"Wal, as I've said about fifeteen yeern ago, I located in the Red River bottom, about fifty mile or tharabout below Nacketosh, whur I built me a shanty. I hed left my wife an' two young critters in Massissippi state, intendin' to go back for 'em in the spring; so, ye see, I wur all alone by meself, exceptin' my ole mar, a Collins's axe, an' of coorse my rifle.

I hain't forgot a mean trick they sarved me two yeern ago, up thar by Santer Fe." "And so you have joined the volunteers?" "That's sartin. But why ain't you a-gwine to Mexico? That 'ere's a wonder to me, cap, why you ain't. Thur's a mighty grist o' venturin', I heern; beats Injun fightin' all holler, an' yur jest the beaver I'd 'spect to find in that 'ar dam. Why don't you go?"

The smoke o' it ud choke a skunk out o' a persimmon log. I tell 'ee, young 'un, we'll eyther be smoked out or smothered whur we are; an' this child hain't fit Injun for thirty yeern or better, to go under that a way. When it gets to its wurst I'm a-gwine to make a rush. That's what I'm a-gwine ter do, young fellur." "But how?" I asked, hurriedly; "how shall we act then?" "How?

Ef I hed a plug o' bacca for every grizzly I've rubbed out, it 'ud keep my jaws waggin' for a good twel'month, I reck'n. Ye-es, strengers, I've done some bar-killin' I hev that, an' no mistake! Hain't I, Mark? "Wal, I wur a-gwine to tell you ov a sarcumstance that happened to this child about two yeern ago. It wur upon the Platte, atween Chimbly Rock an' Laramies'.

About fifteen yeern ago I moved to Loozyanny, an' thur I met a painter, an' a queer story it are." "Let us have it by all means," said several of the party, drawing closer up and seating themselves to listen attentively. We all knew that a story from Ike could not be otherwise than "queer," and our curiosity was on the qui vive.

See them two letters in the stock thar `WW. Old Nat Cully hez good reezun to recconise them, since 'twas hisself that cut 'em. I did it for Walt two yeern ago, when we war scoutin' on the Collyrado. It's his weepun, an' no mistake." "Where did you find it?" inquires the captain.

"Wal," commenced Rube, after a moment's silence, "'twur about six yeern ago, I wur set afoot on the Arkansaw, by the Rapahoes, leastwise two hunder mile below the Big Timmer. The cussed skunks tuk hoss, beaver, an' all. He! he!" continued the speaker with a chuckle; "he! he! they mout 'a did as well an' let ole Rube alone." "I reckon that, too," remarked a hunter.