Wattles and Fred braced themselves as though expecting a shock, drew their caps a little more over their eyes, and signified that they were.

“One!” cried the doctor, in a loud voice.

The duellists brought their rifles to their shoulders, fully cocked.

“Two!” exclaimed the doctor.

The rifles were levelled, and eager eyes glanced along the tubes.

“Three!”

For a second after the word was spoken the doctor held the white handkerchief aloft; but as it slowly fell towards the ground, there was but one report, so closely did they fire together.

I had not taken my eyes from Fred, and to my joy I saw that he did not move.  I glanced towards Wattles.  He had dropped his rifle and was rubbing his right arm, which hung down powerless by his side.

“By the mass,” cried the doctor, grabbing his box of instruments and running towards his brother officer, “the Americans have got the best of this fight, as I knew they would with their d——­d rifles.  But, by Saint Patrick, it was illegantly done, and that I’ll stick to as long as I live.”

CHAPTER XXI.

Preparations for the search for Gulpin’s buried treasures.

I started to congratulate Fred, but, quick as were my movements, I found that Smith had taken the lead, and was shaking hands with him at a tremendous rate.

“Are you injured?” I asked, running my eye over his form to see if I could discover any signs of blood.

“No, thank Heaven, I have escaped; although my adversary’s bullet whizzed close over my head,” replied Fred.

“I knew that he was overcharging the rifle when loading it,” I cried, delighted to think that Merriam had done so.

“It was the means, perhaps, of saving my life, for the fellow aimed with good intentions, and I saw by the expression of his face that he was bound to hit me if possible.”

“Well, since you are safe, I’ll run and see how your adversary is doing,” I said, glancing towards the doctor, who, with coat off, was kneeling on the ground, and wiping away blood with a cloth which he had taken from his mysterious box.

“Do so,” replied Fred, “and if I can be of any assistance, let me know; I have no enmity against the man, and should really like to shake hands with him before parting.”

I ran to the spot where Wattles was lying on the ground, and found him looking very pale and weak.  Merriam and the doctor had ripped off the sleeve of his coat, and torn off the arm of his shirt; and while one was making bandages, the other was cleaning a ragged looking wound, just above the elbow of the right arm.

“If I can be of any service, doctor, I will assist you,” I said, in a half-hesitating way, for I feared that they might consider it an intrusion.

“Sarvice, my dear boy?” echoed the doctor, stopping to look up for a moment from his work.  “Of course ye can be of sarvice.  Stoop down here and lind me a helpin’ hand by straightening out the arm a bit, so that I can see if the bones are smashed, or only one broken.”