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Updated: May 16, 2025
The rifle and two case-knives were all the weapons we had. "What's to be done!" cried one, and all eyes were turned upon Lincoln. The hunter stood motionless, clutching his rifle and looking to the ground. "How fur's the crik, Rowl?" he asked after a pause. "Not two hundred yards; this way it lies."
Them trees that we stopped fer was cut by our fellers to keep off the Lossman River plume hunters. We've got ter cut 'em out, er git 'round 'em if 't takes a week." "How about water?" "Find it t'other side o' the crik. I'd rather go without than go back t' anybody's house fer it." "But that old shack where we killed the rattler isn't far off, and I saw a water-barrel under the caves."
"After the trail went out from the crik and towards the edge o' this thicket, I lost all hopes of follerin' it further, as the ground was hard, and covered with donicks, and I couldn't make the tracks out no how. I had my idea that the bar had tuk the thicket, so I went round the edge of it to see if I could find whar he had entered.
I know'd who did it; tho' not that night for it war so dark among the bushes, I couldn't see a steim. But I kim back in the mornin', and seed tracks. They war the tracks o' a mocassin. I know'd 'em to be hern." "Su-wa-nee's tracks?" "Sartin. I know'd 'em well enough, as I'd often seed her tracks through the crik bottom." "Did you take no steps to punish her?" "Well no I didn't." "How is that?
Thar's squ'lls, an' 'possum, an' turkeys too; an' lots o' fish in the crik if one gets tired o' the bar an' deer-meat, which I shed niver do." "But how about clothing, and other necessaries that are not found in the woods?" "As for our clothin' it ain't hard to find. We can get that in Swampville by swopping skins for it, or now an' then some deer-meat.
After a pause, "That seems right," said the Elder; "thar' ain't nothin' agen that." "But you've ploughed and raised crops on the Indian land across the crik," objected Morris; "we all hev. Air we to give it up?" There was no answer. "Anyway," Morris continued, "Custer's at Wichita now.
I knowed he hedn't kum fur, as I looked out for sign whar we crossed the crik bottom, an' seed none. I tuk the back track, an' soon come up with him under a big button-wood. He had been thar some time, for the ground wur stamped like a bullock-pen." "Well?" said I, impatient to hear the result. "I follered him up till I seed him leanin' for'ard on his horse, clost to the track we oughter take.
"For a long time I couldn't see a spot whar any critter as big as a bar could a-got in without makin' some sort o' a hole, and then I begun to think the bar had gone some other way, either across the crik or further down it. "I war agoin' to turn back to the water, when I spied a big log lyin' half out o' the thicket, with one eend buried in the bushes.
The morning after their arrival, our travellers, strong with the vigor of the young day, set forth to explore the cliffs, bidding adieu to original Youth, who, standing ready to depart, beside his horse, was carolling the following ditty in glorification of his native town: "Ga'ed Light is out o' sight, Menemshee Crik is sandy, Holmes's Hole's a pooty place, An' Oldtown Pint's onhandy."
Been burning brush?" "No," she replied, "jest warmin' up a little." "Why, it's not cold." "I I was wet." "Wet?" said he, astonished. She saw her slip, and flushed. "Fell in the crik," she answered briefly, hastily and falsely. "Why, that's too bad," said he, with ready sympathy, unfeigned and real.
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