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Of water with it. Then he went away.
Next morning, going down to the gulch
For a pail of water, I met my friend coming up.
He must have weighed 275, usually,
But now he looked like an umbrella cover.
We stopped, I thought I had better face the music.
`No good. White man heap bad.' -- `Why, Colorow,
What is the matter?' -- `Pretty near die. Want doctor.'
I helped him up to the store. Then I fetched the doctor,
And when I told him what the trouble was,
He said, `How much did you give him, for ______ sake?'
`I gave him a tin cup full,' I said. He said,
`Why that was enough to kill an elephant.'
`Well,' said I, `it hain't killed Colorow.'
... Everybody's Indian,
Even the Indians',
Old many-souls!
How many times
Defeated (and the soul --
That temporary product
Of an obstructed spirit --
Discharged like a breath, and the mind
Gone oddly quiet, as in
The aftermath of a burst of rage),
Only to turn up elsewhere
In full force
To the end, with the old
Abrupt talent
For getting into action!
To die of old age
In your own lodge,
And on the White River