tement was Herman committing suicide, out in the woodshed,
with a rope he'd took off a new packsaddle. Something interrupted him
after he got the noose adjusted and was ready to step off the chopping
block he stood on. I believe it was one more farewell note to the woman
that sent him to his grave. Only he got interested in it and put in a lot
more of his own poetry and run out of paper, and had to get more from the
house; and he must of forgot what he went to the woodshed for because an
hour after that he committed an entirely new suicide with his fowling
piece.

Near as I could gather, he was all ready to pull the trigger, looking
down into this here frowning muzzle before a mirror; and then something
about his whiskers in the mirror must of caught his eye. Anyway, another
work of self-destruction was off. So he come in and helped with lunch.
Then he told me he'd like to take some time off, because he was going
up to the deep pool to drown himself.

I said was he really bent on it? He said it was requisite, because away
from this beautiful lady, who had torn his heart out and danced on it, he
could not continue to live, even for one day. So I come down on Herman. I
told him that, hard up as I was for help, I positively would not have a
man on the place who was always knocking off work to kill himself. It et
into his time, and also it took the attention of others who longed to see
him do it.

I said I might stand for a suicide or two--say, once a month, on a quiet
Sunday--but I couldn't stand this here German thoroughness that kept it
up continual. At least, if he hoped to keep on drawing pay from me, he'd
have to make way with himself in his own leisure moments and not on my
time.

Herman says I don't know the depths of the human heart. I says I know
what I pay him a month, and that's all I'm needing to know in this
emergency. I thought, of course, he'd calm down and forget his nonsense;
but not so. He moped and mooned, and muttered German poetry to himself
for another day, without ever laying a violent hand on himself; but then
he come and said it was no good. He says, however, he will no longer
commit suicide at this place, where none have sympathy with him and many
jeer. Instead, he will take his fowling piece to some far place in the
great still mountains and there, at last, do the right thing by himself.

I felt quite snubbed, but my patience was wore out; so I give Herman
the money that was coming to him, w