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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Heritage of the Sioux"

"I can stand a
decent dog barking at me, but so help me Josephine, I draw the line at Injun
curs!"
The dog ran yelping toward the hogans with Pink hard at its heels swinging his
loop menacingly. When the dog, with a last hysterical yelp, suddenly flattened
its body and wriggled under a corner of the shed, Pink turned and rode after
the others, who had passed the corral and were heading for the upper and of a
small patch of green stuff that looked like a half-hearted attempt at a
vegetable garden. As he passed the shed an Indian in dirty overalls and
gingham shirt craned his neck around the doorway and watched him malevolently;
but Pink, sighting the green patch and remembering their dire need of water,
was kicking his horse into a trot and never once thought to cast an eye over
his shoulder.
In that arid land, where was green vegetation you may be sure there was water
also. And presently the nine were distributed along a rod or two of irrigating
ditch, thankfully watching the swallows of water go sliding hurriedly down the
outstretched gullets of their horses that leaned forward with half-bent,
trembling knees, fetlock deep in the wet sand of the ditch-banks.


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