"Step off the ground, Tom." Fentress spoke quietly. When Ware
had done as he requested, the colonel spoke again. "You are my
witness that I was the victim of an unprovoked attack."
Mr. Ware accepted this statement with equanimity, not to say
indifference.
"Are you ready?" he asked; he glanced at Mahaffy, who by a slight
inclination of the head signified that he was. "I reckon you're
a green hand at this sort of thing?" commented Tom evilly.
"Yes," said Mahaffy tersely.
"Well, listen: I shall count, one, two, three; at the word three
you will fire. Now take your positions."
Mahaffy and the colonel stood facing each other, a distance of
twelve paces separating them. Mahaffy was pale but dogged, he
eyed Fentress unflinchingly. Quick on the word Fentress fired,
an instant later Mahaffy's pistol exploded; apparently neither
bullet had taken effect, the two men maintained the rigid
attitude they had assumed; then Mahaffy was seen to turn on his
heels, next his arm dropped to his side and the pistol slipped
from his fingers, a look of astonishment passed over his face and
left it vacant and staring while his right hand stole up toward
his heart; he raised it slowly, with difficulty, as though it
were held down by some invisible weight.
A hush spread across the field. It was like one of nature's
invisible transitions. Along the edge of the woods the song of
birds was stricken into silence. Ware, heavy-eyed Fentress, his
lips twisted by a tortured smile, watched Mahaffy as he panted
for breath, with his hand clenched against his chest.
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