“I was talking with a tramp the other day, who told me that he spends each winter among the Rocky Mountains killing Injins, and it’s the biggest kind of fun. He says he steals up to a camp where there’s ’bout fifty or a hundred of ’em, and makes a noise like a grizzly bear. That scares ’em so they all jump up and run for the woods. He takes after them and chases ’em till they climb the trees. Then, when they are all trying to hide among the limbs, beggin’ for their lives, he begins. He takes his place in the middle, and keeps popping away until he has dropped ’em all. He says he has to stop sometimes to laugh at the way they come tumbling down, a good many of ’em falling on their heads. One time he treed forty-seven of ’em where the ground was soft and swampy. Twelve of the bravest Injin warriors turned over in falling through the limbs and struck on their scalps. The ground bein’ soft, they sunk down over their shoulders, and stayed there wrong-side up. He said he almost died a-laughing, to see their legs sticking up in air, and they kicking like the mischief. When he got through there was twelve Injins with their legs out of the ground and their heads below. He said it looked as though some one had been planting Injins and they was sproutin’ up mighty lively. He tried to pull ’em out, so as to get their scalps, but they was stuck fast and he had to give it up.”
“And didn’t he get their scalps?” asked Jimmy McGovern.
“No; it almost broke his heart to leave ’em, but he had to, for there was some other Injins to look after. Well, this tramp told me that all we needed was a revolver apiece.”
“Oh! pshaw!” exclaimed Billy, “we can’t get along without rifles of the repeating kind.”
“Of course not, but we must wait till we arrive out West before we buy ’em. If each of us has a gun on our shoulder we’re liable to be stopped by the officers.”
“Well, if the officers git too sassy,” suggested Billy, “why we’ll drop them in their tracks and run.”
“That might do if there wasn’t so many of ’em. We don’t want to bother with them, for we’re goin’ for Injins, and now and then a grizzly bear.”
“I’m willing to do what you think is best; but who is this tramp that told you so much?”
“He said he was called Snakeroot Sam, because he rooted so hard for rattlesnakes. He tells me what we want is plenty of money, and it was our duty to steal everything we can from our parents and keep it till we get out West, where we can buy our Winchesters. If the people charge too much or act sassy like we can plug them and take the guns away from ’em.”
This scheme struck the listeners favorably, and they smiled, nodded their heads, and fairly smacked their lips at the prospect of the glorious sport awaiting them.