“You’d think Meeteetse’d think more of hisself than to go ridin’ around with a blanket-squaw.”
“He said he was out of tobacer, but he probably aims to get drunk.”
“More’n likely,” Tubbs agreed. “Meeteetse’s gittin’ to be a reg’lar squawman anyhow, hangin’ around Injuns so much and runnin’ with ’em. He believes in signs and dreams, and he ain’t washed his neck for six weeks.”
“Associatin’ too much with Injuns will spile a good man. Tubbs,” Smith went on solemnly, “you ain’t the feller you was when you come.”
“I knows it,” Tubbs agreed plaintively. “I hain’t half the gumption I had.”
“It hurts me to see a bright mind like yours goin’ to seed, and there’s nothin’ll do harm to a feller quicker nor associatin’ with them as ain’t his equal. Tubbs, like you was my own brother, I says that bug-hunter ain’t no man for you to run with.”
“He ain’t vicious and the likes o’ that,” said Tubbs, in mild defense of his employer.
“What’s ’vicious’ anyhow?” demanded Smith. “Who’s goin’ to say what’s vicious and what ain’t? I says it’s vicious to lie like he does about them idjot skulls and ham-bones he digs out and brings home, makin’ out that they might be pieces of fellers what could use one of them cotton-woods for a walkin’ stick and et animals the size of that meat-house at a meal.”
“He never said jest that.”
“He might as well. What I’m aimin’ at is that it’s demoralizin’ to get interested in things like that and spend your life diggin’ up the dead. It’s too tame for a feller of any spirit.”