"I don't make a practice of layin' down my gun for no man," he said proudly.

"I'm ez good Union ez ary of you'uns dar be, an' I don't take no orders from ye.

I could've killed ye both, ef I'd a wanted ter, afore ye ever seed me." Bolton's gun cracked, and the bullet buried itself in the thick, soft bark of the chestnut, just above Fortner's head, and threw dust and chips in his eyes.

He brushed them away angrily, and instinctively raised his rifle.

Kent took this as his cue to fire, but his aim was even worse than Abe's.
"Ruined again by strong drink," he muttered despairingly, as he saw the failure of his shot.