Old Runnin’ Wolf claims that he’s the son of a chief. Most Injuns do, as far as that’s concerned; but Runnin’ Wolf covers too many tribes in his claim to greatness. On one bottle of kidney cure he can become a son of Sittin’ Bull. Give him a couple shots extra of hair tonic, and he claims Chief Joseph, of the Nez Perce tribe, as his father. A pint of corn liquor drives him plumb back to Pontiac; and I’ve knowed him to mourn a heap over the death of his sister, Pocahontas. Runnin’ Wolf is six feet six inches tall, and if it wasn’t for the size of his nose he could dive out of sight in a shotgun barrel. Nobody knows how old he is, and nobody cares. He’s jist a mean lookin’ old war whoop, who …
Or read it translated: 日本語 · 中文 · हिन्दी · Español · العربية · Français · বাংলা · Português · Русский · Bahasa Indonesia · اردو · Deutsch · Kiswahili · 한국어