A month later a happy reunion took place in the Queen City of the West, and smiles came back to faces to which they had long been strangers.
The runaways had returned, and when their overjoyed fathers asked to behold the results of their escapade, they led the plain-found girls blushingly forward.
“These girls are better nor white buffler-skins,” said Frontier Shack, in his rough way. “The boys hev won ’em, and if they don’t git ’em, Frontier Shack will raise a rumpus and clean the ranche.”
Into the palatial homes of the Cincinnati merchants the fair girls were warmly welcomed, and, in due time, a double wedding proved a fitting sequel to the wild hunt for white buffalo-skins.
After the grand affair above mentioned, Frontier Shack returned to the Plains, but, several years ago, he left them in disgust.
He said that the railroads were “spoiling a trapper’s fun” in the wild West, and so, seeking retirement, he came to spend the remaining days of his life with those whose lives his bravery had saved.
I need not say that he met a hearty welcome in two stately mansions in Ohio’s proudest city, and to this day he relates to attentive children the thrilling story which has called forth the service of my humble pen.
THE END.
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