Сердца трёх / Hearts of three

[30 - Gringo – гринго (иностранец, англоговорящий выходец с другой страны, слово используется для обозначения жителей Америки и Европы)]

Francis decided to meet the mysterious Gringo. He came down to the beach. On the shore, across the narrow channel, he saw a barefooted young man in the canvas trousers, who stepped from behind a palm, automatic pistol in hand, and shouted:

“Get out!”

“I beg you pardon?” Francis grinned, half-humorously, half-seriously.

“Nobody invited you,” the stranger retorted.

Francis’ arrival behind the trunk was simultaneous with the arrival of a bullet that thudded into the other side of it.

“Now, just for that![31 - Now, just for that! – Ах так!]” he called out, as he centered a bullet into the trunk of the other man’s palm.

The next few minutes they were shooting each other.

“What gun are you using?” Francis asked with cool politeness.

“Colt’s,” came the answer.

Francis stepped boldly into the open, saying: “Then you’re all out.[32 - you’re all out – у вас кончились пули] I counted them. Eight. Now we can talk.”

The stranger stepped out, and it seemed Francis had previously known him. It was a replica of himself!

“Talk!” the stranger sneered, throwing down his pistol and drawing a knife. “Now we’ll just cut off your ears, and maybe scalp you.”

“Gee! Let’s wrestle.” Francis retorted.

“I want your ears,” the stranger answered pleasantly, as he slowly advanced.

“Sure. The man who wins gets the other fellow’s ears.”

“Agreed.” The young man in the canvas trousers sheathed his knife.

They began to fight. Francis was winning, but the stranger planted his foot in Francis’ abdomen. In a moment Francis was lying on his back.

“Why do you wear a mustache?” the stranger muttered.

“Go on and cut my ears,” Francis gasped. “The ears are yours, but the mustache is mine.”

“As for your ears, keep them.

In greater disgust than ever, Francis turned down to the beach toward his canoe.

“Say, will you leave your card?” the victor called after him.

“My name’s Morgan, that’s enough,” Francis answered.

“Really? No wonder we look alike. Listen,” the stranger said. “I am a Morgan, too.”

“My first name is Francis,” Francis returned. “And yours?”

“Henry.