The Choir Invisible

His words choked him. The Scotch blood, so slow to kindle like a mass of

cold anthracite, so terrible with heat to the last ashes, was burning in him

now with flameless fury.

"I passed it all over, I only asked to go on my way and have you go yours.

But now--" He seemed to realize in an instant everything that he had

suffered in consequence of O'Bannon's last interference in his affairs. He

ground his teeth together and shook his head from side to side like an

animal that had seized its prey.

"Get down!" he cried, throwing his head back. "I can't fight you as an equal

but I will give you one beating for the low dog you are."

O'Bannon had listened immovable. He now threw the reins down and started to

throw his leg over the saddle but resumed his seat. "Let go!" he shouted. "I

will not be held and ordered."

The school-master tightened his grasp on the reins.

"Get down! I don't trust you."

O'Bannon held a short heavy whip. He threw this into the air and caught it

by the little end.

The school-teacher sprang to seize it; but O'Bannon lifted it backward over

his shoulder, and then raising himself high in his stirrups, brought it

down. The master saw it coming and swerved so that it grazed his ear; but it

cut into the wound on his neck with a coarse, ugly, terrific blow and the

blood spurted. With a loud cry of agony and horror, he reeled and fell

backward dizzy and sick and nigh to fainting. The next moment in the deadly

silence of a wild beast attacking to kill, he was on his feet, seized the

whip before it could fall again, flung it away, caught O'Bannon's arm and

planting his foot against the horse's shoulder, threw his whole weight

backward. The saddle turned, the horse sprang aside, and he fell again,

pulling O'Bannon heavily down on him.

There in the blood-dyed dust of the old woodland street, where bison and

elk, stag and lynx, wolf and cougar and bear had gored or torn each other

during the centuries before; there on the same level, glutting their

passion, their hatred, their revenge, the men fought out their strength--the

strength of that King of Beasts whose den is where it should be: in a man's

spirit.

A few afternoons after this a group of rough young fellows were gathered at

Peter's shop. The talk had turned to the subject of the fight: and every one

had thrown his gibe at O'Bannon, who had taken it with equal good nature.

From this they had chaffed him on his fondness for a practical joke and his

awkward riding; and out of this, he now being angry, grew a bet with Horatio

Turpin that he could ride the latter's filly, standing hitched to the fence

of the shop. He was to ride it three times around the enclosure, and touch

it once each time in the flank with the spur which the young horseman took

from his heel.