A crack shot. Professor Fordney was hunting in the Rockies when informed of a
tragedy at one of the camps. Thinking he might be of some help,
he went over, and, after introducing himself, Butler, the victim's companion,
told him of the accident. When Marshall hadn't returned to camp at nine
o'clock last night, I was a bit worried because he didn't know these mountains.
There wasn't a star out, and it was dark and moonless, so
I decided to look around for him. Were five miles from anyone, you
know. Putting more wood on the fire, I set out. After searching
for an hour, I was coming up the slope of a ravine when I
saw a pair of eyes shining out at me in the dark, calling twice
and getting no answer. I fired, thinking it was a mountain lion.
Imagined my horror when I reached the spot, struck a match and saw I
had nearly blown the head off Marshall. A terrible experience. I carried his
body back to camp and then walked to the nearest house to report the accident.
How far from camp did you find Marshall, asked Fordney, about a
quarter mile. I see your right hand as bandaged. How do you manage
to shoot with it? Oh? I use either hand? Mind if I
look at the gun, not at all, said Butler, handing it over.
Hm European, make I see had it long? No, it's rather
new. Why did you deliberately murder? Marshall, demanded Fordney abruptly, For
that's what you did. How did the professor know Butler had murdered his companion?
It was a dark, starless, moonless night. The nearest habitation was
five miles. The eyes of no animal ever shine in the dark unless there
is a light by which they can be reflected, and a man's eyes never
shine under any circumstances. Therefore, Butler could not possibly have seen any eyes
shining at him in the dark. It was clearly murder, and thy deep
eyes amid the gloom shine like jewels in a shroud, Long Fellow, and
of a crack shot by H. A. Ripley