By Alan B. Combs. This is my version of a much older story I have known for a *long* time.

When good old Chief Shortcake died, the whole tribe mourned and the lamentations of his faithful squaw were heard for miles around. Neighboring chiefs arrived in full pomp and ceremony and announced, “We come to make funeral for Chief Shortcake.”

“Not on your life,” announced his widow, “Squaw bury Shortcake!”