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"It's a black night that don't end," he said, "an' I like fur mine to end jest this way. Provided I don't get hurt bad I'm willin' to fight my way to hot coffee an' rich buff'ler steak. This coffee makes me feel good right down to my toes, though I will say that there is a long-legged ornery creatur that kin make it even better than this. Hey, thar, Saplin'!"
Seems like every time the wind blows you're thinkin' 'Injuns. Can't you tell buff'ler from reds? Or are you gettin' skeered out!" "Jest as you say, then," the other John replied. "But if anything happens, don't blame me. I've a notion we ought to climb up an' spy 'round." "If they're Injuns, our heads would give us away. We'll keep where we are, snug under the banks, an' they'll pass us by.
"Yes, Bob, he tells ther truth, fer I hes seen him handle ther ribbons, and he does it prime too; he are the Pony Rider who they calls Buff'ler Billy," said another of the gang. "Ther devil yer say: waal, I has heerd o' him as a greased terror, an' he looks it; but who's with yer, young pard?" "I am alone." "It hain't likely." "But I am."
Paul is down thar, settin' under a bush readin' a book uv gold letters on silver paper with diamonds set in the cover, an' Tom Ross is on that hill, 'way acrost yonder, lookin' at a herd uv buff'ler fifty miles wide which hez been travelin' past fur a month. Now, Sol, would you give your old pardner that kind uv a welcome?" "Would I Jim? You know I would.
"Then I don't want ever to see 'em or what's left uv 'em. People who built cities whar no water an' trees wuz ought to hev seen 'em perish. Wouldn't me an' Sol look fine trailin' 'roun' among them ruins an' over them deserts? Not a buff'ler, nor a deer, not a b'ar anywhar, an' not a fish; 'cause they ain't even a good big dew fur a fish to swim in.
I want it to be like this with big rivers and middle-sized rivers and little rivers, all kinds o' streams an' lakes, and the woods, green in the spring an' red an' yellow in the fall, an' winter, too, which hez its beauties with snow an' ice, an' red roarin' fires to keep you warm, an' the deer an' the buff'ler to hunt. I want them things 'cause I'm used to 'em.
One early morning they were in their canoes, deep between the high banks, down toward the mouth of the river where it united with the Madison, when they heard a dull tramping in the valley. "Harkee!" spoke John. "D'ye hear, Jack? That sounds like Injuns. "Injuns nothin'!" John Potts laughed. "Them's buff'ler.
I'd a heap ruther hunt the buff'ler than that fifteen foot tiger o' yours, Henry." "So had I, Sol. If those beasts were living nowadays we wouldn't be roaming through the forest as we are now. We have only the Indians to fear." "An' thar's a lot about them to be afeard of at times, ez you an' me know, Henry."
I'm always findin' some new river or creek or lake. Nothin's old, or all trod up or worn out. Some day I'm goin' way out on them plains that you've seed, Henry, where the buff'ler are passin' millions strong.
"They'll starve us out if they can't take us by charging," said Simpson. "They can't starve me as long as your mule holds out, Lew, for I won't eat poor Sable; it would choke me," replied Billy. "Well, mule meat's good," said Woods. "Yes, when there ain't anything else to eat, but I prefer buff'ler or Injun," was Billy's response. "We may have to eat Injun yet," laughed Lew Simpson.
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