"If you can give no reason against it."
"The only reason that I can think of," said the Bart, "is that I should instantly cut your head off if you were to attempt it."
"Two can play at that game, my dear Bart," said I.
"Then we'll see who can play at it best," he cried, pulling out his sword.
I had drawn mine also, but I was quite determined not to hurt this admirable young man who had been my benefactor.
"Consider," said I, "you say that I am your prisoner. I might with equal reason say that you are mine. We are alone here, and though I have no doubt that you are an excellent swordsman, you can hardly hope to hold your own against the best blade in the six light cavalry brigades."
His answer was a cut at my head. I parried and shore off half of his white plume. He thrust at my breast. I turned his point and cut away the other half of his cockade.
"Curse your monkey-tricks!" he cried, as I wheeled my horse away from him.
"Why should you strike at me?" said I. "You see that I will not strike back."
"That's all very well," said he; "but you've got to come along with me to the camp."
"I shall never see the camp," said I.
