Jean pointed toward the man and began to approach him.

“What is your name, soldier?” Jean asked in heavily-accented English.

“I don’t have to tell you my name, or anything else, Frenchie.” dismissed the man.

Jean drew his pistol and pointed it directly at the antagonist’s head—to the utter astonishment of the two Continental Army soldiers with him.

“Who are you, and who do you serve? I will not ask again.”

“Back off, asshole! You have no command here.”

“You,” Jean gestured toward one of the shocked American soldiers. “Bring me that pouch on his hip.”

Without warning, the accused spy whipped his pistol from his holster, shooting the other soldier in the stomach. Tossing the weapon to the ground, he pulled another, smaller firearm from behind his back and pointed the barrel at Jean’s heart.

 A blast rang out, and a musket ball pierced the left side of the traitor’s head. He collapsed, dead.

 Jean’s unfired pistol was still aimed where the dead man once stood. He hadn’t had time to pull the trigger. He looked to his left.

 Next to him, Henri stood, gripping a revolver in trembling hands, the rest of his body frozen in place.