Beadle's Dime Novels No. 138: Tim, the Scout — page 17: what you’re looking at

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

A SUBJECT FOR A PAIXTER. | 19 of masters, after all. But the Yankees will never triumph fully while Tecumseh lives.” “ Are yesure he isn’t at Prophet’s Town ?” “No; you need have no fear of that. He will be away for sometime, and will not return until we are out of the town.” They were walking along the bank of the river while speak- ing, through that beautiful, level country which lies along the Wabash and its tributaries. Passing out into a little opening, they came suddenly upon a place where the trees were scat- tered, leaving a splendid opening, where the soft, green grass was carpeted by fallen leaves. A magnificent maple ‘grew in the center, and under it they saw a beautiful: sight. A. girl was Tide’ there, her head pillowed on her arm, in a deep sleep. Beside her, with head already erected, a3 if he heard their steps, couched a noble dog, of the mastiff breed, whose heavy jaws and sullen eye told that he would die in defense of a loved object. The girl who lay there was a subject for a painter. The Englishman laid his hand upon the Irishman’s arm and held him, while he gazed long at the sleeping form. It was one of. faultless symmetry, and her fair hair floated about it like a mantle. The cherry lips were half opened.and displayed the teeth, white and even, glistening like pearls. The other arm was thrown over the neck of the faithful ani- mal, who lay ready to defend her. The Englishman was thunderstruck. None of the boasted garrison beauties were any thing compared with this girl, who was alone in the depths of an American forest, with only a dog for a protector. “Come away,” whispered Tim. “ Be quiet,” replied Wilson. ‘“ Do you know her ?” “ Yis,” replied Tim, sullenly. ~ “Who is she ?” “Why do you care to know ?” “ Fellow ” replied the captain, haughtily, “ did you under- stand my question ?” “There’s no good in your going to meddle wid her,” re- plied Tim, sulkily. “Sure she’s too good and too purty to ™ be injured. You come away and lave the beauty slaping. Ochone! fire burn the man that could have the heart to harrum "ye, me purty bird.” conmicloooks.comn