He dismounted--and approached me. I saw his tomahawk
glisten in the morning sunlight. Fire was in his eye.
Wocky-bocky came very close to me and seized me by the hair
of my head. He mingled his swarthy fingers with my golden
tresses--and he rubbed his dreadful Thomashawk across my
lily-white face. He said--

"Torsha arrah darrah mishky bookshean!"

I told him he was right.

Wocky-bocky again rubbed his tomahawk across my face, and
said--"Wink-ho--loo-boo!"

Says I--"Mr. Wocky-bocky"--says I--"Wocky--I have thought so
for years--and so's all our family."

He told me I must go to the tent of the Strong-Heart and eat
raw dog. (While sojourning for a day in a camp of Sioux
Indians we were informed that the warriors of the tribe were
accustomed to eat raw dog to give them courage previous to
going to battle. Artemus was greatly amused with the
information. When, in after years, he became weak and
languid, and was called upon to go to lecture, it was a
favorite joke with him to inquire, "Hingston, have you got
any raw dog?") It don't agree with me. I prefer simple
food. I prefer pork-pie--because then I know what I'm
eating. But as raw dog was all they proposed to give to me
--I had to eat it or starve. So at the expiration of two days