THE HUNTER'’S DUEL 
STANLEY 
Cultus Jack and Klondike Jim were ri- 
vals in more ways than one. Cultus means 
no good, and Klondike means a lot that 
is» bad. Nevertheless, both men, tall, sin- 
ewy, handsome and fearless, had much in 
them that even Western boomers found 
time to admire and at least one Western 
woman heart enough to appreciate. Fire 
Gulch was an aggregation of weather beat- 
en shacks which had sprung into existence 
in a day in consequence of a placer digging 
rush. It had been later sustained by dis- 
covery of mineral in place, and was now 
having a third period of prosperity, owing 
to construction of a railroad and conse- 
quent disbursement of money to the men 
employed. 
Cultus Jack was one of its oldest inhab- 
itants; Klondike Jim, an _ unsuccessful 
Alaskan digger, was a newcomer. They 
were trappers and prospectors. Cultus used 
a 45-90 and had once killed 8 bears in one 
week. 
The afternoon Klondike Jim arrived in 
town he had pointed his 30-30 skyward at 
a flock of traveling geese and with 3 con- 
secutive shots dropped the bugleman and 
both his flankers. The street loafers stared. 
Cultus Jack, who had hitherto held pre- 
eminence as a marksman, muttered much 
strong language beneath his breath, and 
from that moment looked on Klondike as 
a personal cnemy. 
It did not improve matters when Klon- 
dike commenced to pay particular atten- 
tion to Kitty Connor, the daughter of the 
lumber mill owner. She was a handsome 
girl, sloppily dressed, perhaps, and badly 
brought up, but she was straight and had 
for months been considered Cultus Jack’s 
special property. When he saw Klondike 
Jim taking mountain grouse to her father’s 
house he did not like it. He liked it much 
less when he discovered that each of those 
grouse had been most scientifically behead- 
ed. 
Jack hardly knew whether he hated Jim 
most for liking Kitty, or for shooting the 
grouse in such faultless fashion. He was 
becoming vaguely aware that Klondike 
might eventually prove both a better marks- 
man and a more successful wooer than 
himself. In a one-horse town like Fire 
Gulch that would be intolerable; everybody 
would know it, and all who dared would 
remind him of it. 
Week by week things got worse. Kitty 
seemed to take pride in playing the 2 
men off against each other. Klondike’s 
distrust of Cultus turned to dislike, dis- 
MAYALL, 
like to hatred and hatred to suppressed 
fury. One day the storm burst. The town 
was celebrating the return of a _ noted 
schemer who had just floated a group of 
wildcats in the European market. Horse 
races, rock drilling and rifle shooting con- 
tests had been held. Cultus had backed the 
wrong pair of rock drillers, his horse had 
been easily outrun and then, to his in- 
tense disgust, he had bcen beaten in the 
rifle match; beaten by Klondike Jim, be- 
fore the whole city and Kitty Connor. 
He was for a time speechless with rage; 
then although he had already drunk enough 
he imbibed some more 40 rod _ whiskey, 
which loosened his tongue and fired his 
mind. He was heard to declare he would 
be durned if he believed that popgun 
shooter ever hit any thing bigger than 
bull’s eyes or grouse’s heads. Jim who 
had just entered the saloon heard him. 
“Guess I hev,”’ was his quick retort, “and 
may hev to again.” 
“Was they jack rabbits or gophers?” 
“No! They was men, and Indians, and 
sich.” 
It was a direct challenge, there was no 
mistaking it. A sudden silence fell over 
the saloon. A man who was bucking a 
slot machine, with the usual bad _ luck, 
turned uneasily and looked for _ the 
best way out. The card dealing and dice 
throwing ceased and the gamblers shifted 
their feet nervously on the bare floor. 
Those at the bar lowered their glasses si- 
lently as if to draw no attention their 
way; and the barman stepped opposite the 
spot where his trusty Colt lay handy on a 
beer-stained shelf. 
Cultus Jack felt himself the cynosure of 
all eyes; his lips twitched. Ripping out an 
oath, he retorted: 
“There’s one man you'll never face on 
that kind of proposition, you Siwash!” 
“An’ who’s thet?” 
“Me, you interlopin’ skunk.” 
“Look here, Cultus,” Jim replied, moving 
closer, “I’ll face you on that kind of prop- 
osition whenever you please, an’ the soon- 
er the better fer me—an’ enuther party 
concerned.” 
Cultus Jack’s face whitened at this pub- 
lic and confident reference to the other 
party concerned—Kitty undoubtedly. He 
contented himself by nodding affirmatively. 
Klondike’s face lit up with a glare, as when 
in the hills, with rifle extended, his eye 
glancing through back sight distinguished 
the bead in line with his quarry’s heart or 
head. 
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