By second drink time--only savages don't drink, a paternal gov'ment barrin' nosepaint on account of it makin' 'em too fitfully exyooberant--by second drink time the second evenin' Bill lays down his hand--pitches his hammer into the diskyard as it were--an' when I crosses up with him, Bill's that abject he wears a necktie.

When Bill yields, the agent meets him half way, an' him an' Bill rigs a deal whereby Bill arrays himse'f Osage fashion whenever his hand's crowded by tribal customs.

Other times, Bill inhabits trousers; an' blankets an' feathers is rooled out.
"Shore, I talks with Bill's father, old Crooked Claw.

This yere savage is the ace-kyard of Osage-land as a fighter.

No, that outfit ain't been on the warpath for twenty years when I sees 'em then it's with Boggs' old pards, the Utes.