to have stuck there instead o' leavin' with the old woman. Did n't know me from Adam; took me for George!"
At this affecting instance of paternal forgetfulness, Wise was evidently divided between amusement and chagrin. I took advantage of the contending emotions to ask about George.
"Don't know whar he is! If he 'd tended stock instead of running about the prairie, packin' off wimmin and children, he might have saved suthin. He lost every hoof and hide, I'll bet a cookey! Say you," to a passing boatman, "when are you goin' to give us some grub? I'm hungry 'nough to skin and eat a hoss. Reckon I'll turn butcher when things is dried up, and save hides, horns, and taller."
I could not but admire this indomitable energy, which under softer climatic influences might have borne such goodly fruit.
"Have you any idea what you'll do, Wise?" I ask.
"Thar ain't much to do now," says the practical young man. "I'll have to lay over a spell, I reckon, till things comes, straight. The land ain't worth much now, and won't be, I dessay, for some time. Wonder whar the ole man 'll drive stakes next."
"I meant as to your father and George, Wise."
"O, the ole man and I'll go on to 'Miles's,' whar
