Beadle's Dime Novels No. 153: Mohawk Nat — page 23: what you’re looking at

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

THE SIGNAL. 25 “Have your own way. I meant to take upon myself the danger of the enterprise. There is some honor in it, too.” “Bt thar is, Likes toyscout. It is my trade. Do you s’pose I mean to give up my place to any man in the rangers? Not while my name is Mohawk Hazard. I'm the man that knows the region about these yer rivers better than any other man in the section. Stands to reason I should. Tye traveled it, man an’ boy, for nigh on to twenty-seven years. An’ if any one has a better right to know the kentry, Jet him jump up an’ show bisself, an’ I'm the man to go under. Whoop !” | “Be careful, Nat. You will be heard.” “Heered! Thar ain’t nobody nigh us now. Oh, I’m a roarer,I am! Iconsider myself nothin’ more nor less than a buster. I’m the great living catamount of the Adirondacks ; the hoss that likes Injin-fightin’ better than eatin’. I'm a hull team, lam. Who says I ain’t? Let him flop his wings and crow outhis name! It’s got to be a good one to beat mine.” “Everybody knows that, Nat. But, where shall we camp ?” “ Foller me,” replied the ranger. They followed him in silence. He turned away from the river and entered a sort of cul de sac in the hills, of perhaps & hundred yards across, barred in on every side by lofty forest-trees. In this place he left them. “You keep quiet here,” he said, “ an’ when you hear the sound of the mocking-bird whistling like a man, an’ then crying like a hawk, you ken know I'm around. Don’t wait over an hour. At the end of that time my cake will be , cooked, ef I ain’t here... Don’t build no fires.” He left them with the cautious, silent step so requisite in a good woodman. Ten minutes after, he was following a fresh trail, almost traveling by the scent. He was a man born and bred in the forest. His cradle was formed of birchen bark, and it swung before the door of a wildwood cabin, near which the deer bounded. He had learned his lessons from the swaying bough. Each broken twig, a bent leaf, a knot of moss brushed from the trunk of a tree—all these had a language which none could read better than he. His connicloooks.CGoOnn