Rocky Mountain Sam — page 135: what you’re looking at

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

126 ROCKY MOUNTAIN SAM. signaling to us from the one little window at the side, though it’s hardly big enough for her to stick her head out of.” “‘She’s wavin’ a rag atus,” said Sam. ‘‘What can she mean?” 7 “Oh!” cried Fayaway, seizing his arm, and speaking with much vehemence, ‘‘droppy downy much iron big thing. Prairie Blossom wantee to much say some things.” ‘“Well, why the devil don’t she say ’em, then?” said Sam, obtusely. ‘‘We're in ear-shot, ain’t we?” “Oh! you much stupid big foolish goose!” cried the maiden, laughing, and snatching the line from his hand she lowered the grapnel directly before the little window, where a fair hand reached out and drew it in; and when it was re- - leased again something white was attached to it. ‘By jingo! you’re smarter’n me, Fayaway!” said the hun- ter, admiringly. ‘‘It’s a message!” And he began to pull it up from the ground; but before he had got it half way up, there was heard a series of hoarse shouts from one of the many narrow gorges opening into the canon, and the next moment Firefoot, the renegade, with his adherents at his heels, dashed into view, their staggering steeds and generally woe-begone appearance attesting to the extreme haste they had made. | One of the Indians rushed out from the timber and communicated hurriedly with the chief, probably informing him that the captive was securely fastened in the house, for he appeared to be greatly relieved. | But as Sam handed the lines to Fayaway, and, bringing his gun to bear again, emptied one of the saddles in a breath, the entire party saw the prudence of seeking cover at once, and were speedily out of sight. Sam sank back in the car with a bitter groan and a curse. ““Now, we are done for,” he muttered, ‘‘and must loaf around here all day.” ‘But no—no—readie papie,” cried Fayaway, who had drawn up the grapnel, which Sam at the moment had for- gotten all about, and now thrust into his hand a bit of linen which had been fastened to the iron. “Oh, yes!” cried the hunter; ‘“‘here, professor, you can make out these pot-hooks and hangers better than I. It’s written in red ink, ain’t it?” B comicbooks (ele) m1