202 LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 



That deer is deer, and goats is goats, is plain as paint to any but 

 a greenhorn. Beaver's a cunning crittur, but I've trapped ' a heap ;' 

 and at kilHng meat when meat's a running, I'll ' shine' in the big- 

 gest kind of crowd. For twenty year I packed a squaAV along. 

 Not one, but a many. First I had a Blackfoot — the darndest 

 slut as ever cried for fofarow. I lodge-poled her on Colter's Creek, 

 and made her quit. My bufiler hos, and as good as four packs of 

 beaver, I gave for old Bull-tail's daughter. He was l;iead chief of 

 the Bicaree, and ' came' nicely ' round' me. Thar wasn't enough 

 scarlet cloth, nor beads, nor vermilion in Sublette's packs for her. 

 Traps wouldn't buy her all the fofarrow she wanted ; and in two 

 years I'd sold her to Cross-Eagle for one of Jake Hawkin's guns 

 — this very one I hold in my hands. Then I tried the Sioux, 

 the Shian, and a Digger from the other side, who made the best 

 moccasin as ever I wore. She was the best of all, and was rubbed 

 out by the Yutas in the Bayou Salade. Bad Avas the best ; and 

 after she was gone under I tried no more. 



" Afore I left the settlements I know'd a white gal, and she 

 was some punkins. I have never seed nothing as 'ould beat her. 

 Pwed blood won't ' shine' any ways you fix it ; and though I'm 

 h — for ' sign,' a woman's breast is the hardest kind of rock to me, 

 and leaves no trail that I can see of. I've hearn you talk of a 

 gal, in Memphis county ; Mary Brand you called her oncost. The 

 gal I said / know'd, her name I disremember, but she stands 

 before me as plain as Chimbly Rock on Platte, and thirty year 

 and more har'nt changed a feature in her face, to me. 



" If you ask this child, he'll tell you to leave the Spanish slut to 

 her Greasers, and hold on till you take the trail to old Missoura, 

 whar white and Christian gals are to be had for axing. Wagh I" 



La Bontc rose to his feet. The mention of Mary Brand's name 

 decided him ; and he said — 



" Darn the Spaniard I she can't shine with me ; come, old hos ! 

 let's move.'* 



