Peel looked embarrassed, but the other two captains smiled. Both were weak men and were enjoying this chance to see an apparently weaker man being mercilessly bullied. Starbuck leaned back in his chair, making it creak. “What do you reckon your chances are with her, sir?” he asked Dennison.

Dennison seemed surprised that the question had been asked, but he pretended to consider it anyway. “A good-looking girl like that? And a handsome fellow like me? Oh, pretty fair chances, I’d say, Lieutenant.”

“Out of five,” Starbuck insisted, “what do you reckon, sir? Two chances out of five? One chance? Three?”

Dennison frowned, not entirely sure whether the conversation was going entirely to his liking. “Pretty fair, I’d say,” he repeated.

Starbuck shook his head ruefully. “Hell, sir, I know Emily, and Emily never did take overmuch to poxed sons of bitches like yourself, sir, begging your pardon, sir, and I can’t reckon you’ve got more than one chance in five. Pretty good odds, though, seeing as how pretty she is, but how lucky are you? That’s the question, sir, ain’t it?” He smiled at Dennison who was not smiling back. None of the captains was smiling; instead they were watching Starbuck, who had drawn out his Adams revolver while he was talking and had used a fingernail to lever four of the five percussion caps off the gun’s cones. He tipped the caps onto an empty plate then looked up at Dennison through the candle flames. “How lucky are you, sir?” Starbuck asked and leveled the revolver’s blued barrel at Dennison’s scared eyes as he thumbed the hammer to half cock so that the cylinder was free to turn. He spun the cylinder and not one of the captains moved as the gun sounded a series of tiny clicks that only stopped when the cylinder came to rest. Starbuck eased the cock all the way back. “One chance in five, Captain, sir,” he said, “so let’s see how good those odds are.” He pulled the trigger and Dennison gave a tiny jump of alarm as the hammer fell onto an empty cone. “You didn’t make it that time,” Starbuck said, “sir.”

“Potter!” Dennison shouted, then stilled his protest as Starbuck half cocked the gun and spun the cylinder a second time.

“Of course a gentleman like you wouldn’t be content with a lady’s first refusal, would you, sir?” Starbuck asked and eased the hammer all the way back once more. It made two tiny clicks as the pawl engaged. He could see that the cone under the hammer was empty, but none of the others around the table knew which of the chambers was primed. They would be able to see the bullets nestled inside the lower chambers, but not the cones at the cylinder’s rear. Starbuck smiled. “So my Emily’s refused you once, Captain,” he said, “but you’d surely ask her a second time, wouldn’t you? I mean you don’t have the manners of a goat, so you’re sure to ask her a second time.” He straightened his arm as though bracing himself for the gun’s recoil.