'Then I
reckon shootin' must be one of those habits,' said Pinkey, coolly.
Both men drove out on the Shell Road back of cemetery next morning.
Pinkey put bullet at twelve paces through Doolittle's temple. Poor
Doo never spoke again. Left three wives and seven children, they say
--two of 'em black."
"I got a note from you this morning," said Hotchkiss, with badly
concealed impatience. "I suppose in reference to our case. You have
taken judgment, I believe." The Colonel, without replying, slowly
filled a glass of whiskey and water. For a moment he held it dreamily
before him, as if still engaged in gentle reminiscences called up by
the act. Then tossing it off, he wiped his lips with a large white
handkerchief, and leaning back comfortably in his chair, said, with a
wave of his hand, "The interview I requested, Mr. Hotchkiss, concerns
a subject--which I may say is--er--er--at present _not_ of a public
or business nature--although _later_ it might become--er--er--both.
It is an affair of some--er--delicacy."
The Colonel paused, and Mr. Hotchkiss regarded him with increased
impatience.
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