"That being so, and since I have done you what you might think a favor, will you grant me a life for a life?"
For a moment Raoul could not think of anything to say or do.
All he had to do was shove this Lincoln aside, put the muzzle of his pistol to Little Foot's head and pull the trigger.
He realized, too, that the longer he hesitated the more a fool he looked.
What right did the skinny captain have to demand that he spare Little Foot?
Raoul became aware that the crowd around them had grown to perhaps a couple of hundred men. The ones he could see wore little half smiles. Whoever came out the winner, they were having a fine old time watching.
Raoul was broader and maybe stronger than Lincoln. But how ridiculous he would look if he had to fight the man to get past him to shoot Little Foot.
And what if this bag of bones beat him?
Old Abe's the best wrassler in this army, Colonel.
The truth was bitter as vinegar, but the only course that would preserve his dignity would be to let Lincoln have his way.