"'Can't say, myse'f,' says Pickles, with a kind o' wicked
cheerfulness; 'our fam'ly has a round-up of itse'f over on B'ar
Creek last spring, an' I don't count his nose among 'em none. Mebby
he has an engagement, an' can't get thar. Mebby he's out squanderin'
'round in the high grass some'ers. Great man to go 'round permiscus,
that Injun is.'

"'You see,' says Jack, 'I don't know but he might be dead. Which the
time I speaks of, I'm settin' in camp one day. Something attracts
me, an' I happens to look up, an' thar's my hoss, Alizan, with a
perfect stranger on him, pitchin' an' buckin', an' it looks like
he's goin' to cripple that stranger shore. Pickles, you knows me!
I'd lose two hosses rather than have a gent I don't know none get
hurt. So I grabs my Winchester an' allows to kill Alizan. But it's a
new gun; an' you know what new sights is--coarse as sandburrs; you
could drag a dog through 'em--an' I holds too high. I fetches the
stranger, "bang!" right back of his left y'ear, an' the bullet comes
outen his right y'ear. You can bet the limit, I never am so
displeased with my shootin'. The idee of me holdin' four foot too
high in a hundred yards! I never is that embarrassed! I'm so plumb
disgusted an' ashamed, I don't go near that equestrian stranger till
after I finishes my grub. Alizan, he comes up all shiverin' an'
sweatin' an' stands thar; an' mebby in a hour or so I strolls out to
the deceased. It shorely wearies me a whole lot when I sees him;
he's nothin' but a common Digger buck. You can drink on it if I
ain't relieved. Bein' a no-account Injun, of course, I don't paw him
over much for brands; but do you know, Pickles, from the casooal
glance I gives, it strikes me at the time it's mighty likely to be
your oncle. This old bronco fancier's skelp is over on my bridle, if