Beadle's Dime Novels No. 316: Hurricane Bill — page 38: what you’re looking at

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

42 HURRICANE BILL. only one thing could prevent the tall plainsman from sharing in that peril—death. Occasionally touching up buck-skin with the spur, Hurri- cane let the reins lie loose, both hands being occupied load- ing his revolvers. Biting off the folded bit of paper so he could pour the powder into the chamber, thus inaking a miss- fire the next thing to impossible, he deftly plied the lever, _ ramming each ball securely home. Then slipping the caps upon the nipples, pressing each one down with the hammer, in less than five minutes Hurricane Bill was ready for work, And as he cast a keen glance around, he for the first time realized what a task he had set himself. Far ahead was Mustang Sam, who had so dextrously res- cued Isidora from the Apaches, but Tornado seemed to be running with unusual heaviness, like one utterly exhausted, every moment losing ground. Behind him, and about as far in front of Hurricane Bill, were scattered over a score of Apache warriors, each one urging on his pony with voice — and heel, eager to secure the scalp of the ‘ big white brave.” It was a novel scene; this triple race. Hurricane Bill knew from their actions that the Apaches had just noticed. him, and glancing back, he saw that the Mexicans had entirely withdrawn from the pursuit, evidently having had their fill of fighting. That the Indians were also aware of this fact, Hurricane now had ample proof. Half a dozen of the hindmost braves allowed the speed of their ani- mals to slacken, while they looked to their bows and arrows. The blue of the scout’s eyes deepened to a steely glitter as he quickly gathered up and knotted the long reins over buck- skin’s neck. But he gave no evidence of backing out from the trap that was being set for him. Mustang Sam was ahead, and Hurricane Bill had resolved to join him, if mor- tal man could. If necessary, he would have run the gaunt- let of the entire Apache nation. Sitting firmly e&ct in the saddle, as though disdaining to bend his proud head, the plainsman urged buck-skin on over. the sandy waste with a low, encouraging cry, and nobly did the yellow horse respond. The Apaches—six in number— after many glances over their shoulders, suddenly wheeled, » dividing into two parties, the better to altack their bold en- comiclbooks.conn