"You are sure of this?"
Herkimer dug into his pocket, brought out a tiny book. He wet his finger and fumbled at the pages.
"It's right here," he said.
"Never mind," said Sutton. "I will take your word."
"You accept the challenge, then?"
Sutton grimaced. "I suppose I have to. Mr. Benton will wait, I presume, until I buy a gun."
"No need of that," Herkimer told him, brightly. "I brought one along. Mr. Benton always does that. Just a courtesy, you know. In case someone hasn't got one."
He reached into his pocket and held out the weapon. Sutton took it and laid it on the table.
"Awkward-looking thing," he said.
Herkimer stiffened. "It's traditional," he declared. "The finest weapon made. Shoots a.45-caliber slug. Hand-loaded ammunition. Sights are tested in for fifty feet."