Then Brennan's angry voice rang out once more.
“I demand another shot,” he insisted loudly. “I demand it, I tell you, Moorehouse. This settles nothing, and I will not be balked just because you don't know enough to load a gun.”
Caton wheeled upon him, his blue eyes blazing dangerously.
“You demand a second shot?” he cried indignantly.
“Are you not aware, sir, that Captain Wayne fired in the air? It would be murder.”
“Fired in the air!” he laughed, as if it was a most excellent joke. “Of course he did, but it was because my ball disconcerted his aim. I fired a second the first, but his derringer was covering me.”
Caton strode toward him, his face white with passion.
“Let him have it his way,” I called after him, for now my own blood was up, “I shall not be guilty of such neglect again.”
He did not heed me, perhaps he did not hear.
“Major Brennan,” he said, facing him, his voice trembling with feeling, “I tell you Captain Wayne purposely shot in the air. He informed me before coming upon the field that he should do so. I positively refuse to permit him to face your fire again.”