"Yes, an' 'twouldn't s'prise me if some of them git business," replied the old man.
"That is Oleah Tompkins at their head, Uncle Dan. You'll not shoot at him to hit?" said the youthful soldier.
"I never thought the time would come when I would harm a hair o' his head, but things air changed now, and as Randolph said about Clay, 'if I see the devil in his eye, I'll shoot to kill,'" replied Uncle Dan, examining the priming of his rifle.
"Fall in," commanded Uncle Dan.
The line was formed.
"Now wait till I fire an' then follor suit."
Oleah presented a tempting mark for any rifle, as he approached so fearlessly with his revolver in his right hand. Uncle Dan, though not without a twinge of conscience at what he was doing, leveled his deadly rifle at that head, which, when a child, had so often nestled on his breast.
Uncle Dan was a certain shot at that range, and every step Oleah took was bringing him to surer death. Unconscious of his danger, or perfectly reckless of consequences, the young Confederate urged his powerful black horse on. The old man held his heavy rifle in the palm of his right hand, the breech was balanced against his right shoulder, and his aim was as steady and true as if he were sighting a deer, instead of a human being he had known for years and loved from childhood.
"The d—d rascal!" he hissed between his clenched teeth. "He's ruined the gal, and now he shall die."
Just as his finger touched the trigger, Irene sprang from the doorway and struck the rifle from its intended mark. The ball whizzled two feet above the head of the Confederate captain.