Beadle's Dime Novels No. 213: Squatter Dick — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

68 SQUATTER DICK. My God! will no one come? Must I die here like a dog without a drop of water to quench this raging thirst? Are they all dead, or have they fled far away and left me here to die a dog’s death ?” The scout heard the words uttered in a weak, broken voice of the most intense agony, and thought that he recognized the speaker. Still he would not be precipitate, although fully as- sured that the sufferer was alone in the hut. But he did not know how many more might be concealed around the building, * Again the voice was heard, and he could wait no longer. The prayers of the sufferer moved him to pity, and he re- solved to enter the house and offer him the beverage he so craved. <A canteen hung at his side, partially filled with wa- ter, and within bis breast he hada small flask of brandy. Gliding around to the door he found itajar, and slipping through the aperture he gently closed and barred it. But the ear of the wounded man caught the noise, sliglit as it was, and he called out in a faint, quavering voice : “Who sy you ?” “A frind, I consait. Is that you, Carver?’ whispered Laflin. : “Yes ; what there is left of me. But if you are a friend, for God’s sake give me some drink! My throat is burning up!” “ Easy, old feller; don’t make no noise. Thar’s no tellin’ who’s around,” cautioned the squatter. “ Hyar is water, an’ a drap o’ brandy, ef so be I can find you.” “ Here, here—the water! Husten—oh, quick f° . “Thar you is,” he snid, holding the canteen to the man’s lips ; then, as he drained the vessel and sunk back with a heartfelt sigh ‘of relief, Dick added: “ How did you git this fur, an’ whar’s the cap’n ?” “T was hurt at the house, but the death-blow I got as Iwasa mile or so from here. Some one shot—me. I don't knew where—be—- Oh! my God!” faltered Carver, and as be ut- tered the Jast words he rolled partially over, and the horrible death-rattle sounded through the stillness of the room. Laflin felt for the man’s heart, but it had ceased to beat, and he withdrew his hand with a shudder, hastily wiping it upon his clothes. The outlaw was dead. x ecopmmiclooOoks. conn