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Updated: June 28, 2025
Well he knew those buck-skin breeches, those mud-spattered tops, those tall knees. "Who's that bloke?" whispered a voice at his ear. "The officer commanding the French. Hush!" "Crikey!" whispered Knapp, much impressed, and peering through the tamarisk. "Ain't he got a pair o legs on him neether?" Before Kit could stop him, he had brushed past and dropped into the creek, light as a feather.
I thanked her and told her that as my own supper was nearly ready, I would eat at my own camp. I had taken my Buck-skin coat off and laid it on our pack. One of the women asked me if she could look at it. I told her that she could if she wished to. Bridger is eating now." So I took the meat and coffee off the fire and put my coat on and went with them.
On her shoulders, hanging open in front, lay a mantle of soft white stuff edged with blue beads, about her middle was a buck-skin moocha, also embroidered with blue beads, while round her forehead and left knee were strips of grey fur, and on her right wrist a shining bangle of copper.
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