Beadle's Dime Novels No. 310: Foghorn Phil — page 14: what you’re looking at

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

16 FOGUORN PHIL. Low, scrubby pines stretch their bristling boughs, now la- den with snow, over the pass, lending an additional gloom to the narrow way. Again the clouds overhead break away, and again the cold moon looks to earth, making checkers of light and shadow in the pass as its beams play down through the net-work of branches over the heads of the storm-riders. Half an hour, and the Black Pass of the Panther Hills is cleared and the valley of the Tongue river reached. But, God of mercy, where is Camilla? Herman, the bearded rider, emerges from the pass into the white valley alone. He seems unconscious of this until clear of the shadows of the Hills. Then he rises in his stirrups and Jooks back. He sees Camilla’s horse glide from ne pass wild with terror, and— Riderless / Them to his ears Comes a Babel of wolfish cries far back in the pass. A strange, weird sound, half Jaugh and half moan escapes the man’s lips. He sinks into his saddle, digs his roweled heels into the steaming sides of bis panting beast and — gallops away, as if from the wrath of the inscrutable God, , Then again the sky is overcast, The moon hides its face, as if with shame, behind the clouds, and once more the snow begins to fall. And who, save the All-Seeing Eye and that mysterious, bearded stormn-rider, knew what an awful tragedy, over which the storm-king had drawn his curtain, had been enacted within the Black Pass of Panther Hill, that wild November night, five years ago? Alas! who indeed ? connicloooks.com a? a