text_original: Again it was a child's doll, the rags of it beaten by the weather to a rusty hue. Every hour that we progressed seemed to justify the sagacity and boldness of Tom's plan, nor did it appear to have entered a painted skull that a white man would have the hardihood to try the trail this year.
text_transcription: AGAIN IT WAS A CHILD'S DOLL THE RAGS OF IT BEATEN BY THE WEATHER TO A RUSTY HUE EVERY HOUR THAT WE PROGRESSED SEEMED TO JUSTIFY THE SAGACITY AND BOLDNESS OF TOM'S PLAN NOR DID IT APPEAR TO HAVE ENTERED A PAINTED SKULL THAT A WHITE MAN WOULD HAVE THE HEARTINESS TO TRY THE TRAIL THIS YEAR
phonemes: ɐɡˈɛn ɪt wʌzɐ tʃˈaɪldz dˈɑːl, ðə ɹˈæɡz ʌv ɪt bˈiːʔn̩ baɪ ðə wˈɛðɚ tʊ ɐ ɹˈʌsti hjˈuː. ˈɛvɹi ˈaʊɚ ðæt wiː pɹəɡɹˈɛst sˈiːmd tə dʒˈʌstᵻfˌaɪ ðə səɡˈæsᵻɾi ænd bˈoʊldnəs ʌv tˈɑːmz plˈæn, nˈɔːɹ dˈɪd ɪɾ ɐpˈɪɹ tə hæv ˈɛntɚd ɐ pˈeɪntᵻd skˈʌl ðˌæɾə wˈaɪt mˈæn wʊdhɐv ðə hˈɑːɹdihˌʊd tə tɹˈaɪ ðə tɹˈeɪl ðɪs jˈɪɹ.