Beadle's Dime Novels No. 142: The Sagamore of Saco — page 104: what you’re looking at

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

+ loaded his pipe to his own satis- Custal looked not to the t or left, and yet his eagle eye had caught the outward character of his occupation in an instant. He was whittling. In his hand was a long piece of pine-wood, which he was striving to bring into shape with his hunt- ing-knife. After some labor he succeeded to his satisfaction, for he ceased and proceeded to bore a hole through one end, through which he afterward passed a thong. He then, with a grim and Ghostly smile, cut one note All this while the two friends, who were thinking over their lans, had watched him in silence. But as he cut the notch Harvey gave a cry of surprise and horror, “Tt’s a tally Hundred thunders!” cried he, “what a mole-eyed, one-eyed gunner I am not to have seen it afore. It’sa tally, and that notch is for the first Indian. Why that stick will hold a matter of two hundred.” “On the waters of the wide e,”’ said Custa, holding up his and toward the north, ‘‘ the red- skins wear a bead for every ag Our white brother cuts a mark in a little bit of wood. Carry it about like the little gods of the priests.”’ * Bah |”? said Harvey, “‘ not our riests; you will confound the Romans with us.” “They all worship the same Father,’ replied Casta, in a low tone, talking rather to himself than to Harvey; ‘‘why does one man say one one another?” Custa beg et religion not by ed his heart. He understood ty to a certain extent, yet the faith was not in him, though Amy and Jane had both striven for years, o's by Clara’s father, to open es. The Eccentric Artist made no reply, not Wishing to enter nae uced topic which | often in heated iia between them. THE SILENT HUNTER. He smoked his — with re- doubled vigor, and gazed with a mysterious awe at the bereaved husband, whose kindly nature and warm heart appeared to have ut- terly fled before the fierce, un- tamed passion of revenge. To speak to him he knew was useless now while the night of sorrow and wrath was on his soul concealing all that was bright and good on earth, and prompting him only to deeds of darkness. ‘* Harvey,” said Custaloga, when he bad smoked his ealumet pipe in peace for some time, ‘‘ my heart is very sad; the singing-bird is safe in the wigwam of her father; but the queen-bird is silent in th lodge of the Shawnees.” . ‘*She is, Custa,” replied Har- yey, moodily, ‘‘and must be got out, if we fight the whole tribe of dingy catamounts.” ‘** My brother,”’ said Custa, affec- tionately, ‘“‘is a brave, and not a boaster; he talks of fighting a cloud of men, but he Soe not mean it. The Shawnee villages are as many as the weeks of the year, and each village has more warriors than there are days.” “Then by all the b’ars in Ken- tuck, what is to be done?’ ex- claimed Harvey, impatiently. ‘* When a fox sees a fat partri in the grass he does not fly at it, because he has no wings; he creeps and glides, while the birds nestle; and though they do fly, he is quicker than they, and runs into the woods with his prize.” ‘“*T understand you, Custa; you are up to some devilry — learnt among the Wyandots. Well, well, it’s your natur’, Custa, and I won't gainsay it. Besides, in the woods it’s right—I know it is. Indians ain’t regiments, and for- ests ain’t regular battle -tields. What do you propose ?” The young Indian rose Lospaek. There was none of the semi-edu- cated gentleman about him now. - He was all red, He laid down his ealumet and his rifle, and assumed all the diguiiied mi bea oriicinobkonconn