Sunset Ranch: A Story of a Boy's Adventures in the West — page 143: what you’re looking at

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

An Indian Brave. 131 brought up to believe that might made right, and who could only be brought to his senses by the ap- pearance of Uncle Sam’s boys in blue, his old-time hated and feared enemies. “Well, I give you fair warning, chief, that I'll never agree to stay here, and that I’m going to es- cape just as soon as I can.” Instead of showing signs of anger at this bold speech, the old rascal chuckled, as though it really tickled him. “White boy better um not—heap distance, much danger—no good. Stay here, be happy, eat much baked dog, hunt, fish, loaf, ugh!” Evidently he had learned what his paleface broth- ers called the lazy, lounging manner of living to which Indian braves are accustomed, and which pos- sesses charm for their souls. To be able to loaf ought to be sufficient induce- ment to any young chap. Cuthbert gave it up. It would be impossible to convince this thick- headed aborigine that he could never be happy un- der such conditions. Better save his breath to ask questions of those who might give up a little information to pay him for his pains. “Where am I to get my breakfast?” he asked, as an after-thought. The chief pointed to a fire close by, where a fat squaw, evidently Mrs. Standing Elk, was engaged in primitive cooking. “All right, only be sure and have plenty, for I’m a regular jim-dandy when it comes to making grub disappear.” “You tell um,” said the chief, leering, and Cuth- bert somehow conceived the idea that perhaps this renowned warrior might stand a little in awe of his better half—such things are rare among the red Connicloe® S C@©