Red Belt, the Tuscarora — page 78: what you’re looking at

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

- v- | - ‘ Hark ye, Wild Hawk! The old hunter owes you no favors; — ae ~ eh 80 RED ERLT, THA TOSCARORA. buried itself far away in the yellow waters of the Ohio. The — Lean Wolf had heard the noise, and he had seen the ominous glimmer of the rifle-barrel; and when the flaming fire had leaped from the dark muzzle, the old backwoodsman “had already fallen to his knees. But no sooner had the reverberating report of the rifle gone forth, than, in an instant, old Sampson was upon his feet. Nor Was he a minute too soon—nay, not a second ; for follow- ing the smoke of the rifle, rushed a tall, brawny savage with scalping-knife raised aloft, ready for the work he doubtless thought in store for him. There was no time even for Whistling Dick to be brought into position; the weapon was too long for close quarters. But in less time than it takes to write it, old Sampson snatched his pistol from his belt, and not even extending his arm, fired, The Indian sprung high in air and staggered backward, But he did not fall. The ball from the pistol had passed in a quarter inch of his temple, but the man was not hurt. He had dropped his knife, however. Nor did he pause to search for it, but snatching his tomahawk, again dashed forward upon his adversary. The hunter did not give back an inch; he stood upon the defensive, and as the Indian rushed upon him, old Samp- son ducked his head and stepped out of his path. The savage came on like a wirlwind ; he could not, at once, check himself, Another moment, and a clear, swinging stroke from the old hunter’s rifle, fell upon his shoulder. The blow was aimed at the Indian’s head ; it was lucky for him it fell where it did. As it was, the savage went down like a brained ox. In an instant the dog had sprung forward and clutched him by the throat. But the old hunter hurled him away, and springing himself upon his prostrate foe, dug his fingers into his neck. Another moment, and his knife glittered aloft. But the old hunter slowly lowered his knife, though he did not release his hold on the writhing Indian. ~ “ Be quiet, my brother!’ he muttered. “ Be quiet, or the oe ay Dety 4 wis mad Ng . eee. 7 : NP Par ae ee es) mee! eae ONEREE Be Fee “a Pb A ous Lean Wolf's knife will drink the blood of Oo-lumJah!] he well remembers the day you treacherously one ‘ou ad ‘3