I came to this country in Spring of 1832 I walked on land that no others knew The land was rugged, mean, and wild Filled with dreams for this here child. I set traps by day and skinned all night My bounty was plenty, I was doin' alright Then one night as I lay sleeping My mule started hawing; figured wolves was creeping. I grabbed my gun and out the door I ran I fired a charge; was that a man? Imagine my surprise, when I turned and saw A half dozen Injuns, coming up the draw. Hold on there fellers, I said with force Don't you be takin' my mule and horse. I didn't know I staked my claim In Indian country, I said with shame. The feathered men turned and looked at each other They spoke in Crow tongue to one another. They forced their way into my log cabin Grabbed my pelts before I knew what happened. They rode away with my mule and horse And left me to die without remorse Right then and there I vowed to stay I knew I'd be a friend to them someday. Over the summer the Crows, they came Screeching and shouting and calling me names I offered them game and rolls of pelts And soon their anger began to melt. Sure enough, things turned around When wintertime came and snow drifted the ground Now, I sit with my brothers, the Crow A true friendship is starting to grow. L.M. Larson
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