"Me, graspin'," replied Long Jim in a surprise. "What makes you ask sech a
foolish question, Paul? Why, all I ask is to range ez fur an' ez long ez I
like an' not to be bothered by no interlopers. I don't want to crowd
nobody, an' I don't want nobody to crowd me. But, Paul, ef a feller could
do that fur about a thousand years wouldn't it be a life wuth livin'? Just
think uv all the deer hunts an' buffaler hunts an' b'ar hunts you could
hev! An' the long beaver trappin' trips, you could go on? An' the new
rivers an' new mountings you could find! The Injuns has the right idea
about Heaven, Paul. They make it the happy huntin' grounds. Them huntin'
grounds o' theirs run ten million miles in every direction. You couldn't
ever come to any end. No matter how fur you went you'd see oceans uv
green trees ahead uv you, an' on one side uv you prairies covered with
buffaler herds so big that they'd be a week passin' you, an' then they'd
still be passin'."
Long Jim heaved a deep sigh and was silent for a while. Paul, too, was
silent. At last Long Jim said:
"I s'pose it don't pay, Paul, to be drawin' sech splendiferous pictures uv
what ain't. Now I've gone an' made myself onhappy, talkin' uv them
glorious huntin' grounds that stretch away without end, when here we are
in this hot box so narrer I can't straighten out my legs.
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