“You wouldn’t dare use the revolver if you were compelled to. Or,” noting the glint in her eyes, “if you did use it, to—well, to hit anything.”
She started up suddenly to enter the house. He knew she was going for her revolver.
“Never mind,” he said, “here’s mine. What can you do with it?”
“Shoot the block off your flag-halyards.”
He smiled his unbelief.
“I don’t know the gun,” she said dubiously.
“It’s a light trigger and you don’t have to hold down. Draw fine.”
“Yes, yes,” she spoke impatiently. “I know automatics—they jam when they get hot—only I don’t know yours.” She looked at it a moment. “It’s cocked. Is there a cartridge in the chamber?”
She fired, and the block remained intact.
“It’s a long shot,” he said, with the intention of easing her chagrin.