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Updated: September 6, 2025
A little farther along he met a young man, a very handsome person. His hair was long; his clothing was made of strange skins, and his moccasins were sewed with bright feathers. The young man spoke to him and asked, "Did you see some weapons lying in the trail?" "Yes," replied Scarface, "I saw them." "Did you touch them?" said the young man.
"I should have left you. You don't even know what's going on you haven't the faintest idea. If it were just humans, as you think...." She snuggled against him in the coldness of the little cave. "Shh. I got you into it. I I ratted on you, Scarface!" But he couldn't reply to her attempt at humor. There was no fear now not even the relief of fear.
"No, no!" replied Scarface; "we must not go there. Those are very terrible birds; they will kill us." Morning Star would not listen. He ran towards the water, and Scarface followed. He knew that he must kill the birds and save the boy. If not, the Sun would be angry and might kill him.
"Ah!" replied Scarface, "I seek the place where the Sun lives; I am sent to speak with him." "I have travelled far," said the wolf. "I know all the prairies, the valleys, and the mountains, but I have never seen the Sun's home. Wait; I know one who is very wise. Ask the bear. He may tell you."
A careful look showed the fresh track of a fox that had bounded from the cover, and following it with my eye I saw old Scarface himself far out of range behind me, sitting on his haunches and grinning as though much amused. A study of the trail made all clear.
So they went together to the orchard-fence unseen by old Chuckie on his stump. Scarface then showed himself in the orchard and quietly walked in a line so as to pass by the stump at a distance, but never once turned his head or allowed the ever-watchful woodchuck to think himself seen.
My uncle, impatient at the daily loss of hens, went out himself, sat on the open knoll, and when old Scarface trotted to his lookout to watch the dull hound on the river flat below, my uncle remorselessly shot him in the back, at the very moment when he was grinning over a new triumph. But still the hens were disappearing. My uncle was wrathy.
A careful took showed the fresh track of a fox that had bounded from the cover, and following it with my eye I saw old Scarface himself far out of range behind me, sitting on his haunches and grinning as though much amused. A study of the trail made all clear.
We only know that the ill-fated train was destroyed, the members murdered and their wagons burned. Scarface Charley told John Fairchilds that when he was a little boy the Indians killed a great many white people at this point. The charred remains of the wagons and moldering bones of the owners were yet visible when I visited the spot during the Modoc war.
He was a good-looking young man, except that on his cheek he had a scar, and his clothes were always old and poor. After those dances some of the young men met this poor Scarface, and they laughed at him, and said: "Why don't you ask that girl to marry you? You are so rich and handsome!" Scarface did not laugh; he replied: "Ah! I will do as you say. I will go and ask her."
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