Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 179: what you’re looking at

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

THE Biack Dracoons 163 ' perience of Colonel James Jackson of Georgia, while on his way to join Moultrie’s command in South Carolina: they were seized as spies and condemned to be hanged by American troops. lo avoid molestation, they had been camping in swamps by day, and pushing on with the herd by night, whenever practicable. One evening, on coming out of the pine thicket where they had lurked all day, they were surrounded by a body of “‘levies.”’ Tom implored Unaka not to draw his knife. “This is the pair that have been cutting and shooting everybody comes a-nigh ’em,” said a threatening voice. “And that nasty-tempered stallion has maimed a dozen men.” “Dozen thieves, you mean. We’ve hurt nobody but horse-thieves.” ““Who are you? Where are you bound?” “My name is Anderson. Bound for Charleston. These horses are for the Southern army.” “By whose orders?”’ “The horses are mine. I need no authority to drive my own stock through the country.” “ Passport !”’ ; ~ Have none. I’m an American, mthid the American ines.” “You! You’re a half-breed.” “I’m a white man — and a Virginian.” Up rode a man shouting out: “Spies, spies! Here’s the Indian and that half-breed! British spies, with horses for the British! Hang ’em!’’ His arm was bundled, his hand gone. “Search ’em,” ordered the spokesman. Nothing was found on their persons but arms and a few half-crowns — these from Troupe. But the inquisitor is born, and not made. ‘This one poured the bullets from Tom’s shot-pouch. One bullet was scratched with an initial; it was not heavy enough. He pared it with his pen-knife. A tiny film of paper! The disclosure was a tremendous shock to Tom. The shot-pouch, like his rifle, CORNICLOOO eS (C(O)