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Updated: June 22, 2025
The interruption silenced the old buck upon the subject of gold. Casey sat there and chewed tobacco and waited, schooling his impatience as best he could. Injun Jim muttered in Piute, or lay with his one eye closed. But Casey knew that he did not sleep; his thin lips were drawn too tense for slumber. So he waited.
"When Shadd comes out on that slope above he can't see you where you go down. Hurry on with the horses and women. Lassiter, you go with them. And if Shadd passes me and comes up with you do your best.... I'm going to ambush that Piute and his gang!" "Shore you've picked out a good place," replied Lassiter. In another moment Shefford was alone.
I don't think these Piutes are smart or bold enough to steal nowadays; their intercourse with the whites along the railroad has, in a measure, relieved them of those aboriginal traits of character that would incite them to steal a brass button off their pale-faced brother's coat, or screw a nut off his bicycle; but they have learned to beg; the noble Piute of to-day is an incorrigible mendicant.
Shefford recognized him as the brave who had been in love with Glen Naspa. The moment Nas Ta Bega saw this visitor he made a singular motion with his hands a motion that somehow to Shefford suggested despair and then he waited, somber and statuesque, for the messenger to come to him. It was the Piute who did all the talking, and that was brief.
With hands closely interwoven they watched the color fade and the mustering of purple shadows. Twilight fell. Piute raked the red coals from the glowing centre of the camp-fire. Wolf crouched all his long white length, his sharp nose on his paws, watching Mescal. Hare watched her, too. The night shone in her eyes, the light of the fire, the old brooding mystic desert-spirit, and something more.
I refer to the late Liver-Eating Watkins. Mr. Watkins entered into active life and passed through a good part of it bearing the unilluminative and commonplace first name of Elmer or Lemuel, or perhaps it was Jasper. Just which one of these or some other I forgot now, but no matter; at least it was some such. One evening a low-down terra-cotta-colored Piute swiped two of Mr.
The desert became dimmer and dimmer; the oasis lost its outline in a bottomless purple pit, except for a faint light, like a star. The bleating of sheep aroused him and he returned to camp. The fire was still bright. Wolf slept close to Mescal's tent; Piute was not in sight; and Naab had rolled himself in blankets.
"Ugh!" said Piute, pointing across to the dark line of cliffs. "Of course he'd see it first," laughed Naab. "Dave, have you caught it yet? Jack, see if you can make out a fire over on Echo Cliffs." "No, I don't see any light, except that white star. Have you seen it?" "Long ago," replied Naab. "Here, sight along my finger, and narrow your eyes down." "I believe I see it yes, I'm sure." "Good.
The night wind had not yet risen; the sheep were quiet; there was no sound save the crackle of burning cedar sticks. Jack began to talk; he had to talk, so, addressing Piute and the dumb peon, he struck at random into speech, and words flowed with a rush.
The wind favors us. That whistle was just plain fight, judging from what Naab told me of wild stallions. He came to the hilltop, and whistled down defiance to any horse, wild or tame, that might be below. I'll slip round through the cedars, and block the trail leading up to the other range, and you and Piute close the gate of our trail at this end.
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