Free The Last Confederate by Gilbert Morris

deal like a younger edition of his famous uncle, and his fine eyes were gentle as they fixed on Thad.
    “What do you mean, Shelby?” Beau asked in surprise.
    Lee shrugged. “There are some pretty poor specimens from the North—just as there are in the South. But there are some pretty good young men as well. And they’ll make good soldiers.”
    Beau did not dare contradict Shelby, but he would not back down. “Do you mean a first-class fighting man could be made out of this boy?” he asked with a look of disbelief. He turned to Thad. “Are you a good shot, boy?”
    “I ain’t never shot no gun,” Thad answered quietly.
    “There it is, Shelby,” Beau said with a broad smile. “Now you all just think—how many boys around here do you know who’ve never shot a gun?” They all recognized instantly that every boy, poor and rich, learned to shoot by the time he was able to hold a rifle.
    Vance Wickham spoke up. “You can’t be sure of what you say, Beau. Give this young fellow a gun and a little training and he might do pretty well.” His eyes lit with an odd smile, “Remember that old king in the Bible who went out to war, and it says, ‘A bowman drew a bow at a venture’—and it killed the king. Get enough fellows like this to throwing lead, and it could be pretty dangerous.”
    “Didn’t look for you to start quoting scripture, Vance,” Beau grinned slyly, then added with a frown, “But I don’t think this fellow could hit anything by accident or any other way.”
    “Wouldn’t put a little money on that, would you, Beau?”
    Beau stared at Wickham in surprise. “Bet on what?”
    “Well, you say this young Yankee could never be any kind of a soldier—that he could never learn to shoot. How much would you bet on yourself in a shootin’ match against him?”
    Beau threw his head back and laughed. He well understood that this was just a ploy of Wickham’s to make him look bad, so he said, “How much do you have to lose, Vance?”
    “How about two hundred dollars?” Vance returned quietly, and immediately the room grew still. They all had watched this pair come close to trouble several times—now it seemed imminent.
    “At what odds?” Beau asked. “And how would it be handled?”
    “I’d say let Shelby and Mr. Winslow arrange the match.”Then Vance smiled sleepily and said the one thing that was calculated to goad his rival into action. “I’d like to take something away from you, Beau.”
    Every man there realized instantly that Wickham did not mean cash, but Belle, and Beau’s face flushed. “Done!” he said in a harsh voice.
    The whole episode caught the fancy of the young fellows, and a yell went up. The older men tried to get the two to call off the bet, but the betting instinct was strong in the breed.
    Vance said, “I’ll have to have a little time to teach my man how to hold a piece.”
    “You’ve got until noon tomorrow, Vance,” Beau replied. “I have too much to do to wait around for you to work a miracle.”
    Wickham put his hand on Thad’s arm, saying, “Let’s have a word outside, my boy.” He led Thad into the foyer and turned to him. “Are your eyes good?”
    “Oh yes, sir,” Thad nodded. “I can see real fine.”
    “Good! Now hold your hand out.” He took a gold knife from his pocket, opened it, and laid it across one of Thad’s knuckles. “Now, hold that steady, Thad. See that line of light on the blade? Try to keep it steady.”
    Thad concentrated and his hands were almost rock-like. “Very good!” Wickham said in surprise. “You can see and you have steady hands. Now, you heard the bet I made with Mr. Beauchamp?”
    “Yes, sir—but I can’t beat him!”
    “The odds are three to one, Thad. You’ll get three shots to his one. In the morning, you meet me in front of the house. I’ll teach you how to hit the target. Now don’t get worried. If you can’t do it, I’ll understand.”
    “But, Mr. Wickham—!”
    “Thad, those fellows laughed