They came on, sneering and acting like bold and dangerous men, until I stepped out from behind the curve of the tree and asked them if it was me they were looking for?

I had four shots, and they had twelve or eighteen. But once you decide to play the hand that is dealt you, those kinds of calculations don't add much, I suppose. The sallow one in front was quick bringing his long barrel to bear, but I had the advantage of having seen him first. His bullet took six ounces of solid oak out of the tree by my head, and mine took the lobe of his left ear off. This caused him to bend directly into the line of my second shot, which caught him just above his bony nose. One derringer was empty. Two other guns were swinging toward me, and my third shot took the tall beefy man through the chest; and his first shot slammed the second derringer out of my hand harder than a mule-kick to the head. The round man with the mustachios was no fool; he knew he had me pinned, and he smiled as he raised his revolver toward my face.

Then his forehead opened up from behind like a summer rose in a spray of deep scarlet, and he fell flat on his face.