Bridger told Belden of the doubting Thomas and that gentleman returned within his tent.

After a time he came out with verses he had just written, and while long and somewhat crude, we repeat the production here because of its local color, and the references to distinguished characters of the west, none of which, I think, is now living.

Ben Harding was a scout and was the subject, and his many narrow escapes, had given him the sobriquet "Slippery Ben :"

Slippen,' Ben

Shake ! Darn my buttons, I'm mighty glad,

To meet so many old chums. Dick and I have been lyin' round here

'Till we're gettin' tired of whiskey and beer, And we've made up our minds to go trappin' this year,

So we don't get on 'the hard bums.'

HISTORY OF WESTERN NEBRASKA

Bless my eyes, if there aint Jack Grey,

You darned, infernal old cuss. I smelled you, I did, though I didn't see

You're tarnal old carcass behind that tree, I'll bet ye a tenner you can't hide from me,

You darned old polecat, or wuss.

Where's your hoss? right there; yes, you're right, Tied up to a cottonwood tree. Well, you're going along with us on this tramp,

None of your lyin' you bully old scamp, You are. How that's said. Suppose we all damp To success to Jack Grey's company.

Why, dang it, it's more than a year since we met At the foot of old Court House Rock, And if memory don't fail, I reckon that then