I could see the scowling line between his eyes, the hateful curl of his lip, and my own weapon came up, held steady as a rock; over the blue steel barrel I covered the man's forehead just below his cap visor, the expression on his face telling me he meant to shoot to kill.

I never recall feeling cooler, or more determined in my life.

How still, how deathly still it was! "Th--" There was a thud of horses' hoofs behind the stable, Bell's half-spoken word, and the sharp bark of Le Gaire's levelled derringer.

I felt the impact of the ball, and spun half around, the pressure of my finger discharging my own weapon in the air, yet kept my feet.

I was shocked, dazed, but conscious I remained unhurt.