Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 163: what you’re looking at

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

‘TROUPE 147 boughs that barred his way; stopped pulling his horse out of pitfalls. He would wait. Man and horse were motion- less. [hey might have been statues. The fog crawled away. There was the bridle-path he had missed. Some walnut trees —a pile of rails. Beyond — the forest was torn in two. A track two hundred yards wide was gouged clean of vegetation. Trees bordering on the path of the wind had been grazed, and their peeled trunks stared white through the mist —like marble col- umns set about this altar to demoniac Force. ‘The earth was upturned, as if it had been horned over by a herd of devils. Here the cabin had stood ! He tried to shout Tom’s name. His voice died in his throat. The physical weakness he had spurned, in an out- burst of nervous excitement, downed him now. “Maybe he’d gone — before this!” staring about him with distracted eyes. Sunrise gilded the flayed tree- trunks. What more dreadful sight! He was knocked to his knees by a slugging blow from behind. He was forced to the ground — face down. “Got him?” called a whining tongue. [here were hurrying feet. A voice drawled at Troupe’s ear, “Air ye Anderson!”’ But Troupe did not know. He had fainted. CORNICLO@O SS (C©) m