Conor Dillon – Beginnings Excerpt 24
All the bravado and insolence, that Flaherty had shown seemed to vanish with those softly spoken words, he saw death in the depth’s of Conor’s green eyes. ‘Pistol’s!’ he spat out, not at all sure he had made the right choice.
Black Michael handed each of them a horse pistol then positioned then for the duel, they stood back to back. ‘Walk ten paces, turn and fire, if no one is injured reload and fire until one of you is hors de combat or dead.
Shamus edged up to Flaherty and said,’ If I were you, I’d fire my shot and run, I’ve seen the boy shoot, he never misses, and he’s really pissed with you!’
Black Michael issued the command, ‘Start walking!’ the other reluctant volunteers started to count off the paces, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, fire! Flaherty turned and fired, but due to Shamus’s words had fired in panic, his shot way to the left of Conor.
Conor stood facing him, his pistol raised and a scowl on his face, said, loudly so all of the men could hear, ‘Will you serve me, bastard or not or would you sooner die here, shot as a mutineer by your senior Officer.’
Flaherty, with eyes downcast answered, ‘ I will serve you, if you will have me, Conor Dillon?’ Conor, grinning said, ‘I have already had you!’ he pointed the pistol at Flaherty who looked terrified, and pulled the trigger. There was a puff of smoke as the powder ignited, nothing more.
The pistol wasn’t loaded, Flaherty looked at Conor bemused, then started to laugh out loud. Conor patted him on the back, ‘ I need good men, I don’t waste them. Anyone else here who will not accept my authority?’
(C) Damian Grange 2019