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“
[57]
What can a fellow do?
This country yields us squaws, just as it gives us fruit and herbs; and till you send me that rosy lassie out of Kent, I must put up with squaws from San Pascual.”
Seeing his fields invaded, and his women carried off, the herdsman's blood boils up. Are not these woods and fields his feeding-ground?
Are not these girls his natural mates?
No one can deny that these pastures were the properties of his mother's tribe.
Is he not the proper heir of these hunting-grounds, the natural husband of these Indian squaws?
1875.
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