Beadle's Dime Novels No. 215: The White Hermit — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

vv +s ae vA a re BILLS STORY. oh old maa ain’t no chicken, though he do have fits ’casion- ally. What's on the ticket next ” Bang! A bullet glanced over the water, struck the bow of the boat and passed completely through it, within six inches of the spot where Bill sat. He put his finger in the hole made by the ball, with a derisive laugh. “See thar. I believe my soul them Injins had jest as lieve shoot a man as not. I guess we'd better git out of this. Iv’s rayther warm about hyar and tne old man don’t like it.” _* What have you been doing ?” said Marstowe. “ Do not keep me in suspense.” “Let’s git out of*this first,” said Bill, as another ball passed over the boat with a sharp whistle. ‘“ They keep pointing them guus this way. They do it a purpose, I do believe.” Austen took up the oars and put a good distance between — them and the shore, while Bill sat watching the scene of his late encounter, as coolly as if it was an everyday occur- .fence, while the Indians danced frantically upon the shore and uttered direful threats against the guide, to which he on- ly answered by a grin. “ Got bad tempers, the hull bilin’ of ’em,” he said. “ Pall away, captin; down the lake. Keep well ont; I've got an- | other wrinkle in my head and I kain’t rest till I git it out.” “But tell me what you have done already, Bill,” said Marstowe. “I am on thorns until [ know.” “ Waal, let the cap row on while I tell you. I landed in the cave below here, and i was so beastly dark I couldn’t see my hand. Not a very good time for a man who has got to tramp the woods up and down and them full of In- jins, every one of ’em bilin’ mad. You see they lay the © death of them four critters that Chenango slewed to the old ~ man, and that makes it bad for him. Waal, I managed to creep along till I heard voices, and seen the’r camp-fire blaz ing. ‘They ain’t afraid to light a cam p-fire this side of the lake, "eause the Oneidas are most of ’em gone down toward — crawled up kind o’ keerful, and I see that it was @ big 7 , —- = a + * « © me Johnstown this season, arter blankets and sich-like, a P Ss sy cs (OMAMIKE XoXo) Ks. c ) m