Ashby raised the pistol and took aim. The weapon covered Harry, and he knew it. He knew also that Ashby was a "dead shot." But not a nerve quivered. He stood up there as straight as a ramrod, and then, in a calm, clear voice, with his usual self-possession, said:
"One; two; three. Fire!"
For a moment Ashby stood with his pistol thus covering Harry.
Then his arm fell.
"I cannot," said he—"I cannot fire, in cold blood, on an unarmed man."
Now, had Ashby stood thus, with a pistol, in the full heat of his first fury, he would have tired, without stopping to think; but the effect of their enforced courtesy to one another, and more particularly of the somewhat tedious preliminaries, had been to calm and even chill his hot anger, and to subdue all his fierce excitement. As he stood there, with his pistol levelled, and saw Harry's cool, calm face, it seemed like butchery. He could not fire. And so his hand dropped down with this exclamation.
"But my turn is to come."
"Oh, that's nothing," said Ashby. "You may have your turn now, if you choose."
"Oh no," said Harry, "I can't take my turn until after you have fired; and the worst of it is, I don't see how we can settle this difficulty, if we don't do it now."
"Other chances will, no doubt, occur," said Ashby.