Hair-trigger Overton cocks the pistol he holds in his hand and covers the horror-smitten Dickinson.
“Back to your mark, sir!” he roars.
Dead-shot Dickinson steps up to his peg, his cheek the hue of ashes. He reads his sentence in those implacable steel-blue eyes, and the death nearness touches his heart like ice.
“One!” says hair-trigger Overton.
At the word, there is a sharp “klick!” The General has pulled the trigger, but the hammer catches at half cock. The General's inveterate steel-blue glance never for one moment leaves his man. He recocks the weapon with a resounding “kluck!”
“Two!” says hair-trigger Overton.
“Bang!”
There comes the flash and roar, and dead-shot Dickinson is seen to stagger. He totters, stumbles slowly forward, and falls all along on his face. The bullet has bored through his body.
The General stays by his peg—cold and hard and stern. Hair-trigger Overton approaches the wounded Dickinson. One glance is enough. He crosses to the General and takes his arm.
“Come!” he says. “There is nothing more to do!”