They went
back, the one drawing water, the others getting wood and hay. Out ran
the Frenchman, very wrathy, leveling his gun at them. "The boss told
us to take them, and he'd settle," they said.
"Who's your boss?" he asked in surprise.
"Pardee Butler."
"Pardee Butler! Oh! Oh! Pardee Butler? Take 'em! Take 'em!" he
exclaimed, dropping his gun and throwing up his hands. "Oh! Pardee
Butler! Take 'em! Take 'em!" he continued, fairly dancing around,
white with fright, and gesticulating as only a Frenchman can.
"Why, what's the matter? He wont hurt you," said one of the boys.
"Oh! Pardee Butler! He bad man. Oh! Oh!" he answered, still dancing
and gesticulating.
"Oh, no; he is not a bad man; he never hurt anybody in his life."
"Oh, yees, Pardee Butler one veree bad man! He must be one bad man,
'cause they put heem down the river on one raft, down in Kansas.
Pardee Butler must be one veree bad man!"
Father made no more winter trips, but spent his winters at lumbering.
When he first came to Kansas he had bought eighty acres of timber land
in the river bottoms, in Missouri, two miles below Atchison.
Pages:
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436