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Bower, B. M., 1871-1940

"The Heritage of the Sioux"


"Say, I wish they'd quit sneaking around in those trees that way, so a fellow
could see where to shoot!"
A half hour dragged by. From the rim-rock came occasional shots, to which the
besieged could not afford to reply, they were so fully occupied with holding
back those who skulked among the trees. The horses, fancying perhaps that this
was a motion-picture scene, dozed behind their rock-and-brush shelters and
switched apathetically at buzzing flies and whining bullets alike. Their
masters crouched behind their bowlders and watched catlike for some open
demonstration, and fired when they had the slightest reason to believe that
they would hit something besides scenery.
"Miguel must have upset their plans a little," Luck deduced after a lull.
"They set the stage for us down in that hollow, I guess. You can see what we'd
have been up against if we had ridden ten rods farther, out away from these
rocks and bushes."
"Aw, they wouldn't dast kill a bunch uh white men!" Happy Jack protested,
perhaps for his own comfort.
"You think they wouldn't? Luck's voice was surcharged with sarcasm. What do
you think they're trying to do, then?"
"Aw, the gov'ment wouldn't STAND fer no such actions!"
"Well, by cripes, I hain't aimin' to give the gov'ment no job uh setting on my
remains, investigatin' why I was killed off!" Big Medicine asserted, and took
a shot at a distant grimy Stetson to prove he meant what he said.


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