“I consider this comic episode at an end,” and Fentress pocketed his watch.
“Scarcely!” rejoined Mahaffy. His long arm shot out and the open palm of his hand descended on the colonel's face. “I am here for my friend,” he said grimly.
The colonel's face paled and colored by turns.
“Have you a weapon?” he asked, when he could command his voice. Mahaffy exhibited the pistol he had carried to Belle Plain the day before.
“Step off the ground, Tom.” Fentress spoke quietly. When Ware had done as he requested, the colonel spoke again. “You are my witness that I was the victim of an unprovoked attack.”
Mr. Ware accepted this statement with equanimity, not to say indifference.
“Are you ready?” he asked; he glanced at Mahaffy, who by a slight inclination of the head signified that he was. “I reckon you're a green hand at this sort of thing?” commented Tom evilly.
“Yes,” said Mahaffy tersely.
“Well, listen: I shall count, one, two, three; at the word three you will fire. Now take your positions.”
Mahaffy and the colonel stood facing each other, a distance of twelve paces separating them. Mahaffy was pale but dogged, he eyed Fentress unflinchingly. Quick on the word Fentress fired, an instant later Mahaffy's pistol exploded; apparently neither bullet had taken effect, the two men maintained the rigid attitude they had assumed; then Mahaffy was seen to turn on his heels, next his arm dropped to his side and the pistol slipped from his fingers, a look of astonishment passed over his face and left it vacant and staring while his right hand stole up toward his heart; he raised it slowly, with difficulty, as though it were held down by some invisible weight.