"Mister Phinny, as th' challenged party, has said pistols," began Tilton.
"To be sure. Behold, it is his right," broke in Papa Clair. "But the distance and the positions are not for you to name. We will toss a coin for position, and we will decide between us how far apart they shall stand."
"Oh, let's have it over with," grumbled Lander. "Give me a pistol and stand the skunk before me. If he isn't near enough I'll go after him."
"You'll find me near enough to put a ball through your heart, or my name ain't Malcom Phinny," jeered the other principal.
"Phinny?" mused Bridger. "The same who went to bring down the Pawnee trade to Cabanne's, found them away on a war-path and stole their corn, and made them believe it was our men."
"I reckon they don't want any of our fight," sneered one of Phinny's adherents from the edge of the grove.
"Pardon! Does m'sieu want to fight?" politely inquired Papa Clair, running toward the group in the shadows.
"Keep that sticker 'way from my ribs!" frantically yelled the man.
