Beadle's Dime Novels No. 127: Bald Eagle — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

KATRINA’S ART. 63 Pulpit, Black Dick dashed down the pass, his horse leaving a fiery streak behind as his hoofs struck the flinty road. Had he paused at an angle in the pass, he would have seen a wo- man emerge from the shadow of the rocks and hold up her hands imploringly as he went by, and he would have seen her gather the shawl about her and sink away amongst the tangled underbrush, and wring her hands; but she did not weep. Here she had crouched herself like a hare pursued by the hunters, fearful to move, till at length she went to sleep, and He who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb,” sent his an- gels to guard that innocent head. CHAPTER IV. WILD BIRDS WILL NOT BE CAUGHT, Tur day which saw the departure of Wendell upon his blindfold mission was one of peculiar beauty, and Mr. De Witt proposed that he and Katrina should escort the colonel On his route to join Sir Henry Clinton, an exchange having. been effected, an exchange which was less pleasing to the ' soldierly mind of Vinton than it might have been, but for the - wounds, as we have before said, of the wily, mischeyous god, who shoots his arrows without reference to the comfort, con- venience or even respectability of the parties concerned. No sooner had the orderly presented the military docu- meut to Colonel Vinton than he made haste to pour out the whole volume of his doubts, hopes, wishes and chagrins into the ear of the fair Katrina; but she, divining his purpose, baffled all his efforts at an intefview. When, therefore, her father insisted on this ride, she at once argued that the dec- laration would be made, and that her father so divined. But Katrina was not one to be overcome by any emergency, her spirit and resources being equal to all occasions. Now, how- ever, her heart was a little tender over the departure of her lover, and she was less than ordinarily prepared for the foils of any witty encounter, connicloooks.conn