allow that he got away.  I've heerd tell that he was originally
some kind of Methodist preacher!--a kind o' saint that got a sort
o' spiritooal holt on the old squaws and children." 

"Why don't you ask old Skeesicks? I see he's back here ag'in--and
grubbin' along at a dollar a day on tailin's.  He's been somewhere
up north, they say." 

"What, Skeesicks? that shiftless, o'n'ry cuss! You bet he wusn't
anywhere where there was danger of fighting.  Why, you might as
well hev suspected HIM of being the big chief himself! There he
comes--ask him." 

And the laughter was so general that Elijah Martin--alias
Skeesicks--lounging shyly into the bar-room, joined in it weakly. 

End of Project Gutenberg Etext A Drift from Redwood Camp, by Bret Harte