eagerness to lend their shoulders to this demonstration.
However, the unknown had not profited by the tumult to quit
his post. Besides he could not have done it in the midst of that
compact crowd. There he held on in the front row with crossed
arms, glaring at President Barbicane.
The shouts of the immense crowd continued at their highest pitch
throughout this triumphant march. Michel Ardan took it all with
evident pleasure. His face gleamed with delight. Several times
the platform seemed seized with pitching and rolling like a
weatherbeaten ship. But the two heros of the meeting had good
sea-legs. They never stumbled; and their vessel arrived without
dues at the port of Tampa Town.
Michel Ardan managed fortunately to escape from the last
embraces of his vigorous admirers. He made for the Hotel
Franklin, quickly gained his chamber, and slid under the
bedclothes, while an army of a hundred thousand men kept watch
under his windows.
During this time a scene, short, grave, and decisive, took place
between the mysterious personage and the president of the Gun Club.
Barbicane, free at last, had gone straight at his adversary.
“Come!” he said shortly.
The other followed him on the quay; and the two presently found
themselves alone at the entrance of an open wharf on Jones’ Fall.
The two enemies, still mutually unknown, gazed at each other.
“Who are you?” asked Barbicane.
“Captain Nicholl!”
“So I suspected. Hitherto chance has never thrown you in my way.”
“I am come for that purpose.”
“You have insulted me.”
“Publicly!”
“And you will answer to me for this insult?”
“At this very moment.”
“No! I desire that all that passes between us shall be secret.
Their is a wood situated three miles from Tampa, the wood
of Skersnaw. Do you know it?”
“I know it.”
“Will you be so good as to enter it to-morrow morning at five
o’clock, on one side?”
“Yes! if you will enter at the other side at the same hour.”
“And you will not forget your rifle?” said Barbicane.
“No more than you will forget yours?” replied Nicholl.
These words having been coldly spoken, the president of the Gun
Club and the captain parted. Barbicane returned to his lodging;
but instead of snatching a few hours of repose, he passed the
night in endeavoring to discover a means of evading the recoil
of the projectile, and resolving the difficult problem proposed
by Michel Ardan during the discussion at the meeting.
CHAPTER XXI
HOW A FRENCHMAN MANAGES AN AFFAIR
While the contract of this duel was being discussed by the
president and the captain– this dreadful, savage duel, in which
each adversary became a man-hunter– Michel Ardan was resting
from the fatigues of his triumph. Resting is hardly an
appropriate expression, for American beds rival marble or
granite tables for hardness.
Ardan was sleeping, then, badly enough, tossing about between
the cloths which served him for sheets, and he was dreaming of
making a more comfortable couch in his projectile when a
frightful noise disturbed his dreams. Thundering blows shook
his door. They seemed to be caused by some iron instrument.
A great deal of loud talking was distinguishable in this racket,
which was rather too early in the morning. “Open the door,”
some one shrieked, “for heaven’s sake!” Ardan saw no reason
for complying with a demand so roughly expressed. However, he
got up and opened the door just as it was giving way before the
blows of this determined visitor. The secretary of the Gun Club
burst into the room. A bomb could not have made more noise or
have entered the room with less ceremony.
“Last night,” cried J. T. Maston, _ex abrupto_, “our president
was publicly insulted during the meeting. He provoked his
adversary, who is none other than Captain Nicholl! They are
fighting this morning in the wood of Skersnaw. I heard all the
particulars from the mouth of Barbicane himself. If he is
killed, then our scheme is at an end. We must prevent his duel;
and one man alone has enough influence over Barbicane to stop
him, and that man is Michel Ardan.”
While J. T. Maston was speaking, Michel Ardan, without