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I remember a ten-pronged buck that I shot one winter on the Elk's-Eye River..." "The Muskingum!" exclaimed an Iroquois, who had listened in silence to the puma's story. "Did you call it that too? Elk's-Eye! Clear brown and smooth-flowing. That's the Scioto Trail, isn't it?" he asked of the Mound-Builder. "You could call it that.
Sit down, sit down; take a chair, and he handed me one. "I squared myself on it, but if a ten-pronged buck wasn't done sucking when I last sot on a chair, and I squirmed awhile, uneasy as a gun-shot coyote; then I jumps up and tells the old gentleman them sort of fixings didn't suit this beaver, he prefers the floor. I sets cross-legged like in camp, as easy as eating meat.
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