hrough the brush at 'em; so the agent starts in and
makes a regular agent speech to Pete. He says the Great White Father at
Washington, D.C., has wished his children to be give an English
education and learnt to write a good business hand, and all like that;
and read books, and so on; and the Great White Father will be peeved if
Pete takes it in this rough way. And the agent is disappointed in him,
too, and will never again think the same of his old friend, and why
can't he be nice and submit to the decencies of civilization--and so
on--a lot of guff like that; but all the time he talks this here rifle
is pointing right into his chest, so you can bet he don't make no false
motions.

"At last, when he's told Pete all the reasons he can think up and
guesses mebbe he's got the old boy going, he winds up by saying: 'And
now what shall I tell the Great White Father at Washington you say to
his kind words?' Old Pete, still not moving the rifle a hair's breadth,
he calls out: 'You tell the Great White Father at Washington to go to
hell!' Yes, sir; just like that he says it; and I guess that shows you
what kind of a murderer he is. And what I allus say is, 'what's the use
of spending us taxpayers' good money trying to educate trash like that,
when they ain't got no sense of decency in the first place, and the
minute they learn to talk English they begin to curse and swear as bad
as a white man? They got no wish to improve their condition, which is
what I allus have said and what I allus will say.

"Anyway, this agent didn't waste no more time on Pete's brats. He come
right away from there, though telling his helper it was a great pity
they couldn't have got a good look into the tepee, because then they'd
have known for the first time just what kids round there Pete really
considered his. Of course he hadn't felt he should lay down his life in
the interests of this trifling information, and I don't blame him one
bit. I wouldn't have done it myself. You can't tell me a reservation
with Pete on it would be any nice place. Look at the old crook now,
still lamming that axe round to beat the cars because he thinks he's
being watched! I bet he'll be mad down to his moccasins when he finds
out the Old Lady's been off all day."

Uncle Abner yawned and stretched his sun-baked form with weary
rectitude. Then he looked with pleased dismay into the face of his
silver watch.

"Now, I snum! Here she's two-thirty! Don't it beat all how tim