“As Saucy Willow embarks on this expedition, thar starts to meet her—­afoot they be but on the run—­Tom Six-killer an’ a brace of squaw cousins of Bill’s.  Nacherally, bein’ he out-lopes the cousins, Tom Six-killer runs up on the Saucy Willow first an’ grabs her bronco by the bridle.  The two young squaw cousins ain’t far behind the Six-killer, for they can run like rabbits, an’ they arrives all laughter an’ cries, an’ with one move searches the Saucy Willow outen the saddle.  In less time than it takes to get action on a drink of licker the two young squaws has done stripped the Saucy Willow of every feather, bead an’ rag, an’ naked as when she’s foaled they wrops her up, precious an’ safe in a blanket an’ packs her gleefully into the camp of Crooked Claw.  Here they re-dresses the Saucy Willow an’ piles on the gew-gaws an’ adornments, ontil if anything she’s more gorgeous than former.  The pony which the Saucy Willow rides goes to the Six-killer, while the two she-cousins, as to the balance of her apparel that a-way, divides the pot.

“An’ now like a landslide upon the Crooked Claws comes the Strike Axe household.  Which they’re thar to the forty-’leventh cousin; savages keepin’ exact cases on relatives a mighty sight further than white folks.  The Crooked Claw fam’ly is ready.  It’s Crooked Claw’s turn to make the feast, an’ that eminent Osage goes the distance.  Crooked Claw shorely does himse’f proud, while Bill’s mother, the Silent Comanche, is hospitable, but dignified.  It’s a great weddin’.  The Wild Cat is pirootin’ about, makin’ mean an’ onfeelin’ remarks, as becomes a widow lady with a knowledge of the world an’ a bundle the size an’ shape of a roll of blankets.  The two fam’lies goes squanderin’ about among each other, free an’ fraternal, an’ thar’s never a cloud in the sky.

“At last the big feed begins.  Son, you should have beheld them fool Osages throw themse’fs upon the Crooked Claw’s good cheer.  It’s a p’int of honour to eat as much as you can; an’ b’arin’ that in mind the revellers mows away about twenty pounds of beef to a buck—­the squaws, not bein’ so ardent, quits out on mighty likely it’s the thirteenth pound.  Tom Six-killer comes plenty clost to sacrificin’ himse’f utter.

“This last I knows, for the next day I sees the medicine men givin’ some sufferer one of their aboriginal steam baths.  They’re on the bank of Bird River.  They’ve bent down three or four small saplin’s for the framework of a tent like, an’ thar’s piled on ’em blankets an’ robes a foot deep so she’s plumb airtight.  Thar’s a fire goin’ an’ they’re heatin’ rocks, same as Colonel Sterett tells about when they baptises his grandfather into the church.  When the rocks is red-hot they takes ’em, one by one, an’ drops ’em into a bucket of water to make her steam.  Then they shoves this impromptoo cauldron inside the little robe house where as I’m aware—­for I onderstands the signs from the start—­thar’s