Rocky Mountain Sam — page 133: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

124 ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM. ‘Tt’s no difference whether they see us or not,” said Max; ‘they're nothing but squaws.” . «Ay, but there’s one of ’em makin’ tracks for the timber as if she was goin’ for help,” said Sam. ‘‘Don’t let’s count our royal American bald-headed eagles afore they’ve busted their egg-shells.” His conjecture was correct. When the balloon had descended to within two or three hundred yards from the ground, the squaw referred to re- appeared from the timber, followed by six brawny fellows who had evidently seen the balloon often enough before to be pretty well used to it; at any rate, they did not now share in the panic into which the very appearance of the dreaded ‘“‘Booglebooby” was wont to throw the great majority of their tribe, and from which even now the Indian women were hiding themselves in abject terror. ‘Well, I reckon we'll have a putty easy job after all,” said Sam, quietly examining his breech-loader; ‘‘only ’m gettin’ sort o’ tired of shootin’ Injuns. Td lke to killa buffaler or an antelope, just for variety, you know.” As the balloon swept down nearer to the earth, Miss Chapman—for it was indeed she—ran directly under their line of descent, screaming with delight, while little Faya- way replied to her, accompanying her words with every demonstratiou of rejoicing. 3 “Fear not, lady; we will not desert you this time,” cheer- ily called out the old man. ““Yes; well scoop you up this time, or feed the crows,” cried Sam. Overcome by the sudden prospect of deliverance, the poor captive’s exuberant joy gave place to sobs, and burying her face in her hands she burst into hysterical tears. Before she fairly recovered herself, and while the car was yet fifty or more feet above her head, she was in the grasp of one of the Indians. She screamed and struggled to free herself, but he held her in his powerful grasp as easily as though she were a child and swiftly bore her toward the little house she had fled from. ‘“‘Hands off, if yow please,” muttered Rocky Mountain Sam, bringing his breech-loader to his shoulder. There was a sharp report, the Indian dropped in his tracks, shot through the head, and the captive was again free; but only momentarily, for another savage at once Comicbooks (ele)