It was quite probable that no thought of killing each other suggested itself to either Annixter or Delaney.

Both fired without aiming very deliberately.
To empty their revolvers and avoid being hit was the desire common to both.

They no longer vituperated each other.

The revolvers spoke for them.
Long after, Annixter could recall this moment.

For years he could with but little effort reconstruct the scene--the densely packed crowd flattened against the sides of the barn, the festoons of lanterns, the mingled smell of evergreens, new wood, sachets, and powder smoke; the vague clamour of distress and terror that rose from the throng of guests, the squealing of the buckskin, the uneven explosions of the revolvers, the reverberation of trampling hoofs, a brief glimpse of Harran Derrick's excited face at the door of the harness room, and in the open space in the centre of the floor, himself and Delaney, manoeuvring swiftly in a cloud of smoke.
Annixter's revolver contained but six cartridges.