It's obvious as
stars on a cl'ar night, they never means fight a little bit. I
abhors dooels, an' cowers from the mere idee. But, after all,
business is business, an' when folks fights 'em the objects of the
meetin' oughter be blood. But the way these yere European shorthorns
fixes it, a gent shorely runs a heap more resk of becomin' a angel
abrupt, attendin' of a Texas cake-walk in a purely social way.
"Do they ever fight dooels in the West? Why, yes--some. My mem'ry
comes a-canterin' up right now with the details of an encounter I
once beholds in Wolfville. Thar ain't no time much throwed away with
a dooel in the Southwest. The people's mighty extemporaneous, an'
don't go browsin' 'round none sendin' challenges in writin', an'
that sort of flapdoodle. When a gent notices the signs a-gettin'
about right for him to go on the war-path, he picks out his meat,
surges up, an' declar's himse'f. The victim, who is most likely a
mighty serious an' experienced person, don't copper the play by
makin' vain remarks, but brings his gatlin' into play surprisin'.
Next it's bang! bang! bang! mixed up with flashes an' white smoke,
an' the dooel is over complete. The gent who still adorns our midst
takes a drink on the house, while St.
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