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Updated: June 4, 2025
So we put a loose larzette roun' his thrapple, an' on the promise o' its bein' tightened, he tolt us the hul story; how they hed attackted an' skuttled a carryvan, an' all 'bout entoomin' you an' a kimrade this young fellur, I take it who war wi' ye. Our bizness out hyar war to look up yur bones an' gie 'em a more Christyun kind o' beril. We were goin' for that cave, the rennygade guidin' us.
There's liss of it now; an' maybe I could manage it, iv you'ld only carry the spids, an' thim other things. We moight lave the knapsicks an' kyarthridge-box behind. What use ud they be in Kalifornya? They'll only lade to our detiction by the throops out there." "Don't ee be skeert 'bout thet, kimrade! Ef theer's troops in Californey, they'll hev theer hands full 'ithout troublin' us, I reeking.
"Poor Petrick!" said Sure-shot, as we descended the slope, "he weer the joyfulest kimrade I ever hed, an' we must gi' him the berril o' a Christyan. I wonder neow what on airth them verming lies done wi' him? Wheer kin they have hid his body?" "True where is it? It was out yonder on the plain? I saw it there: they had scalped him." "Yees; they sculped him at the time we weer all captered.
Any destination but that. I had commenced reflecting upon this point, when I was interrupted by the voice of Sure-shot resuming the conversation. Thus did he enter on his explanation: "Ye see, kimrade, these Mormings, es I've heern, air mighty taken up wi' sogerin', an' thet sort o' thing. Ye've heerd talk o' theer great bettelion.
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