The balance of the exclamation was so shocking that his only friend checked him by asking if his pistol was well loaded.

“It’s loaded well enough to kill that d——­d pup.  I say, what a joke it will be!  I kill a d——­d Yankee with a Yankee’s pistol.  I suppose they want to thin the breed off.”

The bully’s words, instead of intimidating Fred, had a contrary effect, for I saw by his eyes that his mind was made up, and all feeling of compassion was banished from his bosom.

“You’re to stand off twenty paces,” Charley said, speaking to Fred; “I had some thoughts of making the distance less, but I was afraid to trust you so near, considering that you are a new beginne ...”

Fred glanced at me and smiled.  The Californian little, thought that he was acting as second to a man whose reputation as a hunter of bushrangers was the theme of every miner’s discourse, and that the newspapers of Australia had spread our fame all over the island.

“You need not fear that I shall disgrace your patronage,” Fred said.  “I have seen an enemy’s front before to-day.”

“Gad, I begin to think that you have,” Charley cried, noticing that his man displayed no sign of tremulousness.

“Stand one side, gentlemen,” cried the Californian.  “Our men are going to fire.”

“Let me get in front of them—­that’s the safest place,” roared out some joker.

“It’s pluck the Yankee is,” cried our Hibernian friend.  “See, he don’t look a bit like running away.”

“Five to one that Burley hits at the first fire,” cried a sporting man.

“Done,” yelled the Irishman.  “How much does ye wish to come down?”

“Five pound to two that neither is killed at the first fire,” roared another.

“Make it mortally wounded, and Jim’s your customer,” replied an anxious miner, producing his small bag of gold to cover the stake.

“I’ll go this nugget that the Yankee hits his man at the first fire,” cried one fellow, holding up a lump of virgin gold as large as a hen’s egg.

“I’ll take it—­I’ll take it,” a number of voices replied, and straight-way there was a rush towards him.

“Jim,” cried our bully opponent, “do you go into the crowd and take a few bets on my account, as I am in want of money, and after I’ve killed this young sprig of insolence, I intend to go on a spree.  Take all the odds offered.”

I saw no one accept of the mission, so I concluded that the ruffian’s words were merely intended as capital for the crowd, accessions to which were constantly increasing.

“Come,” said Fred, speaking to Charley; “let us have this concluded as soon as possible, or the whole town of Ballarat will be here to witness it.”

“That is just what.  I want,” replied our new-found friend, with great coolness.  “If you are fortunate enough to kill the bully,—­and I am sure I hope you will be,—­every one who sees him fall will swear that the fight was a beautiful one, and that every thing was perfectly fair and just; ’while those who did not, will vow that murder has been committed, and urge the commissioner to arrest you.  It’s a great satisfaction sometimes to see a duel, and it’s only right and proper that as many as possible should be gratified with the sport.”