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white river poems 369
and went a little nearer, thinking
it might be Mr. Meeker; I went
right up to his head. The Indian
was in front of me, and as I stooped
to kiss Mr. Meeker's face, the Indian
turned around and looked at me. I thought
it would not do, and started on.
I didn't say a word to him;
nor did he speak to me.
fi ve
Douglas would ask me where the Agent
was now, and laugh. He said, "Agent
no understand about the fi ght
Indians make." He and the others
had bottles of whiskey, which they held up
between their eyes and the moon, to see
how much was left before they drank.
Douglas as he rode along
sang what seemed to be an obscene
song to a pretty melody
in slow measure. When he fi nished
he asked me how I liked it. My limb
ached terribly, and Douglas held it
awhile, then made a sling for it.
A villainous looking Indian
rode up and slapped me on the shoulder
and asked if I would like to be
his squaw. Douglas listened and laughed --
this Indian was an Arapaho,
he said: I might one day kill Utes
if I should marry him.