Sunset Ranch: A Story of a Boy's Adventures in the West — page 254: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

242 | The Stampede. “Yes; what Cuthbert ’d call the hypothesis is cor- rect.” “Woman take bucket—go to spring—get water.” ~“T see; the spring is on the outskirts of the settle- ment and you think Polly might be down there get- tinge water.” “Karl he got idee. She come—some time— mebbe—no know. We wait; rocks good shelter— no seen; by’m-by Polly come. Still wait. She alone. No one *bout. We speak. Polly hear. She un’stand.” “Bully!’ cried Karl. “You're a trump card, Buckshot, and the world ain’t big enough for us to find gifts for you after we’re all out of this mess.” “Um paid already,” said the Indian, simply. And the shudder that shook the brown body showed Karl that Little Buckshot had still with him a lively picture of that night in the snow. “Let’s be off to the spring, then,” said Karl. “You go; me keep watch—me no far’way. Want me, Little Buckshot there. So?” “All right,’ said Karl, and with a nod he was off. By crawling on hands and knees after the man- ner of a lynx creeping close to its expected prey he was finally enabled to reach a point not more than ten feet from the spring. The water gurgled at his feet, and he lay down eagerly enough to quench his thirst. Then he waited, hoping for the best. A woman came, bucket in hand, but he made no sound to attract her attention. She seemed a wretched, weary-looking creature, evidently at the beck and nod of a good-for-nothing husband, and dragged with him into his exile. Later on, a second shuffled up, filled her pail, and, with weary steps, returned to the thankless task of attending to the appetites of the men belonging to her mess, | connicloooks.conn