They killed each other on slight provocation, and hoped and expected to be killed themselves -- for they held it almost shame to die otherwise than "with their boots on," as they expressed it.
I remember an instance of a desperado's contempt for such small game as a private citizen's life.

I was taking a late supper in a restaurant one night, with two reporters and a little printer named--Brown, for instance--any name will do.

Presently a stranger with a long-tailed coat on came in, and not noticing Brown's hat, which was lying in a chair, sat down on it.

Little Brown sprang up and became abusive in a moment.

The stranger smiled, smoothed out the hat, and offered it to Brown with profuse apologies couched in caustic sarcasm, and begged Brown not to destroy him.