Beadle's Dime Novels No. 127: Bald Eagle — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

100 BALD EAGLE. was stretched the body of the old warrior. His tomahawk was in one hand, his bow in the other, a quiver full of arrows at his side. His white locks were newly braided, and crowned with plumes of the war eagle, while his face was bravely painted; thus were the rites performed by himself, and thus had he gone out on that long journey, prepared to meet his people in the spirit-land.” As my guide finished his narrative he arose, and we both walked to a little inclosure, thickly grown with the wild rasp- berry and blackberry, looking like a small, lonely island in a sea of wheat, for the inclosure was in the midst of a cultivated field. ' “Here,” said he, as we leaned over the rude wall, “ here are the ashes of the tribe, and in the midst we laid the body of Ramapaugh, just as he had prepared himself for burial.” We gazed awhile in silence upon the resting-place of the tribe. Indeed, the pretty cemetery looked to me like a beauti- ful funeral urn, in which was held the ashes of a nation. Sie transit. : “ Tere,” he continued “are the remains of a rampart; tall trees have sprung from the soil, and lean their great limbs against the rock. You can easily trace its position, however, and can see that whoever commanded this pass would hold the key to the whole valley. Sit down here, and I will tell you the story of the Jntercepted Dispatches, just as I heard the story from the bearer of the same—from the lips of Mon- tagnie himself.” Thus we sat that mild autumnal day; there he told me the story I have related, and thus have we striven to rescue one point in our history from the fast-gathering waters of oblivion, THE END. connicloooks.com