Beadle's Dime Novels No. 213: Squatter Dick — page 82: what you’re looking at

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

84 BQUATTER DICK. suit me. I did sw’ar, at one time, thet I'd sarve you the same as you did poor Pierre Lajoie, my ol’ chum an’ pardner, but I don’t think I’m strong enough now. D’ye ’member ? “ How you an’ your gang strung him up ‘by the heels, over a slow fire, cause he made you some trouble? Thet was the fate I'd “lowed on gi’in’ you, but not now. You ’member the ‘McCready Sand?” whar Sam was sucked under? It must be very comfortin’ fer a feller to die thar. He can see death a- erawlin’ up inch by inch, as it war, an’ then he has time to repent of his sins. “Thet thought must be consolin’ to men like you, who'd need a long time to count over all the diviltry you've did in the course o’ your life, an’ I ’xpect you'll thank me kindly fer bein’ so consid’rate, when I mought gi’e you a blue pill. . Yas, Mat Keedy, you've got to die in the quicksand !” A wild groan broke from the pallid lips of the horror- stricken outlaw, as the low, calm tones of Laflin pronounced this terrible doom. He had schooled himself to the thought of death, and was prepared to meet it with such firmness as a bold, desperate man might, but such a refinement of cruelty he did not anticipate. To die inch by inch—to behold death slowly creeping up, as Laflin had said, knowing that every moment brought the end néarer; and yet to be so long in coming! One would suffer a thousand deaths before the terrible, cruel sands dragged him beneath their surface, forever ! In frenzied accents the murderer pleaded for mercy—not for life, but that the avenger would end ail at one blow. He im- plored the fatal bullet or stroke of the keen knife, as an inestim- able boon; but he pleaded to relentless ears and a stony heart. Truly, as Dick had said, they had made a devil of him. Silent and grim as fate, Laflin strode along with Keedy ab- jectly praying to him, until at length, completely worn out by terror, fatigue, pain and loss of blood, the outlaw’s head drooped forward in a swoon. For an instunt Laflin dreaded lest he was robbed of his revenge, and anxiously placed his hand over the captive’s heart; then, as he felt it faintly throb, he resumed his way with a sigh of relicf. A, time brought him to a road along which he pro- for a few rods, and then once more wound through the comlicloooks.com