The Land Claim — page 98: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XII. THE ROGUES AT HOME. WHEN the storm began, a party of Government surveyors, not having time to get to camp, two or three miles distant, took shelter in a deserted claim-cabin, in the edge of the timber that skirts the Papillion river. The cabin was a mere doll-baby house, not more than a. seven-by-nine affair, the building of which was supposed to satisfy the requirements of the law regarding preémptions. “Strike a match, somebody, and let’s see what’s in here,” said one of the party. “A match! I’ve been striking one for two whole minutes. Keep that door shut, won’t you? the darned things won't burn. I believe they’re wet. Where’s Flag? he’s got a tin match-box.” The door being closed, and some dry German lucifers produced from Flag’s box, a momentary gleam of light illu- minated the little dark and windowless hut. “Golly! give us another match, Captain. There’s some- thing in the corner here looks like provisions.” “I hope they'll taste that way, for I’m as hungry as an Indian,” said Flag, as he lit another match, and held it close to the “provisions.” “Yes, here’s something to eat, sure enough, boys. But how are we going to eat it without a light ?” “T could always find the way to my mouth without a candle,” exclaimed another voice. “Yes, that you could; and always manage to find your share of the victuals, too.” “Hurrah for us! here’s a lantern!” exclaimed the first speaker, as the last glare of the match shone accidentally on that desirable object. “Here, give us one more lucifer, Captain Flag.” The lantern being lighted, the party, four in number, sat down upon the turf floor of the hut, to examine into the nature of the viands so unexpectedly provided for their suppers. conmmicbooks.cormn