Mr. H------- levels his weapon, making ready to fire as the militia looks on.
Mr. H-------'s pistol fails to fire, mine does not.
The militia Captain orders my arrest. I put my hands out, ready for the irons.
I'm carried away by the Corporal.
Mr. H-------'s reluctant second drags the body from the field.
Last stop before his final resting place.
The scoundrel's grieving sister lunges for the weapon of one of the guards.