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I never saw a man from Oregon yit that was worth the powder to blow him up! Half-baked, no-account fakirs, the whole lot of 'em allus a hirin' for somethin' they cain't do! Middle West renegades! Poor white trash! Oregon is the New Jersey of the Pacific coast; it's the Missoury of the West. It ought to be throwed into some other state and its name wiped off the map.
"Why, he's down there," replied Merrick, in a surprised tone. "Tom Percival, I mean." "Anybody with, him?" continued Rodney. "Half a dozen or so Union men, who had to clear out or be hung by Thompson's men," replied the farmer. "If you knowed just how things stand here in Missoury, and how sot every man is agin his nearest neighbor, I don't reckon you'd ever tried to ride to Springfield."
The man explained how young Skidway had been seized and taken on board the train by Dyke Darrel. "You are sure his captor was Dyke Darrel?" "I ain't blind, I reckon," growled the man. "I heard sufficient to tell me that the detective was takin' the kid back to Missoury, and that was enough for me." "Why did you permit it?" A laugh answered the woman. "You might have saved the boy," pursued Mrs.
They were queer people, most of 'em from Missoury and such-like southern seaports, and they were tur'ble sick of travel by the time they come in sight of Emigrant Pass. Up to Santa Fe they mostly hiked along any old way, but once there they herded up together in bunches of twenty wagons or so, 'count of our old friends, Geronimo and Loco.
The Indian woman with us exmined the mockersons which we found at these encampments and informed us that they were not of her nation the Snake Indians, but she beleived they were some of the Indians who inhabit the country on this side of Rocky Mountains and North of the Missoury and I think it most probable that they were the Minetaries of Fort de Prarie.
When he was made to understand that he had committed a blunder, and that the boy was as good a Confederate as he was himself, the planter was profuse in his apologies. "Alight," said he, giving Rodney his hand and almost pulling him out of his saddle. "I'm sorry for what I said, but that horse made me suspicion you. I wouldn't ride him through the country for all the money there is in Missoury.
'He had th' sinitor iv Missoury be th' throat whin ye took me away, he says. "I left him there; but he come into th' place at six o'clock, an' borrid a paper an' pencil. Thin he wint back, an' sat down an' wrote. 'What ar-re ye doin' there? says I. 'I've wrote a sketch iv th' nominee f'r th' Stock-yards Sun, he says. 'Listen to it.
'I ain't allowin' for my old mother in Missoury to be told as how I dies in no gin-mill, which she shorely 'bominates of 'em. An' I don't die with no boots on, neither. "We-alls packs him back into the street ag'in, an' pulls away at his boots. About the time we gets 'em off he sags back convulsive, an' thar he is as dead as Santa Anna.
The Minnetares of the Missoury we know extend their excurtions on the S. side as high as the yellowstone river; the Assinniboins still higher on the N. side most probably as high as about Porcupine river and from thence upwards most probably as far as the mountains by the Minetares of Fort de Prarie and the Black Foot Indians who inhabit the S. fork of the Suskashawan.
"Major," said he, "this is Jim Bridger, the oldest scout in the Rockies, an' that knows more West than ary man this side the Missoury. I never thought to see him agin, sartain not this far east." "Ner me," retorted the other, shaking hands with one man after another. "Jim Bridger? That's a name we know," said Banion. "I've heard of you back in Kentucky."
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