He had only done his duty, and but for a stroke of good luck he and Willits might have exchanged places.

Uncle George had expressed his feelings exactly when he said that only a bit of cold lead could settle some insults, and what insult could have been greater than the one for which he had shot Willits?
What was a gentleman to do?
Go around meeting his antagonist every day ?--the two ignoring each other?
Or was he to turn stable boy, and pound him with his fists ?--or, more ridiculous still, have him bound over to keep the peace, or bring an action for--Bah!--for what ?--Yes--for what?
Willits hadn't struck him, or wounded him, or robbed him.

It had been his life or Willits's.
No--there was no other way--couldn't be any other way.

Willits knew it when he tore up Kate's card--knew what would follow.

There was no deception--nothing underhand.