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Updated: June 17, 2025
The fishing-hooks, lines, reel, etc., made the eyes of the former fairly dance, and Sile brought out a joint-rod and put it together, with a reel on, to show him how the machine worked. Two Arrows grew thoughtful over that affair. "Big fish break him." "No. Show you about that to-morrow morning." "Ugh! ugh!" suddenly exclaimed Ha-ha-pah-no. "Red-head got squaw? Boy!"
Redhead led, with a black-haired young man at his shoulder, and it was plain that the race lay between these two. Halfway around, the black-haired one took the lead in a spurt that was intended to last to the finish. Ten feet he gained, nor could Red-head cut it down an inch. "The boy's a streak," Billy commented. "He ain't tryin' his hardest, an' Red-head's just bustin' himself."
He only looks after his lost root with an air of chagrin, and then, reflecting that there is "plenty more where it came from," kicks up its heels, and once more plunges to the bottom. The red-head rarely interferes with either, as he is contented to feed upon the leaves and stalks, at all times floating in plenty upon the surface.
Red-head. Boys find pony first. Pony there. Brave find next day. Boy talk too much. Kill 'Pache like warrior. Then talk a heap. Show scalp. Whoop. Ugh!" As for war and that sort of thing, there was no need for anybody to stir the ambition of Two Arrows up to a greater heat. He was ready enough now to do the wildest and rashest things he could think of.
Sooth to say, the first interview with the uncompromising contraband who hakes you is a trial, and it is bitterly cold work for feet and fingers, when you first come into your "blind" under the early dawn; but the blood soon warms up as the warning cries from the markers become more frequent; the pulse quickens as the dark specks or lines loom nearer, defined against the dull red or silvery gray of the sky-line; chills and shivers are all forgotten, as your first "red-head," pioneer of a whole "skeen" from the river crashes down yards behind you, on the hard, wet sand that fringes the bay.
"Red-head," said the soldiers, and little Peter laughed; but when one of them sometimes said to another, "Foxey," he would bite his teeth together and look another way into the wide world. He did not care for the nickname. The boy was active, pleasant of speech, and good-humored; that is the best canteen, said his old comrades.
“That fellow with the angel face is Morrill,” Collingwood went on, “and the one next to him, with the aristocratic features, is Baldersnaith, and this red-head here is Dennison,—and that’s Westby.” Irving, shaking hands round the circle, said, “Oh, I know Westby.” “Sit down, won’t you, Mr. Upton?” Westby pushed his armchair forward. “Thank you; don’t let me interrupt the singing.”
He only looks after his lost root with an air of chagrin, and then, reflecting that there is "plenty more where it came from," kicks up its heels, and once more plunges to the bottom. The red-head rarely interferes with either, as he is contented to feed upon the leaves and stalks, at all times floating in plenty upon the surface.
There the noise was increasing every minute, for the cattle-dealer had discovered that his money-bag was gone, and red-head screamed out like a mad-man, that nobody must get away, and everybody must be searched. When they found that Dietrich had gone, the cattle-man started off after him, and some others too, and then they all broke up. Now you know all that I know.
His valiant son, a somewhat smaller boy than either Yan or Sam, came near enough to the boundary to hurl opprobrious epithets. "Red-head red-head! You red-headed thief! Hol' on till my paw gits hol' o' you Raften, the Baften, the rick-strick Straften," and others equally galling and even more exquisitely refined.
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