110 ON THE FRONTIER. 



quota of squaws and half-breed papooses lying around. My 

 waggon-master was with me, and called my attention to a 

 pointer pup, apparently ten months of age, that was in the 

 bar-room. I at once recognised his form, markings, and 

 style. The stock he came of was quite 'unmistakable. He 

 was from the best imported pointer dog and bitch in the 

 West. I had killed many a bird over each. The wonder 

 was how the pup had come there. Most probably he had 

 been lost by, or stolen from, some officer en route ; but that 

 he was going to be owned by me, I instantly determined, 

 and made my approaches to the station-keeper, standing 

 behind the bar, accordingly. Lounging up to the counter, 

 with his and my waggon-master's assistance, " I did the 

 correct thing," and then entered on the usual topics of the 

 place and time, the last news, the price of stock, and the 

 subject which, on the Plains, was tfien the question of the 

 day, the Indian policy of the Government. This naturally 

 led to remarks on buffalo hunting, on coursing antelopes, on 

 greyhounds, on dogs in general, and finally to my patting 

 the one present, and to the following conversation : 



" Who owns this dog ? Is he good for anything ? " 



" I do. Guess he's a good 'coon dorg." 



" How do you know that, since there is not a raccoon 

 inside a hundred miles ? " 



" Wai', frien', yeou see thare ain't nothing in natur' made 

 fur nothing. Neow the purp ain't fast enough fur tew 

 ketch anything, end won't track a deer, end I b'lieve he's a 

 nat'ral born fool ; he'll do nothing but stan' the hull day with 

 one leg up, end his tail so yeou kin heng a hat on it, trying 

 tew stare one uv my chickuns or pigeons tew de'th. I've 



