"
"And it turns out that that wonderful chief, that them two packers used
to rave about, woz about as big a devil ez any, and tried to run off
with the agent's wife, only the warriors killed her. I'd like to know
what become of him. Some says he was killed, others allow that he got
away. I've heerd tell that he was originally some kind of Methodist
preacher!--a kind o' saint that got a sort o' spiritooal holt on the old
squaws and children."
"Why don't you ask old Skeesicks? I see he's back here ag'in--and
grubbin' along at a dollar a day on tailin's. He's been somewhere up
north, they say."
"What, Skeesicks? that shiftless, o'n'ry cuss! You bet he wusn't
anywhere where there was danger of fighting. Why, you might as well hev
suspected HIM of being the big chief himself! There he comes--ask him."
And the laughter was so general that Elijah Martin--alias
Skeesicks--lounging shyly into the bar-room, joined in it weakly.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Drift from Redwood Camp, by Bret Harte
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