Just then there came a diversion. One of the men, Cal Jones, who had been one of the party with Lamar, had missed a Federal soldier at short range, and his companions were guying him unmercifully.
"Why," drawled one called Hooper, "Cal couldn't hit a barn door at fifty paces."
Cal was hopping mad. "I'll bet yo 'un a hoss I ken put a ball through that Yank's heart at fifty paces," he roared.
"Done," exclaimed Hooper. "Heah, boys, stop that picnic for a few moments. Cal has bet me a hoss he can plug that Yank through the heart at fifty paces the first shot."
Some of the men began to demur, but Hooper, in a tantalizing tone, drawled, "Don't be skeered, boys. Cal will sure miss him, and we 'uns can have our fun afterwards."
"I'll show yo' un. I'll show yo' un," yelled Cal, hopping around like a mad turkey.
They now all fell in with the idea, and Lawrence was placed with his back against a tree. To him the diversion came as a welcome relief. He would now die like a soldier and not like a felon.
"Hold on thar!" cried Hooper, as Jones began to pace the distance. "I said fifty paces, not fifty steps. Yo' un don't come that on me."
"I am pacin'." snarled Cal. "Want to back out, do yer?"
"Not much, but I'll do that pacin' myself." And he began.