He was almost at arm's length.

There was no hope for him.

I was resolved.

There was no possible chance of missing him, no matter how poor my marksmanship.

And yet I wrestled with myself and could not pull the triggers.
"Well ?" he demanded impatiently.
I strove vainly to force my fingers down on the triggers, and vainly I strove to say something.
"Why don't you shoot ?" he asked.
I cleared my throat of a huskiness which prevented speech.