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McCarter, Margaret Hill, 1860-1938

"Vanguards of the Plains"


"That's the very copper cuss with yellow trimmings who had me down when
that arrow stopped me," Beverly exclaimed. "He was seven feet tall and
streaked with yellow just that way. I thought ten million rattlesnakes
and eight billion polecats had hit me. His club was awful. Then I caught
sight of old Gail's face in the dust-storm, coming back to help me. He
gave the Indian one dose and got one back, a good hard bill, and then
the dust closed in and Gail was off again to the northwest out there,
like a hurricane. I could hear him a mile away. Couldn't I Gail? Where
is Gail?"
Where?
"Oh, back there with the stock!"
No?
"Out there looking over the draw for things that's got all scattered."
No? Not there?
"Oh, he's getting breakfast. And we are all hungry enough to eat raw
Kiowas now."
No? No?
"Gail would be helping the wounded, anyhow, or straightening out dead
men's limbs. Poor fellows--to lose six! It's awful!"
No? No? No?
"Bathing in the river? Where? Over there across the sand-bar?"
Nowhere! Nowhere!
"By the eternal God, they've got him!" Jondo's agonized voice rang
through the camp.
"We can take care of the wounded, and those fellows lying over there
don't need us.


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