"Ha blamed pretty sight, hain't hit, Mose?"
"You know what it's for, then?" I could not help asking him.
"Hin course Hi do. H'it's ha kind hof theayter where the blamed Hingins mean to torture h'us."
"If they catch us, Bill!"
"They will have hus, sooner h'or later, that's sartain."
"They had me once, Bill. But while I have a knife, they shall never have me again."
"Hi'm blowed, Mose, hif you hare'nt right. Hi'll tell 'Ank, hand 'e and Hi will take care we're not roasted halive, too."
"You will be doing wisely."
After the Mahalas had picked the spot which had been selected as clear of sage-brush and rocks, as the back of a child's hand, they reared their rude and disgusting banners around it. Their design was perfectly clear. They intended to starve us out and take us prisoners. While we were discussing the probabilities of this, however, one of the Bannocks approached a little too near. It was a somewhat long shot, yet Arnold succeeded in dropping him. This excited the rest to fury, and they charged upon us with such a roar of whoops and yells, as seemed to be a perfect Pandemonium. Never have I, before or since, listened to such a devil's Babel. We shot two of them during the attack, which was repeated, again and again, during the remainder of the day. Its result occasionally varied. But on each attack they paid for it in something the same ratio.