Moses didn't break his gaze. While initially shocked at the size of the fellow in front of him, he knew that if worst came to worst, this would be a battle of guns... And as a smaller man, he had the upper hand. But he wasn't stupid, and he well knew he was hanging on the last straw here. He would waste no more time. He decided, as the man was angry, and Southern, to leave out his war history with a background that might just as easily have explained his scars... He didn't have to know that he hadn't been in the organization for very long...

"Name's Moses Jones. Pinkerton Agent, humbly at yer serv'ce."

He remained still, in his composed military stance, his eyes locked on Hugo's. He messed up, and [i]bad[/i]. He'd have to schmooze his way out of this little corner if he planned on working under this man's supervision with any hopes of freedom or efficiency...

"I'm sorry if what I said soun'ned disserspec'ful, sir," He added coolly and matter-of-factly, "I menna say it looks yer doin' a good job."