Beadle's Dime Novels No. 215: The White Hermit — page 50: what you’re looking at

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

3 5‘ | ae on to forty of ’em in all, squatting round the fire smok- bs - ing their darved old pipes. Bu’st ’em, they broke mine, — but I’ve marked the mun that cid it, the ide ntical rascal that = ‘I throwed the tomahiwk at on the bluff. I bit him, too, — -bu’st lim, . He don’t break the old man’s pipe for nothing.” “ _ “Go on, go on,” said Marstowe, in an impatient tone. “Don’t hurry the old man. Plenty of time to tell the story S _ afore we dare to land. Keep off that pint, capvin. Thar’s ss two of the red imps a-snaking up to git a shot at us. Have _ ‘you got ary rifle in the boat? [ left mine on the island.” | “T brought it with me,” said Marstowe. “I did not know but we might need it.” . f _ . Then hand it here,” said Bill. “I calculate to teach that faust red nigger not to snake up to shoot off white humans x Give me that powder-horn. It’s a long shot, but I guess I kan J make him feel oneasy.” He primed the rifle carefully, and Austen ceased pulling for e* ‘@ moment when nearly abreast of the point. The savages who had drawn the attention of the guide were creeping stealthily rr _ forward, evidently with the intention of getting a shot at the 5 as it passed. But they reckoned without their host if. oa ‘meant to catch the guide napping, for his keen eyes saw AS every thing. The leading savage was lying partly concealed by a projecting log, but a prominent portion of his frame, that 23 oars “ Mark Twain” calls the “ political economy ” of > Eee, showed above a hollow in the log. Bill had hardly te the rifle when a stream of fire poured from the muzzle, a = and the report rung out across the water. Up leaped the In- Sie ete iaaken Ave. tho pudden send auiguaedid nature eat te wound, and clapping his hands to the injured part, er 2 wildly up and down, yelling like a very fiend, while = - Bill laid down his rifle, and indulged in a fit of laughter. _» “ That Injin won't set down easy for a month, that’s this - @hap’s candig apiniam. ‘You bet yer life he won't.” (Cluck.) ~~ “You didn’t want to kill him, then ?” a “Course not,” (cluck.) “ What did I want to kill him fur wi en I knew that shooting him thar will hurt him wus than - @ ball through the heart. You bet.” (Cluck, cluck, click) © sat Seat on with your story, Bill,” said Marstowe. “W sat did. z =" ;