had moved in time.

The lanky captain's comrades were cheering him. "Old Abe's the best
wrassler in this army, Colonel, and now you've seen it for yourself."

Raoul wiped his eyes and shouted, "Stand aside, Lincoln. Now I'm going
to blow this redskin's brains out." The quaver he heard in his own voice
made him even angrier.

From behind Little Foot came a calm response. "I'm going to ask you not
to do that, sir."

"He tried to kill me. Get up and stand aside, God damn you!"

"No, sir."

Lincoln did unwrap his arms from Little Foot's head and shoulders, but
still held him with his legs. The Indian sat motionless, as if his
effort to kill Raoul had taken the last of his strength. He muttered
under his breath. Probably his death song, Raoul thought.

Lincoln quickly retied the Indian, then stood up, placing himself
between Raoul and Little Foot. He held Raoul's empty pistol out to him,
butt first.

"Colonel, I believe you're a fair man, and you'll agree that I just
saved your life."

Raoul took his pistol and handed it to Armand, realizing that the tall
man was maneuvering him into a difficult position. Too many men had seen
what happened.

"Yes, you did save my life." The words hurt his throat, same as if that
pistol ball had hit him and lodged there. "And I thank you. You have my
most profound gratitude."

"That being so, and since I have done you what you might think a favor,
will you grant me a life for a life?"

For a moment Raoul could not think of anything to say or do.

All he had to do was shove this Lincoln aside, put the muzzle of his
pistol to Little Foot's head and pull the trigger.

He realized, too, that the longer he hesitated the more a fool he
looked.

What right did the skinny captain have to demand that he spare Little
Foot?

Raoul became aware that the crowd around them had grown to perhaps a
couple of hundred men. The ones he could see wore little half smiles.
Whoever came out the winner, they were having a fine old time watching.

Raoul was broader and maybe stronger than Lincoln. But how ridiculous he
would look if he had to fight the man to get past him to shoot Little
Foot.

And what if this bag of bones beat him?

_Old Abe's the best wrassler in this army, Colonel._

The truth was bitter as vinegar, but the only course that would preserve
his dignity would be to let Lincoln have his way.

"Ah, hell," he said loudly, and was pleased to hear that while he'd
stood silent