I don't want to crowd nobody, an' I don't want nobody to crowd me.

But, Paul, ef a feller could do that fur about a thousand years wouldn't it be a life wuth livin'?
Just think uv all the deer hunts an' buffaler hunts an' b'ar hunts you could hev! An' the long beaver trappin' trips, you could go on?
An' the new rivers an' new mountings you could find! The Injuns has the right idea about Heaven, Paul.

They make it the happy huntin' grounds.

Them huntin' grounds o' theirs run ten million miles in every direction.

You couldn't ever come to any end.