“I seed sights on that chunk of mud one time,” said he, with a dark frown.
“What was it?—what was it?” asked Nat, eagerly.
“Here’s as what don’t like to think of that time, augh!” he answered, seeming still unwilling to refer to it.
“Why not?” I asked, beginning to partake of Nat’s curiosity.
“It makes a feller’s blood bile; but, howsomever,” he added, brightening up, “if you wants to hear it, yer kin.”
“We do by all means; please give it.”
“Yas, that ar’ war’ a time of general wipin’ out, and this yer water that now looks as black as a wolf’s mouth, run red that night! It war’ nigh onto ten year ago that it happened. I was down in Westport one day in the summer when a feller slapped me on the shoulder and axed me ef I wanted a job. I tole him I didn’t care much, but if he’s a mind to fork over, and it wan’t desprit hard, and too much like work, I’s his man. He said as how thar’ war’ a lot of fellers camped out on the prairie, as war gwine to start for Oregon, and as wanted a guide; and heerin’ me spoken on as suthin’ extronnery, why he like to know ef I wouldn’t go; he’d make the pay all right. I cut around the stump awhile and at last ’cluded to go. I went out onto the perarie, and seed the company. They were men, women, and children, ’specially the last ones. I seed they wanted good watchin’, and I kinder hinted they’d find trouble afore they’d reach Oregon.
“There weren’t many folks trampin’ these parts then, and them as did go, had to make up thar minds to see fight and ha’r-raisin’. B’ars and beavers, they did! The reds war the same then all over, arter you get clear of the States, and no feller’s ha’r war his own till he’d lost it.