“For God’s sake, take the shot!”

Mr. Irvine looked at the revolver in Charlie’s hand, his face stony and sober beneath his ten-gallon hat.

None of the easy boasting like before, telling stories to the other hikers about how he’d picked up a revolver before he’d started walking. It took Charlie a moment to realize it, but there was fear in Mr. Irvine’s eyes, and it was paralyzing him.

“You can’t do it, can you?” Charlie whispered

“Son,” Mr. Irvine said. “It was all talk. I’m nearsighted as hell.”

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