“‘For this trip?’ he asked. ‘Yes, I am willing.’
“I swore him in, told him my plan. ‘Here’s a gun,’ I said, offering him one of mine.
“‘Have one—my father’s.’
“‘Can you shoot?’
“He gave me a jolt then. He looked about, saw a squirrel chattering and whisking on a scrub pine, his hand flashed from his pocket—bang! bang!—and the squirrel dropped, with two holes through its body.
“‘Dad showed me, and I’ve been practising a bit in the north for the last five years.’ I just gulped.
“‘You’ll handle him,’ I said.
“‘Who?’
“‘Guerrin!’
“‘Never killed a man—don’t want to—couldn’t!’