 On opposite shores of the river, the seconds waited for the sound of gunfire that would tell them that the battle had begun. They imagined the tense excitement of the two enemies, the breathless wait for a sound, the expectation of a death shot. Now, in a sudden burst, three shots broke the stillness of the night. Three shots. It could mean but one thing. One of the men had fired both barrels of his shotgun, the other but one. What did it mean?