“I can’t say ez I agree with you,” said the Colonel dryly.  He turned, and still without lifting his eyes walked towards the door of the room which Zenobia had entered.  The key was on the inside, but Clinch gently opened the door, removed the key, and closing the door again locked it from his side.  Hale and Rawlins felt their hearts beat quickly; the others followed Clinch’s slow movements and downcast mien with amused curiosity.  After locking the other outlet from the room, and putting the keys in his pocket, Clinch returned to the fire.  For the first time he lifted his eyes; the man nearest him shrank back in terror.

“I am the man,” he said slowly, taking deliberate breath between his sentences, “who gave up those greenbacks to the robbers.  I am one of the three passengers you have lampooned in that paper, and these gentlemen beside me are the other two.”  He stopped and looked around him.  “You don’t believe that three men can back down six!  Well, I’ll show you how it can be done.  More than that, I’ll show you how one man can do it; for, by the living G-d, if you don’t hand over that paper I’ll kill you where you sit!  I’ll give you until I count ten; if one of you moves he and you are dead men—­but you first!”

Before he had finished speaking Hale and Rawlins had both risen, as if in concert, with their weapons drawn.  Hale could not tell how or why he had done so, but he was equally conscious, without knowing why, of fixing his eye on one of the other party, and that he should, in the event of an affray, try to kill him.  He did not attempt to reason; he only knew that he should do his best to kill that man and perhaps others.

“One,” said Clinch, lifting his derringer, “two—­three—­”

“Look here, Colonel—­I swear I didn’t know it was you.  Come—­d—­m it!  I say—­see here,” stammered Stanner, with white cheeks, not daring to glance for aid to his stupefied party.

“Four—­five—­six—­”

“Wait!  Here!” He produced the paper and threw it on the floor.

“Pick it up and hand it to me.  Seven—­eight—­”

Stanner hastily scrambled to his feet, picked up the paper, and handed it to the Colonel.  “I was only joking, Colonel,” he said, with a forced laugh.

“I’m glad to hear it.  But as this joke is in black and white, you wouldn’t mind saying so in the same fashion.  Take that pen and ink and write as I dictate.  ’I certify that I am satisfied that the above statement is a base calumny against the characters of Ringwood Clinch, Robert Rawlins, and John Hale, passengers, and that I do hereby apologize to the same.’  Sign it.  That’ll do.  Now let the rest of your party sign as witnesses.”

They complied without hesitation; some, seizing the opportunity of treating the affair as a joke, suggested a drink.

“Excuse me,” said Clinch quietly, “but ez this house ain’t big enough for me and that man, and ez I’ve got business at Wild Cat Station with this paper, I think I’ll go without drinkin’.”  He took the keys from his pocket, unlocked the doors, and taking up his overcoat and rifle turned as if to go.