As I remember hearing the story, it went something like this….There was a very small store located about half-a-days ride out of Lynchburg town traveling east along the James River. This store faced up to the dirt road with only space for the front porch and hitch’n post out front, it was right on the edge of the road. I recall passing by the little old store quite a few times when younger, always seemed unusual that it was right on the road edge. It had very narrow double front doors, a very shallow covered front porch and only one window on each side wall, these were also very narrow
As is goes, late one night, the local boys were playing cards on the board and barrel located in the middle of the very small building. The proprietor was sitting with his back toward the rear of the store, with a pot-belly stove behind him and a chimney stack on the rear wall of the building (I remember the location of the chimney). The rest of the players circled the table, sitting on wood boxes or chairs or whatever was available. As the game progressed there seemed to be a serious disagreement between the proprietor and one of his friends, the man sitting directly across the board from him, this man’s back, toward the open front doors.
A more heated argument broke out between the two about the last hand played, both shouting and then finally standing to confront each other. In the heat of the exchange, the proprietor reached into his cash cigar box on the board and drew out what looked to be a very small pistol….taking aim, he fired. The other man threw both hands to his mouth as he stumbled backwards toward the front door, he fell backwards over the front porch and broke the cross bar of the hitching post as he hit the ground.
The whole crowd from the store went rushing out with the proprietor leading the group yelling about how sorry he was to have shot his friend over a simple hand of cards. As they gathered around the victim, they were amazed to see him stand up coughing and gagging. With that, he stumbled to one of the still standing posts and heaved something that hit the ground with a thud. One of the men picked it up, spat on it to wash it off and found it to be a bullet slug.
The Story ends with all the boys going back to the poker game, apologies and “sorrys” exchanged….Oh, and more drinking (of course) to clear the boy’s throat…..the two gents involved remained the closest of friends well into their old age.
As for the gun and bullet…a .31, who knows, cap & ball….a rim fire, maybe…too little powder or old dampt powder, possible??
Just thought I’d throw this in.