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"Well, hang on to them socks, rass in my moccasins There's outfits in this train that's

low on flour an' side ot to cure

some meat There's a million buffler just south in the breaks wantin' to

move on north, but scared of us an' the Injuns We'd orto it enough er's a liar--which no one never

has said yit, ma'am"

"Flowers?" he added "You takin' flowers acrost? Flowers--do they go

with the plow, too, as well as weeds? Well, well! Wie race o' people, hain't that the truth? Buryin' the buffler an'

plantin' flowers on his grave!

"But speakin' o' buryin' things," he suddenly resumed, "an' speakin' o'

plows, 'ht now Hit's a fool

thing, too--buryin' Injuns!"

"As which, Mr Bridger? What you

over her spectacles

"This new ons--he taken

hit on hisself to say, atter the fight was over, we orto stop an' bury

all them Injuns! Well, I been on the Plains an' in the Rockies all my

life, an' I never yit, before now, seed a Injun buried Hit's

onnatcherl But this here man he, now, orders a ditch plowed an' them

Injuns hauled in an' planted Hit's wastin' time That's what's keepin'