prairie oyster

Because there is always this about the land, about prairie and pond and mountain: they never go away.

From pre-natal days I was destined for the railway service, as an oyster to its shell.

But, before they can be used for this purpose, these leaves are coated with lime made from oyster shells and then folded up.

This, thought I, is a dismal-looking outcome—two men and a dead horse left high and dry on the sun-flooded prairie.

Not while I had the open prairie underfoot and the summer sky above, and hands to strike a blow or pull a trigger.

"We'll be blamed lucky if we don't run into a prairie-fire before mornin'," Piegan grumbled.