frequently from lodge to lodge.
Red Dogs, with money in their belts, are now scouring the land in search of squaws.
“Have you not girls enough in your own camp, without coming up to Winnemucca
when you want a wife?”
“No; not enough.
men have taken nearly all our squaws.”
It is a fact; for them, a sad and bitter fact.
Some Indian tribelets are so poor in squaws, that many of the hunters have no partners; and the chiefs and medicine men can hardly stock their tents.
This is the case on every frontier where the Red
men live in contact with the White
A Hybrid steals, a Pale-face buys.
Once she has passed into a stranger's ranch, the Indian
girl is lost to her tribe for ever.
An Indian convert knows that selling girls is not the White
man's custom, but no pagan Indian ever heard a voice against this ancient rule and habit of his tribe.
When he obtained his squaw, he paid her price.
His mother was bought, her mother bought.
A girl, he says, is worth so many skins, so many dollars.
If he loses her, he loses so much