Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 160: what you’re looking at

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

144 Tom ANDERSON, DarE-DEVIL “Bob Brevard’s gone over to report to the Governor about your big bag of Tories, Troupe. Jailed *em? Yes, sir-ee! And Bob’s letting out that black mare, ’bout now, ‘long the road to Monticello—” Peachy’s tongue was checked by Dr. Pratt’s entrance. | “Troupe, my boy, how’s the arm?”’ Troupe regarded his old friend earnestly.- “I smell chicken-soup.”’ “Aha! You do, eh?” delightedly. “Ring the bell, Peachy.’’ And when a servant appeared with a tray, the doctor himself fed the wounded boy. He watched the effect of his vitalizing work with no small satisfaction. “Nothing to eat in twenty-four hours, and lost blood enough, I’ll warrant you, to satisfy the School of Phle- botomists! Recuperative lot, though, all of you Ander- sons. Want you to get a good night’s rest. Half the town be here to-morrow to see you, my boy.”’ ‘Unakat”: “Ts-te-pau-pau!’’ This day’s work had earned Troupe a title out of the blood-stirring Cherokee nomenclature, “The Lion.” Troupe stretched out the hand that had a ~ shake left in it. | “You are He-Who-Slays-the-Enemy-in-his-Path! The rib ath shall know how you fell upon that gang of mur- erers!”’ How the Red Cossack eyes glowed! “I go to Emathla,” pointing to the mountain. “Go! go! ‘Take my horse! Come right on with him, Unaka!”” Who Emathla was, Peachy burned to know. Had he dreamed: that Tom was alive,— the Cherokee gone to bring him home,— Peachy would have gone clean daft. However, the joy of carrying to Oxheart the good news about Troupe was his! What a minute, that! Dr. Pratt was pacing up and down the box-bordered walk — too excited to enjoy his cigar. The glorious news of Tom’s safety, the wild story of Tom’s imprisonment, ill- ness, deliverance, must be kept under seal. It belonged to ECONMMICLMOOOKS.(©) m