On the day of the dog feast at the Indian encampment, the waifs arrived at Elderbush Gulch. Their pet pups came with them. ‘”Now we eat,” said the chief’s son, when he saw the pup’s fat little hides, but he met his death instead. “The blood of the whites,” cried the red men, and all on account of two small dogs, the settlement at Elderbush Gulch was wiped from the map. Yet many strong hearts lived to tell the tale, along with the dogs, the waifs and the baby.
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