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"Stanton tells off four of his savages an' lines out with them for the Red Cloud agency; Bloojacket bein' one. From the Rawhide Buttes to the Red Cloud agency is one hundred even miles as a bullet travels. What makes it more impressive, them one hundred miles is across a trailless country, the same bein' as rocky as Red Dog whiskey an' rough as the life story of a mule.
"Son, them savages, havin' lead hosses, rides in on Merritt by fifth drink time or say, 'leven o'clock that mornin'; one hundred miles in 'leven hours! An' Bloojacket some wan an' weary for a savage is a-leadin' up the dance. Mighty fair ridin' that boy Bloojacket does! Two hundred miles in twenty-three hours over a clost country ain't bad!
Which jest the same these children of nacher don't like the idee of downin' your parent none, an' it's apparent Bloojacket's already half exiled. "As he stands thar roominatin, with the hot August sun beatin' down, thar's a atmosphere of sadness to go with Bloojacket. But you-all would have to guess at it; his countenance is as ca'm as on that murderin' evenin' in the half-breed's restauraw.
The Caldwell beauty it seems she disdains mournin' is robed like a rainbow; an' she an' Bloojacket, him standin', she on her bronco, looks each other over plenty intent. "Which five minutes goes by if one goes by, an' thar the two stares into each other's eyes; an' never a word.
"'When I recalls the finish of Hardrobe, I remarks, sort o' cuttin' into the argyment, the same bein' free an' open to all, 'an' I might add by way of a gratootity in lines of proof, the finish of his boy, Bloojacket, I inclines to string my chips with Colonel Sterett. "'Give us the details concernin' this Hardrobe, says Doc Peets.
One of us wore the death-mark an' had to go. "'Couldn't you-all have gone with Crook ag'in? I says. 'Which you don't have to infest this yere stretch of country. Thar's no hobbles or sidelines on you; none whatever! "Bloojacket makes no reply, an' his copper face gets expressionless an' inscrootable.
Both of 'em's been eddicated at some Injun school which the gov'ment allers buckin' the impossible, the gov'ment is, upholds in its vain endeavours to turn red into white an' make folks of a savage. "Bloojacket is down from the Bad Land country himself not long prior, bein' he's been servin' his Great Father as one of Gen'ral Crook's scouts in the Sittin' Bull campaign.
He's all alone; though forty foot off four Osage bucks is settin' together onder a cottonwood playin' Injun poker the table bein' a red blanket spread on the grass, for two bits a corner. These yere sports in their blankets an' feathers, an' rifflin' their greasy deck, ain't sayin' nothin to Bloojacket an' he ain't sayin' nothin' to them.
I can see that Bloojacket regyards old Hardrobe like he's the No'th Star; an' as for Hardrobe himse'f, he can't keep his eyes off that child of his. You'd have had his life long before he'd let you touch a braid of Bloojacket's long ha'r. Both of 'em's plenty handsome for Injuns; tall an' lean an' quick as coyotes, with hands an' feet as little as a woman's.
Mighty good squaw once; but heap dead now. "Then Hardrobe an' Bloojacket rides over an' fixes a little flag they've got in their war-bags to a pole which sticks up'ards outen this tomb, flyin' the ensign as Injuns allers does, upside down. "It's six months later, mebby an' it's now the hard luck begins when I hears how Hardrobe weds a dance-hall girl over to Caldwell.
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