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But in the fancy, in the sperrit, so to speak, I'm ridin' the finest hoss that ever pranced, an' I'm settin' in a silver saddle, holdin' reins o' blue silk, an' that proud hoss o' mine champs an' champs his jaws on a bit made o' solid gold. Come on, Tom, I ain't 'preciated here. We'll kill that buffler, ef you don't talk me to death on the way. Remember now to hold your volyble tongue.
Shif'less Sol fixed upon him such a look of stern reproof that Silent Tom reddened once more under his tan. "Here you go gettin' volyble ag'in," said the shiftless one. "You used two words then, Tom Ross, when, ef you'd thought an' hunted 'roun' a leetle you might hev found one that would hev done ez well." "And you Paul?" said Harry. "I'm glad to follow where you lead." "And you, Jim?"
An' it bein' so late an' me sleepin', too, it looks ez ef the warriors ought to hev us." "But they hevn't, Sol. All safe." "No, Tom, they hevn't got us, an' now, hevin' learned from your long an' volyble conversation that it ain't tomorrer an' that we are free, 'stead o' bein' taken captive an' bein' burned at the stake by the Injuns, I'm feelin' mighty fine."
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