And if it is Indians, we will soon make them find They have no business here, when we go it

blind,

And must take tother road, or strike ile.

Why there's only one -- a horseman at that,

Dick, us two can get off with him, Easy enough, can't we, be he friend or foe, For there's no two men have better rifles, you know. Don't appear to you though, that he's comin' darned slow; That horse and his rider so slim.

Gimme your coat tail to wipe out my eyes,

For I swear I can't make out a thing; There now, I see better ; Hello ! I say, men, Come back here, for dang it, here's Slippery Ben, Or his ghost and his horse ; I knew them sure, when I saw those long, gawky legs swing.

Welcome, old boy, by your absence, you've made Many old chums' hearts to bleed. But ghost or flesh, 'tis the same to the men, Who have rode side by side through forest and glen. So again, we are ten, countin' Slippery Ben, Ghost Ben and his shadowy steed.

HISTORY OF WESTERN NEBRASKA

One day Jim Bridger and Jim Baker were hunting together in the wilds a little west of here, when they came upon a mother grizzly bear and two half grown cubs. A lucky shot finished the old one and Baker proposed that they waste no more ammunition. That each take one of the cubs, and "kill and sculp them with our butcher knives," which proposition no real mountaineer would reject.