The Plymouth weekly Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1860-1869, 1869-03-25

:" don't care button what he fights me
with. I'm ready for him." said the Yam
kee, rather evasively, wiping the sweat
and dust off his forehead with blue cot.
ton handkerchief
All den, we prefare de rapiere, what
you call the small sword. Will dat please
Monsieur, eh?" said the officer, bowing
and smiling with overwhelming polite
ness.
ooh! yes, as well as anything-small
swords or horse pistols amt particular"
replied the farmer, coolly Then the time
and place were agreed upon. The French
man bowed himself out of the barn as out
of the presence of royalty, the farmer took
up his fail and went on with his threshing
-thump, thump, thump,
Both parties came punctually to the
dueling ground, over in the wood, very
early on wild spring morning; the gay
Captain in undress uniform, with the old
Major, his tenain, bearing brace of small
swords; the surgeon of the region with
his ominous case of instruments, his lint
and bandages; then the farmer, in yet more
undress unifOrm-t. e., red flannel shirt
and gray homespun trowsers, tucked into
cowskin boots, his "hired man" for
second, and for his weapon the good hick-
ory fail he had been swinging the day be-
fore.
Great was the astonishment and voluble
was the indignation of the Frenchmen
when made to understand that the rustic
really intended to fight the duel with this
ugly rural implement. But he sturdily
stood his ground.
~ don't know anything about your
toastin' -irons," he said Z" but do under
stand fail. and I've Just made up my
mind to fight this here duel with fail.
So, Monseer, begin lungin' and pokin' at
me just as quick as you please"
The perplexed Captain then dropped
down to a little friendly remonstrance
saying, very blandly: Pardon, Monsieur,
you know not de duel. Permit me to
recomend de small sword. / lend him wis
de most great pLdisir, Monsieur. You no
take him you fight wis dat ting? See
you, / cut wis my rdpiere dat leet1e
Gordon dat hold de two part togedder tout
dc suite and den where will you be, eh ?"
The farmer laughed carelessly, and
little tsuntingly. as he replied: Never
mind me. Cap'en. I'm obleeged to you
can look out for myself, guess. Keep
your extra small sword to spit your frogs
on. I'll stick to my fail And now let's
to work. I'm in suthin' of hurry to git
back to my other thrashin' job"
Bie7e'' said the Frenchman, Struggling
his shoulders. If Monsieur wills to die,
put myself at his service, tout fdit"
So they took their positions.
zone! twol three at it they went
The Frenchman made a magnificent
stroke, aimed at the weak point in his ad-
versary's weapon; but missed and fell
back for a new demonstration. Then the
Yankee, giving wlirring swing with his
fail, brought it down on the head OF the
Captain, whack making the powder fly
and flinging that alert swordsman to the
ground. He was not killed, but severely
bruised and somewhat stunned. For
some minutes the farmer stood in his
place, leaning on his fail, watching the
ministrations of the surgeon then, as the
Frenchman failed to "come to time" and
declared himself satisfied {" ben salts
fait'), the victor civilly bade the party
good. morning, and strobe from the field,
followed by his man, and whistling the
new air of Yankee Doodle"