Beadle's Dime Novels No. 310: Foghorn Phil — page 22: what you’re looking at

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

24 FOGHORN PHIL Z you saw &® woman where that white object flashed into the bushes over yonder ?” “T saw a woman or an angel, captain, with as pretty a_ white face as I ever looked upon,” replied Aylesworth ; _ ‘and what in the plague can it mean, such a face here in 1 this outlandish country ?” “7 can’t teli you, colonel,” Rhymm said, shaking his head. thoughtfully ; “ what did she Jook like—I mean in form and feature ?” “T couldn’t hardly tell the color of her eyes and hair, cap- tain—the distance was too great; but if I hadn’t been such — a dolt, and pointed my finger at her, you might have got a glance at her face. But, as near as I could judge, her hair was black and hung down her back in braided rolls, while her eyes were of—well, I couldn’t tell you what color; but Pl swear she was the prettiest creature I ever saw.” “It must have been Miss Pauline Afton, then,” said the captain, with a soft peal of laughter. Aylesworth blushed and stammered out a reply; “ No, not at all, my good captain, for this apparition seemed more like a celestial being, be she spirit or flesh.” “ Strange, very strange, indeed,” said Roscoe Rhymm, more to himself than in a tone intended for the ears of his com- panions; “and yet I was sure I saw a woman’s face peering from some willows at our boat, not long ago. TF said nothing about it at the time, for fear—” His speech was interrupted by the sudden appearance, on the bank opposite the boat, of one of the scouls sent ashore in advance of the raft. His great haste and violent gestures denoted great excitement, but it soon became evident that it was the excitement of triumph over a fallen foe, for at his girdle dangled a reeking Indian scalp. “Shove over yer old skid and let me aboard,” the hunter yelled, tossing his scalp into the air; “swing in, boys, and let me-aboard ole crawfish.” The traders at once bent hard to the sweeps, and forced the cumbersome Graft slowly in toward the shore. When it was about fifteen feet from the bank, the exultant scout gave a lofty spring, Rescrunted with a whoop, and landed squarely on the flat-boat. , comicbooks.conn