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Updated: June 12, 2025
"That iss just what wass in my own mind, for we must be thinkin' about makin' preparations for our trip to the Ukon Ruver. We will hev to start whenever my successor arrives here. Man, it will be a goot job when we are off, for I am seek tired of this place. Wan hes nothin' in the world to think about but his stamik, an' that iss not intellectooal, whatever."
He 'lows the road will be obligated ter pass by the witch-face arter it gits over yander nigh ter the valley, whar the ruver squeezes through the mounting agin. He be always talkin' 'bout signs an' spells an' sech, an' he 'lows the very look o' the witch-face kerries bad luck, an' it'll taint all ez goes for'ard an' back'ard a-nigh it."
Nevertheless, it is my opeenion that we've had treebulation enough in Rud Ruver since we came oot, an' I would be ferry gled of a luttle prosperity now if only by way of a pleesant change."
"I could not help myself," he thought; "when I took up my gun I did not intend to kill the man." Conscience again reminded him of its "Don't!" "And would not every man in Rud Ruver justify me for firing first in self-defence?" Conscience again said "No!" Here the hunter uttered a savage oath, to which Conscience made no reply, for Conscience never speaks back or engages in disputation.
But ez he war crossin' the foot-bredge some o' the pursuin' party war fordin' the ruver over thar, an' thinkin' he'd make out ter escape they fired on him, jes' ez the feller tried ter surrender. He turned this way an' flung up both arms but thar's mighty leetle truce in a pistol-ball. That minute it tuk him right through the brain. Seems toler'ble long range fur a pistol, don't it?
An' he be 'bleeged ter hev hearn me, fur arter I crost I stopped. Nuthin'. Jes' a whisper o' wind, an' jes' a swishin' from the ruver. I knowed then he hed turned off inter the laurel.
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