s beau ideal of a man, reached the cabin at the moment Vernon entered.

Maxwell had now the alternative of abandoning his coveted prize, or of fighting for it.  The first he would not do; and the second, with the wound he had received in the duel, was not an easy matter.  The latter, however, he determined upon.  Drawing from his pocket a revolver, he again approached Emily.

“What’s all this about?” said Jerry, as he entered the cabin.

“Save me, sir,—­save me from these villains!” exclaimed Emily, whose piteous accents penetrated the heart of the honest woodman.

“That I will, ma’am.  Why, you infarnal, sneakin’ whelp of an alligator, whar’s your conscience?  But you’ve run agin a snag, and you shan’t make another bend, this trip; so sheer off!  Suke, jest fotch out my rifle, thar.”

Mrs. Swinger, before the assailants could prevent it, unhung the rifle, and was about to present it to her husband, when Maxwell pointed his pistol at her, and said, “Move another inch, woman, and I will fire!”

“Look here, stranger,” said Jerry, approaching the attorney, “if you touch that trigger, I’ll pull your heart out!”

Vernon saw that his time had come, and, grappling with the woodman, they both fell upon the mud floor of the cabin.

Maxwell, his pistol still pointed at the woman, advanced a step, with the intention of taking the rifle from her.  Mrs. Swinger, perceiving his purpose, elevated the rifle to her shoulder as gracefully as the most accomplished Kentuckian would have done, and fired.  But her aim was bad; the ball passed through the attorney’s hat.  It came near enough, however, to rouse his passion, and, without a moment’s deliberation, which might have saved him the reproach of shooting a woman, he fired.  His aim, better than his feminine opponent’s had been, sent the ball through her side, and she fell.  Emily, filled with horror by the sanguinary scene, sprung to Mrs. Swinger’s aid, as she fell.

“Look here, you cussed villain,” said Jerry Swinger, who, in the struggle, had got his antagonist under him, and had drawn from his pocket a long clasp-knife, “if you stir an inch, I’ll put this blood-sucker through your shrivelled-up gizzard!”