The salesman started to set up more playing cards, but the crowd booed. “I see you’re a Remington man,” he remarked to Pritchard. “You’ll soon discover the superiority of the Colt revolver.”

“It’s the man,” Pritchard said, “not the gun. And puttin’ holes in bits of paper ain’t no way to determine who’s better with a shootin’ iron.”

“What do you suggest?” the salesman said.

“Have the colonel and me stand off ten paces, draw, and fire. Whoever’s still standin’ at the end of the contest, wins.” He smiled at Bennington. “Providing, of course, my opponent isn’t too afraid to engage in a fair test of marksmanship?”

If the crowd was enthusiastic before, they now went wild.

“Just remember,” Bennington admonished the crowd, “it was his idea. Because after I shoot this very large Texan dead, I want to hear no remonstrations.”

“I’m uncomfortable with this,” the salesman said. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt. Certainly not killed.”

“You want to sell pistols, don’t you?” Bennington asked. “Shut your mouth, put a bullet in that revolver, and fire it in the air. That’ll be the signal for us to draw.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Pritchard said. “I’m happy to let the colonel draw first.”

Bennington laughed. “You can’t be serious?”

Pritchard didn’t answer him.

“Very well,” Bennington said.

Pritchard paced off ten steps without turning his back on Colonel Bennington. The assembly, which had grown quite large, went silent.

The colonel smoothed his mustache and shook his wrists. He took in a deep breath, exhaled, and stared at Pritchard. Pritchard stood relaxed, with his hands loosely at his sides.

“Anytime you’re ready,” Pritchard said. Bennington immediately drew the pistol on his right hip.

Pritchard drew and fired, blazingly fast, and shot the colonel through his right wrist. He involuntarily gasped and dropped the revolver. The crowd cheered.

“That should settle it,” Pritchard said.

“Not by a mile,” an enraged Bennington snarled. He drew his other pistol.

Pritchard, in turn, drew his second gun, just as fast as he’d drawn the first. Another shot rang out, and Bennington dropped his second gun. Both of his wrists were now perforated and shattered. Ditch was relieved to see the shadow lift from Pritchard’s face.

“I let you keep your honor today,” Pritchard said to Bennington, “and your life. But somebody else will be feedin’ you your soup tonight.” The congregation howled with laughter.

The colonel stood holding his bloody wrists to his chest, bitter fury seething from every pore.

“I’ll get you for this,” Bennington hissed.

“I doubt that,” Pritchard said. “I suspect it’ll be a while before you terrorize any more decks of cards, or whiskey bottles, either.”

“I declare Joe Atherton,” the salesman said, raising Pritchard’s arm and giving Colonel Bennington a disdainful look, “the winner!”