126 BUFFALO LAND. 



in Erin's Isle, crosses his vision. Being satisfied 

 that Patrick has no arms, his only defense being ui- 

 ter liarmlessness, and well knowing that the sight of 

 a painted skin, rendered sleek by boiled dog's meat, 

 will make him frantic with terror, the soul of the no- 

 ble savage expands. No more shall the spade, held 

 so jauntily, throw Kansas soil on the bed of the Pa- 

 cific Railroad ; and the scalp, yet tingling with the 

 boiling of incipient Fenian revolutions underneath, on 

 the pole of a distant wigwam will soon gladden the 

 eves of the traditionally beautiful Indian bride, as 

 with dirty hands she throws tender puppies into the 

 pot for her warrior's feast. The savage hand, crim- 

 son since childhood, descends with defiant ring upon 

 the tawny breast, and, with a cry of, "Me big Indian, ha, 

 whoop !" down sweeps Lo upon the defenseless Hiber- 

 nian. A startled stare, a shriek of wild agony, a hur- 

 ried prayer to "our Mary mother." and Erin's son 

 christens those far-off points of the Pacific Railroad 

 with his blood. A rapid circle of hunting-knife and 

 the scalp is lifted, a few twangs of the bow fills 

 the body with arrows, there is a rapid vault into the 

 saddle, and a mutilated corpse, with feathered tips, 

 like pins in a cushion, dotting its surface, alone re- 

 mains to tell the tale of horror. 



Blood had been every-whcre on the railroad, which 

 reached across the plains like a steel serpent spotted 

 with red. There was now a cessation of hostilities, 

 and Indian agents were reported to be on the way 

 from Washington to pacify the tribes. As they had 

 been a long time in coming, the inference was irre- 

 sistible that the popping of champagne corks was a 



