Immediately after the duel, the Clown tosses aside his huge bouquet of flowers. He runs for the creek to the west. There he kneels down and checks his reflection to see whether he's dead. He kneels there, looking at his reflection, for over an hour. After confirming that he is, in fact, not dead, the Clown falls asleep. He wakes late the next morning and, after stripping naked and bathing in the frigid water, sets out west.
The Coach arrives just as the Clown is leaving. In passing, the Clown offers a vacant, simple smile. The Coach stops and follows. He asks the Clown whether he's come to the right place, showing him the invitation to the duel. The Clown takes the telegraph and regards it uncomprehendingly, flipping it over and over. All questions asked of the Clown come to nothing or nonsense - except the last. The Coach asks whether the Clown is a duelist.
Oh yes! says the Clown, but I think I've grown tired of it and so I'm moving up and onward.
Up and onward where? asks the Coach - still following the Clown, now hiking rocky former pastureland, making for a small river, and beyond the river, a hill.
I have an invitation at the hotel, the Clown replies happily. He bounds ahead, leaving the Coach stranded, without a partner to duel.
Yet not minutes after the Coach loses sight of the Clown - just after he nimbly crosses a long narrow trunk over the mountain river and strolls into the scrub against the valley climb - after a few minutes of bewildered rest, the Coach hears footsteps. From behind a bush appears Pepple, carrying a ancient, well-polished rifle with telescopic sight. He regards the Coach, nods, and moves past. The Coach watches, and follows. They two men cross the fallen trunk across the river (the Coach nearly falling into the water), and begin hiking up the hill. The foliage harsh, the earth craggy. Yet Pepple moves quickly, and the Coach behind him. Finally they reach a point where the trees - all pines mostly - are dense, and a manicured path appears. They take the path upward through the pines. The path twists. Pepple walks faster and the Coach nearly jogs (he's a shorter man, thick and a bit out of shape) just to keep up.
Finally, the pines open. The two men find themselves at the bottom of an elaborate, terraced garden. Topiary animals (dogs, elephants, horses, lions) and topiary creatures (mythical, legendary, fictional, historic) line a highly refined, arabesque pattern of pathways, up tiled stairs, around gentle fountains, under flowering trees, all leading inexorably higher - to the tremendous, white columned, neoclassical hotel looming above.
At first the garden seems empty until the Clown steps from behind a potted gardenia bush, his arms full of flowers. If he sees Pepple and the Coach he doesn't register them. He continues picking, making his way up toward the hotel. From high, the Coach spots a few guests - all dressed in black tie - looking down intently upon the Clown, but silently.
Pepple takes a stance and raises the rifle, steadying his arm against a nearby pine. He aims at the Clown. Takes a deep breath. As the Clown raises his hand to wave at the hotel guests, Pepple squeezes the trigger. The Clown crumples, gardenias bursting in a shower of ivory. The Coach gasps, his knees buckle. The guests look with curious delight, searching for whence the shot was fired. A pretty young woman in a spring dress spots Pepple. She quietly gets the attention of others and points. They watch as Pepple walks into the garden, followed by the horrified Coach, to carry off the body of the Clown.
The Coach, seeing the women above look at Pepple - filthy, lanky, bearded Pepple - with adoration, the men with solemnity, is thrown into tremendous confusion. As the guests whisper approvingly (he hears the whispers as he works to help Pepple drag off the corpse, even from so far away) it's all unintelligible, and they leave.
They carry the Clown's heavy body down the valley, across the river, across the road, and to the grave. Pepple buries the body as the Coach, resting against the oak, watches Pepple.
