“You’re going to duel for this hussy’s favor at sunrise,” the bartender said.
“With guns?”
“You’d be wise to choose pistols. Leclerc is a champion fencer. He can cut a man to ribbons with a saber and walk away untouched.”
“Heard tell he’s a crack shot, too,” piped up someone across the saloon.
“Eight men he’s kilt in duels,” another man said. “The fella’s a fightin’ machine—a killin’ machine. I don’t envy you, boy. Not at all.”
Mac found himself pushed away from the bar by men rooting around in the sawdust looking for the diamond stud that had popped off Leclerc’s shirt. He watched numbly, wondering if he ought to join the hunt. That tiny gemstone could pay for passage up the river.
Then he worked through what that meant. Evie would call him a coward for the rest of her life. And running would show how little her love meant to him. He loved her with all his heart and soul.
If it meant he laid down his life for her, so be it. He would be north of town at the Dueling Oaks at dawn.
After another drink.
Or two.
Ride the Savage Land Page 31