“Our young David stood up thar as straight an’ han’some as a young spruce on a still day—­not a quiver in ary twig.  The Clarke boy was a leetle pale an’ when he raised his pistol I could see a twitch in his lips.  He looked kind o’ stiff.  I see they was one thing’ ’bout shootin’ he hadn’t learnt.  It don’t do to tighten up.  I were skeered—­I don’t deny it—­’cause a gun don’t allus have to be p’inted careful to kill a man.

“We all stood watchin’ every move.  I could hear a bird singin’ twenty rod,—­’twere that still.  Preston stood a leetle out o’ line ’bout half-way betwixt ’em.  Up come his hand with the han’kerchief in it.  Then Jack raised his pistol and took a peek down the line he wanted.  The han’kerchief was in the air.  Don’t seem so it had fell an inch when the pistols went pop! pop!  Jack’s hollered fust.  Clarke’s pistol fell.  His arm dropped an’ swung limp as a rope’s end.  His hand turned red an’ blood began to spurt above it.  I see Jack’s bullet had jumped into his right wrist an’ tore it wide open.  The Lieutenant staggered, bleedin’ like a stuck whale.  He’d ‘a’ gone to the ground but his friends grabbed him.  I run to Jack.

“‘Be ye hit?’ I says.

“‘I think his bullet teched me a little on the top o’ the left shoulder,’ says he.

“I see his coat were tore an’ we took it off an’ the jacket, an’ I ripped the shirt some an’ see that the bullet had kind o’ scuffed its foot on him goin’ by, an’ left a track in the skin.  It didn’t mount to nothin’.  The Doctor washed it off an’ put a plaster on.

“‘Looks as if he’d drawed a line on yer heart an’ yer bullet had lifted his aim,’ I says.  ‘Ye shoot quick, Jack, an’ mebbe that’s what saved ye.’

“It looked kind o’ neevarious like that ’ere Englishman had intended they was goin’ to be one Yankee less.  Jack put on his jacket an’ his coat an’ we stepped over to see how they was gettin’ erlong with the other feller.  The two doctors was tryin’ fer to fix his arm and he were groanin’ severe.  Jack leaned over and looked down at him.

“‘I’m sorry,’ he says.  ‘Is there anything I can do?’

“‘No, sir.  You’ve done enuff,’ growled the old General.

“One o’ his party stepped up to Jack.  He were dressed like a high-up officer in the army.  They was a cur’ous look in his eyes—­kind o’ skeered like.  Seemed so I’d seen him afore somewheres.

“‘I fancy ye’re a good shot, sir—­a good shot, sir—­what—­what?’ he says to Jack, an’ the words come as fast as a bird’s twitter.

“I’ve had a lot o’ practise,’ says our boy.

“‘Kin ye kill that bird—­what—­what?” says he, p’intin’ at a hawk that were a-cuttin’ circles in the air.

“‘If he comes clus’ ‘nough,’ says Jack.

“I passed him the loaded pistol.  In ’bout two seconds he lifted it and bang she went, an’ down come the hawk.

“Them fellers all looked at one ’nother.