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Updated: June 13, 2025
Jest as I turns my back, thar's the crack! of a rifle to the r'ar of the j'int, an' Hardrobe pitches onto the floor as dead as ever transpires in that tribe. In the back door, with one arm in a sling, an' a gun that still smokes, ca'm an' onmoved like Injuns allers is, stands Bloojacket. "'My hand is forced, he says, as he passes me his gun; 'it's him or me!
Thar's nothin' so lets the whey outen a hoss-back Injun like puttin' him a-foot: an the Cheyennes settles down in sorrow an' peace immediate. "While Hardrobe an' his boy Bloojacket is with me, I'm impressed partic'lar by the love they b'ars each other. I never does cut the trail of a father an' son who gives themse'fs up to one another like this Hardrobe an' his Bloojacket boy.
He don't land the boy at that; Bloojacket gets away with a shattered arm. Also, the word goes that Hardrobe is still gunnin' for Bloojacket, the latter havin' gone onder cover some'ers by virchoo of the injured pinion. "As Colonel Sterett says, these pore aborigines experiences bad luck the moment ever they takes to braidin' in their personal destinies with a paleface.
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.
Shore, they're out for cattle, too; them savages has a heap of cattle, an' since they finds their brands an' bunches same as the rest of us all tangled up with the Yellowstone aliens doorin' the blizzard, Hardrobe an' his boy Bloojacket rides up an' asks can they work partners with a outfit of mine.
I encounters him in one of the little jim-crow restauraws you-all finds now an' then in the Injun country. Hardrobe an' me shakes, an' then he camps down ag'in at a table where he's feedin' on fried antelope an' bakin' powder biscuit. "I'm standin' at the counter across the room.
This maiden's white; an' as beautiful as a flower an' as wicked as a trant'ler. Hardrobe brings her to his ranch in the Osage country. "The next tale I gets is that Bloojacket, likewise, becomes a victim to the p'isenous fascinations of this Caldwell dance-hall damsel, an' that him an' Hardrobe falls out; Hardrobe goin' on the warpath an' shootin' Bloojacket up a lot with a Winchester.
'For myse'f, I'm prone an' eager to add to my information touchin' Injuns at every openin'. "As Enright an' the rest makes expression sim'lar, I proceeds to onbuckle. I don't claim much for the tale neither. Still, I wouldn't copper it none for it's the trooth, an' the trooth should allers be played 'open' every time. I'll tell you-all this Hardrobe story as I onfolds it to them."
I don't blame 'em none neither. I sees this Caldwell seraph on one o'casion myse'f; she's shore a beauty! an' whenever she throws the lariat of her loveliness that a-way at a gent, she's due to fasten. "It's a month followin' this division of the house of Hardrobe when I runs up on him in person.
We're in the southern border of the Osage country on the Grayhoss at the time, an' he p'ints to a heap of stones piled up like a oven an' chimley, an' about four foot high. I saveys thar's a defunct Osage inside. You-all will behold these little piles of burial stones on every knoll an' hill in the Osage country. 'See thar, says this Hardrobe, p'intin'. 'That's my squaw.
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