The salesman noticed the crowd’s displeasure and began to glance nervously about. Bennington merely smiled, relishing in taunting the Southerners, and the agitation he had stirred.

Ditch started to step forward, but Paul took his arm. “Let it go,” he said. “That blue-bellied popinjay ain’t worth your time.”

“What did you call me?” Colonel Bennington demanded, his smile vanishing.

“I’m hungry,” Paul said, ignoring the colonel’s question and turning away. “Let’s go get lunch.”

“Don’t turn your back on me, boy,” Bennington said. He drew his other revolver and leveled both at Ditch’s and Paul’s backs.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Pritchard said, “if I were you.”

“Are you going to stop me?” Bennington said.

The crowd on both sides of Pritchard quickly stepped back, clearing a space between him and the Yankee sharpshooter.

“Iffen you don’t stop pointin’ your pistols at my friends,” Pritchard said flatly, “I’m gonna stop you cold.”

“Do you think you can outshoot me?” the colonel grinned.

“I don’t know how good I can shoot against cards and bottles,” Pritchard admitted, “but I can sure as hell put you in a pine box.”

“Is that so?” Bennington asked.

“Certain as sunset,” Pritchard said.

Ditch noticed the shadow he’d seen so many times before beginning to descend over Pritchard’s features. He knew what was coming next.

The salesman suddenly stepped between them, his hands in the air. “Please, gentlemen,” he said, “this isn’t necessary.”

“Shut up,” Bennington ordered the salesman. “It is necessary. I’ve been insulted. I insist on satisfaction.”

“There ain’t gonna be no duel at dawn on the moors,” Pritchard said. “You’re holdin’ your pistols, Colonel, and mine are still wearin’ leather. Put them guns away, or I’m going to end you. I ain’t gonna tell you again.”

“You’d best swallow your pride and do as he says,” Ditch called out to Bennington. “You have no idea what you’re facing.”

“This dispute can be settled without blood,” the salesman said, seizing upon an idea to both defuse the impending violence about to erupt, and return the crowd’s attention to the revolvers he was trying to sell.

“How about a marksmanship contest?” the salesman addressed the crowd. “A test of skill between these two pistoleers? One, a venerated military officer of the North during the recent troubles, and the other, a legendary Texas Ranger and soldier of the South? The winner, as decided by you fair citizens, will get the satisfaction so important to his honor. And as an added prize, a brand-new Colt’s revolver!”

The crowd roared their approval.

Bennington holstered his revolvers, utterly confident in his ability to defeat the Ranger. “I accept,” he said. “Providing, of course, my opponent isn’t too afraid to engage in a fair test of marksmanship?”

“Suits me,” Pritchard said.