Jena or Sedan? Part 45

"You kissed my wife yesterday," said Heimert, in a half whisper. "Isn't that so?"

Heppner nodded. "Yes, yes." What had the silly fellow got in his head?

Of course he had kissed the woman; and he meant to do it again, and again too.

"And so you have got to fight it out with me," continued the other.

"Man against man. Are you agreed?"

Again the sergeant-major nodded stolidly. Why not? Their betters acted thus.

"Shall we settle the thing now at once?"

Heppner nodded for the third time. It was all one to him, so long as he could get to rest at last.

Heimert took up the two revolvers in one of his big hands; with the other he pointed over his shoulder out of the window.

"We'll go up there," he said. "There's plenty of room there. And we'll take our own two revolvers with us. Look here! I will load them, each with one cartridge."

Under Heppner's eyes he placed the cartridges in the chambers of the revolvers, the s.h.i.+ning bra.s.s gleaming beside the dull steel. He gripped the pistols by the barrel, and held out the b.u.t.t-ends to the sergeant-major.

"Now choose," he said.

Heppner languidly took with his right hand the revolver which the other was holding in his left. Heimert held the remaining pistol in the lamp light, and read off the number.

"I have got yours," he said, "and you have mine. And now we'll wait till the sentry has gone round the corner."

He leant out of the window cautiously, and took a look round. The moon was in the zenith; houses, trees, and bushes cast but short shadows.

The sentinel was strolling along by the hedge of the jumping-ground.

His sword was in the scabbard, and he had buried his hands deep in his breeches-pockets. Every now and then the lubberly fellow would whistle a stave, or stand still and kick a stone from his path, or gape so loudly that the moon shone into his open mouth. At last he disappeared round a corner of the buildings.

"Now!" whispered Heimert. "You go first, but take off your sword."

Obediently Heppner unbuckled his belt and laid it down. He pushed the revolver carefully into his coat-pocket, and swung himself out of the window. The deputy sergeant-major extinguished the lamp and followed him.

Side by side, like two good friends, the two men climbed the path that led up the hill-side; Heimert striding on with quiet even pace, and Heppner, with unsteady knees and panting breast, trying involuntarily to keep step with the other man.

They vanished into the deep shadow of the wood, and after a short time stepped out again into the bright moonlight above. The moon was almost exactly overhead.

The deputy sergeant-major went thoughtfully along the path till he arrived at the spot where the ascent ceased and the ground became quite level.

"This is the best place, I think," he said. With the spurred heel of his riding-boot he drew a deep furrow in the clayey soil.

"Will you stand here?" he said to the sergeant-major. Without a word Heppner walked up to the mark. He carefully placed his feet with the toes against the marked line. Heimert went on another ten paces, not the leaping strides that are usually taken in arranging a duel, but fairly long ordinary paces.

At the tenth he paused, and again dug his heel into the earth.

The two men stood opposite to each other, separated by the terribly narrow interval of scarcely nine yards.

"c.o.c.k your pistol, Heppner!" cried Heimert to him. And the sergeant-major did as the other desired. He seemed quite unaware of its being a matter of life and death; he moved as in a dream.

Suddenly Heimert let out a curse. A difficulty had presented itself at the last moment, and threatened to upset his whole plan.

How were they to shoot?

By counting, of course. He had intended to count "one," then, after a couple of seconds by his watch, "two," and then again, after another couple of seconds, "three." Between "one" and "three" they were to fire. But, d.a.m.n it all! how could he take aim if he was holding the watch in his hand and counting the seconds on the dial?

Irresolutely he looked down at his watch. This was like a bad joke, and perfectly maddening.

Suddenly an idea came to him. The minute-hand showed just two minutes to the hour. In two minutes then the barrack clock would strike three.

That would be as good as counting.

In a clear voice he called out to his opponent: "Listen to what I say, Heppner. In two minutes the clock down there will strike three times.

At the first stroke we must lift our revolvers, before that they must be pointed to the ground. Between the first and the third strokes we may fire, but not after the third. Do you understand, and are you agreed?"

For the first time the sergeant-major made an articulate sound. "All right," he said. His voice sounded husky, and he cleared his throat.

"Very good," said Heimert; "then it's all settled."

He took up his position, and looked coolly before him. The moon shone down from a clear sky. A single light cloud floated against the dark background, looking like a little white skiff.

Heppner watched the cloud. He tried to think how he came to be in this place, up on the hill in the wood, in the middle of the night, like this. He could not quite make it out. More than all there weighed on him a leaden feeling of weariness. He would have liked to throw himself down on the bare earth.

The seconds dragged on slowly.

Suddenly a night-bird screamed loudly from a neighbouring tree-top, and immediately afterwards sounded the first stroke of the hour.

The sergeant-major pulled himself up. With suddenly awakened senses he looked about him. Opposite him stood Heimert with his revolver, and he himself felt the b.u.t.t-end of a weapon in his right hand.

But this was all madness. It was a crime. He wanted to cry out, "Stop!"

This folly was impossible. If anything happened to him he was lost.

There was money missing from the battery cash-box; at least he must put that right.

Then came the second stroke. Stop! Stop! Why was his tongue tied?

Heimert saw him draw himself up. He thought his adversary was going to fire, and he raised his revolver hastily. His forefinger pressed the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed through the air, and almost simultaneously the clock struck for the third time.

Heppner remained a moment standing. His revolver rattled to the ground, his left hand clutched at his breast. Then the tall upright figure lurched forward, and fell like a lifeless ma.s.s. A violent shudder ran through the limbs; the body contracted, stretched itself again, turned over on itself, and fell on its back.

Then all was still.

Heimert stood in his place. The hand with the revolver had slowly sunk, and hung down limply. His glance wandered from the corpse to the boundary line at his feet. He had not stepped over it. Everything was according to order.

At last he aroused himself from his stupor. He forced himself to pa.s.s the little furrow in the ground, and went towards his opponent. His footsteps were heavy and uncertain; it felt to him as if his soles adhered to the earth.

The sergeant-major was dead; there was no doubt about that. On the left breast were a slight blood-stain and a quite diminutive hole. His head was thrown back. The wide-open eyes of the dead man stared into the moonlight.

Heimert gently closed the eyelids. He paused for a time beside the corpse with folded hands, and softly muttered the Lord's prayer. Then he began to descend the hill.

But he seemed to bethink himself of something. He dived again through the shadow of the trees and knelt beside the sergeant-major. With great care he laid his own discharged revolver in place of the loaded weapon which Heppner had dropped.