Aiming and firing in the same movement, MacKim rolled onto his back and began to reload. The cartridge proved obstinate, with the paper refusing to tear. He heard the bark of a musket as he fumbled, dropped black powder on the ground and thereby reducing the force of his next shot. The ramrod shook in his hand as he shoved it down the barrel before sprinkling powder in the pan and rolling back to his front to cover Chisholm, just as the shot cracked the silence. Chisholm yelled once and crumpled to the ground.
In the eighteen seconds he had taken to reload, the situation had altered. Chisholm was down, dead or wounded, lying on his face with his musket at his side while a shadowy figure was just visible within the trees.
MacKim swore, aimed at the figure and quickly fired, cursing when t
