Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 49: what you’re looking at

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

INDIAN PAINTENGS AND PAINTED INDIANS. 47 hausting her enthusiasm on a peculiarly handsome and richly- dressed chief.” “So what ?’ exclaimed her grandfather, shaking back his silvery locks as he lifted his head, and his piercing glance went over to her. “Why, dote on Indians, dear grandpa; they do look so noble here in their splendid furs, their richly-colored robes and their feathers.” “Noble! the bloodthirsty wretches!’ said the old man, holding forth one hand as he spoke, and smiting it with the other; “that, and this, and every part of my body, in fact, is scarred by those infernal dogs. Why, look here, child,” and he drew the white Jocks from his ample forehead, “ see the marks of their scalping-knife. They left me for dead, once, and. came near having these locks hanging at their accursed girdles.” ' “Your grandfather always speaks plainly on that theme,” said Mrs. Re “ Why, grandfather!” exclaimed Arty, drawing toward the old gentleman, “is it possible that you ever had any trouble with real Indians? Was that white mark mage by the sav- ages 2” “ Yes. cg their bravery—the stubborn, inborn fiends, they don what true bravery means. The cour- age of a beast is they have. If you had seen as much of the Indians as I have, you’d never take those creatures of the _ painter’s imagination to be the Simon Pure sayage. No, no; there’s a difference. Come, children, draw near, and I'll tell you a story that will cure you of doting upon Indians. “When I was a young man, I went West, and had many a yee ae -_ oar any poetry in old grandfather, - i never see any thing besatifal in their hideously-painted faces, an¢ > 1 © truth, they killed my only brother, and I hated “Well, we had a Jong spell of peace, and had become tired of our quiet life in our cabins upon Boone’s station. It was too easy a life for young fellow’—simply gunning, fishing, sleeping and eating. We'weren’t like the mustached gentry r Commicoooks.corn ” :