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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Heritage of the Sioux"


The others loitered still at the water-hole, save one--the buckskin, by his
lighter look in the dark--that came over to Johnny. The two horses nosed the
packs. A dull sound of clashing metal came to the ears of the Happy Family.
"Hey! Get outa that grain, doggone your fool hide," Pink called out
impulsively, crawling over his saddle and catching his foot in the stirrup
leather so that he came near going headlong.
Applehead yelled something, but Pink had recovered his balance and was running
to save the precious horsefeed from waste, and Johnny from foundering. There
might have been two Indiana on every horse in sight, but Pink was not thinking
of that possibility just then.
Johnny whirled guiltily away from the grain bag, licking his lips and blowing
dust from his nostrils. Pink went up to him and slipped a rope around his
neck. "Where's that bell?" he called out in his soft treble. "Or do you think
we better tie the old son-of-a-gun up and be sure of him?"
"Aw," said Happy Jack disgustedly a few minutes later, when the Happy Family
had crawled out of their ambush and were feeling particularly foolish. "Nex'
time old granny Furrman says Injuns t' this bunch, somebody oughta gag him "
"I notice you waited till he'd gone outa hearing before you said that," Luck
told him drily.


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