He received a reply in a week:
Dear sir: In reply refer to No. 656565, drawer; pig.
A careful search of this department has resulted in the finding of no pig, pigs or other animals belonging to you, and we are therefore at a loss to understand your esteemed favor of the nineteenth.
Chief Clerk of the Bureau of Missing Animals.
Ug groaned aloud when he read this. He bought a fresh bottle of ink and gave himself over for two days to the arduous task of literary composition. The letter he sent away to Washington read:
Hon. sir: Now look here please. I am good little Indian. I had pig. Name, General Grant. Patsy Duffy, bad man but white, he steal that pig. He say G. Grant et his parsnips. This is a fib. I keep all laws and teacher says I am sibbleized. Please tell Uncle Sam I want back my pig.
Your loving son,
George Washington Ug,
Flatfoot Indian.
Ten days later a very fat letter came for Ug, and he took it triumphantly. He even bought a can of condensed milk for General Grant’s home-coming party. In his cabin he opened the letter. It read: