He went up it about a mile, an’ then he stopped an’ I flattened out an’ crept closer an’ closer. I knew he would make a few remarks first, even though he was alone, an’ I judged I could wriggle up close enough to grab him in the act.
He fished out his gun, an’ I see that he didn’t savvy the use of it, which put a little uncertainty into my end o’ the game.
“Farewell, cruel world,” he muttered mournfully, usin’ his gun to gesture with. “Farewell, sweet dreams of childhood; farewell ambition an’ love an’ dear tyranic duty; farewell moon an’ stars an’ gentle breezes, farewell—”
Eugene would probably have gone on sayin’ farewell to each particular thing in the world until he talked himself to sleep, but just then a pebble slipped from the side o’ the ravine and rolled to his feet, and he stopped with a jerk an’ listened. Then he straightened himself an’ sez in a determined tone: “Nobody can’t prevent me. I shall end it now.”
Before I could move, he placed the muzzle to his forehead an’ fired, rollin’ over on his back. I heard a sort of cough, like when a man hits his best with an ax, an’ somethin’ came plumpin’ down the ravine like an avalanche.
I rushed up, lit a match, an’ there on his back was Eugene, a small red welt on his forehead, but looking calm and satisfied, while almost on top of him lay a man in a heap. I straightened him out, lit another match, an’ looked at the stranger. His hair was flamin’ red an’ you could have tied his red mustaches around the back of his neck. He was shot through the forehead an’ plumb dead.
I saw how it was in a flash: Eugene had almost missed himself, but had shot Red Erickson, who had been hidin’ up the side of the ravine behind him. I slipped Red’s empty gun into his hand, emptied Eugene’s gun; an’ then I tore for town, gathered up the boys an’ told ’em that Eugene had gone up the ravine bent on mischief. We got a lantern and hurried up the ravine where Eugene was just comin’ back to genuwine consciousness again.
He sat there with his head in his hands tryin’ to cheer himself with some o’ the mournfullest moanin’ ever I heard. I held the lantern to Red’s face a moment an’ bawled out: “Boys, this is Red Erickson! Him an’ Eugene has been duelin’, an’ they have killed each other.”
This gave Eugene his cue—an’ a cue was all Eugene ever needed. He pulled himself together, took plenty o’ time to get the lay o’ the land; an’ then he gave us a tale o’ that fight which laid over anything I ever heard in that line.
We carried ’em back to town, an’ Eugene was a hero for true. He got the reward all right, paid off his debts, an’ kept addin’ details to that fight until it was enough to keep a feller awake nights. His reputation picked up right along until even ol’ man Dort had to admit the’ was more to Eugene than he had allowed.