They don't pick our bones till I've thinned thar count anyhow.

Ef we air to be rubbed out, it'll be by the chokin' o' thirst, and not the gripin' o' hunger.

What durned fools we've been, not to a-thinked o' 't afore! but who'd iver think o' eatin' turkey buzzart?
Wall, it's die dog or swaller the hatchet; so onpalatable as thar flesh may be, hyar goes to make a meal o' it!" While speaking, he has carried the gun to his shoulder.
Simultaneous with his last words comes the crack, quickly followed by the descent of a zopilote among the sages.
"Now, Frank," he says, stooping to pick up the dead bird, while the scared flock flies farther away, "let's light a bit o' a fire, an' cook it.

Thar's plenty o' sage for the stuffin', an' its own flavour'll do for seasonin' 'stead o' inyuns.

I reck'n we kin git some o' it down, by holdin' our noses; an' at all events, it'll keep us alive a leetle longer.