But thar's no disrespects neither; jest a great steadiness.

When he has composed him out straight, Bloojacket looks at the remainder for mebby a minute.

Then he shakes his head.
"'He was a great man,' says Bloojacket, p'intin' at his dead father, with his good hand; 'thar's no more like him among the Osages.' "Tharupon Bloojacket wheels on the half-breed who runs the deadfall an' who's standin' still an' scared, an' says: "'How much does he owe ?' Then he pays Hardrobe's charges for antelope steaks an' what chuck goes with it, an' at the close of these fiscal op'rations, remarks to the half-breed--who ain't sayin' no more'n he can he'p,--'Don't touch belt nor buckle on him; you-all knows me!' An' I can see that half-breed restauraw party is out to obey Bloojacket's mandates.
"Bloojacket gives himse'f up to the Osages an' is thrown loose on p'role.
But Bloojacket never gets tried.
"A week rides by, an' he's standin' in front of the agency, sort o' makin' up some views concernin' his destinies.

He's all alone; though forty foot off four Osage bucks is settin' together onder a cottonwood playin' Injun poker--the table bein' a red blanket spread on the grass,--for two bits a corner.

These yere sports in their blankets an' feathers, an' rifflin' their greasy deck, ain't sayin' nothin to Bloojacket an' he ain't sayin' nothin' to them.