human
All once belong to my people. But white man come, and now my people are as the leaves on the trees in the winter, yours as the grass in the fields. If we rebel we get kill. If twenty your people fall, hundreds of mine must pay. No hope. The Indian must go. His day is ended.
gpt
Can’t we try to get a shot at them?
human
No shoot, he grunted.
gpt
Bring trouble. We no want Sioux come now. Then glancing at the boy, who was still pale from his recent illness,
human
You no hunt now. Bime-by when you strong me take you big hunt some day.
gpt
Oh, will you, Pashepaho? cried Joe eagerly.
human
Hurray! And may Lige come, too? Jeminy, that’d be great. Don’t forget, will you?
gpt
Me no forget,
human
Oh, I know this road, he cried out excitedly,
gpt
We no far from Blue Water now,