Red Belt, the Tuscarora — page 73: what you’re looking at

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

— =-~ ” =, ¥ oe ‘ x f= or UP WE 40. $ 73 the wet land, near the river-bank. - Here their feet sunk deep at every step. wuddenly the old hunter paused. — “No, no, boys; we can’t do it!’ he muttered. “I did hope to get into the river and throw them off the trail; then to strike for the other side. The rascals are too close upon us? we can't make it” He paused and glanced around him, then continued, hur- viedly : “ We're in danger, boys—greater than any we've met before. We must be smart, and—right away. We must take to the vines! TZizy leave no trail; come, boys, Now, up with you, Roy ; then you, Red Belt; old Sampson will stay awhile and talk with Eagle. Away with you! time is precious!” Roydon Howe did not wait to ask questions; he knew old Sampson well, and he gave his opinion the full value. With- out a word, he looked above him hurriedly ; and then spring- ing lightly up, he seized a tough grape-vine, about a foot from AY eee eh | ae , x the top of his head. Then, as the huge muscles of his arms _ swelled, he drew himself swiftly upward, yet at the same time A moment more and there was a violent tremor of the thick bushes overhead, and then all was still. “ Good &” muttered the old hunter to himself; “the boy is defty with his hands, and—irue to his teaching !” Then Red Belt, without waiting for a bidding, clutched the 2 same slender but wonderfully strong vine, and swinging his a feet lightly from the ooze beneath him, likewise soon disap- peared above. And the old hunter’s face was wreathed with @ proud, triumphant smile, as he muttered again: “Good! very good! Old Sampson, the Lean Wolf, taught him tliat trick !” Then the old man waited for a moment, bending his ear and listening keenly. The smile faded from his face, and a @ark shade, nay, an ominous frown, gathered there, as he heard those unmistakable sounds rapidly approaching. Beyond a doubt the Indians, with their accustomed instinct, —we can call it nothing else—had struck the trail. The old hunter suddenly stooped, and patted the dog on cEomicbooks.com — sa - ’ — pe a en eae a! : va? a \