Beadle's Dime Novels No. 226: The Mustang-Hunters — page 9: what you’re looking at

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

= | * A CORDIAL GREETING. 11 ‘his saddle, and coming upto the other, = waned two brawny hands on his shoulders and inspected his features closely. The young fellow bore the examination with a smile, and the hunter seemed to be trying t» recollect him. “Wal, younker,” he said, at last, “I seen ye sumiuiar, I'l swow ; but whar in creation "car, durn my karkidge if I kin tell. How-dedu, anyway ?”’ And he transferred his dexter paw to the hand of the other, —® which he shook heartily, with a gripe that made the other = wince. “ And who are yer, anyway ?” he continued, still surveying the youth. “I han't seen yer for a many year, that I'm sartin on. And time > changes you young fellers e’ena’most as much as he dces me.” And the old hunter gave a half-humorous, half-melancholy smile, as he surveyed his own grizzled beard, which flowed over his breast. ~_-_ The young man laughed at the other's perplexity. “You ought to know me, Pcte,” he said. “It was you who first tanght me how to draw a bead on a deer or turkey ; and all | know of woodcraft, I owe to you.” 3 _ © You must ‘a’ be’n « mighty small younker then,” returned old Pete, stil) regarding him, doubtfully. Then a flash of re- — membrance seemed to come over him, and he cried: _. * Now I know yer. It ar’ little Frank Weston, as used ter Play hookey from school down to Westonville, ter go a-huntin’ >» With old Pete! Why, how ave yer, Frank? Im pesky glad ter see yer. Why, yer grown e’ena’most as tall as 1 ar’, an’ I mind yer no more nor knee-liigh to a’skeeter! Why, dow are er?’ . _And the rough hunter eked away at the youth’s hand as if he had been working at a pump. aa rm very well, thank you, Pete,” said young Weston, langh- ing. “ Bat doa’t mash my hand all to picces. How’ have been ?” - “ Always the same old two-and-sixpence,” answered the — other. * As I was riz, so I grow'd. As I've grow’'d, so I'll die. Some day ye'll hear the coyotes a-howlin’ over a burot- | out compre, and old Pt die on the broad perary as he’s ces a oe on sixty year now. And how a - Lael ae a a e:. : + 4 i . A ra ‘ >, pF e > :