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But the Lord have mercy on his sinful soul if he and I run foul of each other on the prairie again!" Then we shacked along down to Johnson's and had breakfast. "What became of Frosthead and his gang?" Oh, they sent out a regiment or two, and gathered him in 'bout twenty-five soldiers to an Injun. No, no harm was done. Me and my pard were the only ones that bucked up against them.
Says he: "I just wanted to tell you that old Frosthead and forty braves are some'ers between here and your outfit, with their war paint on and blood in their eyes, cayoodling and whoopin' fit to beat hell with the blower on, and if you get tangled up with them, I reckon they'll give you a hair-cut and shampoo, to say nothing of other trimmings.
"Now, cuss old Frosthead, and you too!" says I. "If he comes crow-hopping on my reservation; I'll kick his pantalettes on top of his scalp-lock." "All right, pardner!" says he. "It's your own funeral. My orders was to halt every one going through; but I ain't a whole company, so you can have it your own way. Only, if your friends have to take you home in a coal-scuttle, don't blame me.
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