Beadle's Dime Novels No. 316: Hurricane Bill — page 75: what you’re looking at

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

A DARING EXPLOIT. 79 A sharp report sounded in his ear, and turning quickly, he saw that their road was blocked by half a dozen Mexicans, who stood upon a narrow trail that passed between two deep pits. There was no other way to pass, except over this rock- bridge. To retreat would be death. And knowing this, Hurricane Bill had sent a leaden missile of death just beneath the stiff brim of the head Mexican’s sombrero. This it was that so startled Mustang Sam. “ Whoo-oop! Sock it to’em!” he yelled, recklessly, as his repeaters added their voices to those of Hurricane’s. The bridge-guard was taken completely by surprise, and, though they managed to discharge their clumsy escopettes and unwieldy horsepistols, ’twas but a waste. of powder, for not one among the six thought of taking aim. On the other side, the scouts were not men who made a practice of wasting ammunition ; they shot to kill. And by the time the forty yards of ground was passed, there were only two of the out- luws upon the bridge unharmed. With a wild yell, Hurricane Bill spurred big buck-skin forward. The two outlaws, terror-stricken, utterly bewildered, clumsily endeavored to wheel their bintciigl to seek safety in, fligit, but only succeeded in counteracting each other’s ef- forts, their animals colliding. At this moment Hurricane Bill came. up, and, touching buck-skin with the spur as he lifted him with the reins, hurled his big States horse fairly upon the small mustangs bestrode by the bandits. It was like a wedge entering a log of straight pine. The single stroke was svfficient to drive the wedye clear through, splitting the log asunder. And the reckless plainsmen laughed shrilly as they saw the ill-fated bandits go over the edge of the rock-bridge to meet their death upon the jagged rocks below. “Hurray fer our side!” screamed Mustang Sam, as he too dashed across the bridge. “ But lis’en—the varmints is comin’ lickety-split! They’re too hefty fer us, pard, out in this open ground. Reckon we'd better light out.” “ But the gal—” hesitated Hurricane Bill, though he knew that Mustang was in the right; they could not hope to, gain any thing by fighting the whole of Black Garcia’s band. “She must be some’ar abead vo’ us. Mebbe we kin pick comicbooks.com