Beadle's Dime Novels No. 38: The Wrong Man — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

638 THE WRONG MAN. by the pursuer, and the old man came suddenly in sight of the wretch whom he had so much ground for believing had stolen away his niece. It was the wish of the hunter, no doubt, to assume an appearance of unconcern, as if uncon- scious of any offense; yet, guilty-like, he continued to gallop forward, unable to summon sufficient effrontery to turn ard face the person he had injured. The loud voice of the old man now rung through the arches of the forest, calling upon the villain to halt. Thus commanded, Cyerton paused, and was yet in the act of wheeling his horse, when Enoch Sedley rode up to his side. “Where is my child, my Lucy? Villain, give me my child !” cried he, in a yoice of terrible energy, seizing, as he spoke, the burly form of Overton by the collar. “What should I know about your child?” muttered the hunter, seeking to release himself from the grasp. “What should I care about her? If she is gone, she has run off with the Yankee, I reckon.” “Villain, you lie! You have stolen her away—you thought to carry her to New Orleans, and force her to your purposes —you have her now secreted in these woods. Oh, lead me to her! No, no, you shall not shake me off—lead me to her! Oh, give me back my child !” _ “ Look here, Enoch Sedley, hold off your hands. I baven’t got your niece—I don’t know nothing about her. If the gal’s gone, ask the Yankee for her; he'll be willing to return her by this time, I reckon. [I’ve suspicioned him a long while of being overthick with her, and this proves it.” “Scoundrel <nd liar !” exclaimed the old man, his passiop mounting into fury, “either my Lucy, or your life! These old arms are strong enough to revenge an injury like this.” Sedley’s heart was too full—his brain throbbing with thoughts too frenzied and exciting to allow of much variety of invective, or copiousness of adjuration. The words of . deep passion are few and simple: slight emotions express themselves with diffuseness and hyperbole. The flesh-cut bleeds treely; while the mortal wound oftentimes oozes only slow and painful drops. . __ As Sedley uttered the words we have recorded, he grep- the wretch round the throat with an energy that would conmicldoookks.com