Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 51: what you’re looking at

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

+ AN ADVENTURE WITH SAVAGES. 49 savages, who had been undoubtedly seeking us from the first. My dear child, if you had seen them as they really were, their faces streaked black and yellow, their untanned blan- kets, rough leggins and demoniac faces, you never would have doted on them. Willis, the Kentuckian, was some ways ahead of me, and, by unsuccessful maneuvering, fell immediately into their hands. It was a direful sight to see them each drive with his heayy club at the head of the poor fellow. He was down in less than a minute, and they scalped him, throwing the fresh, bleeding skin over their POP: and waving it in my sight. “J was mounted on a splendid horse. They, too, were mounted and had fleet animals, so they pursued me at the top of their speed. For a tinfe I escaped—only to fall into their barbarous hands, however. Deceived by a voice I thought familiar, and the pronunciation of a word in English, I followed a trail, and still lured on by the supposition that I was on the track of the friends from whom I had separated, and who might have come back to the rescue, 1 went cau- tiously forward, but suddenly found myself among a party of Indians who were so engaged, that, I suppose, if I had pos- sessed presence.of mind, I might have escaped, for I think they did not see me. However, deeming the boldest course would be the. bast, -Planapd away. Jnto..the: sresty they were too quic! me, and were after me like a of hounds. from my horse, I took advantage of some © fallen timber, and tried to dodge them—to hide among the underbrush, but their cunning defeated my purposes. They divided into two parties and rode along on either side of the timber, beating it with their horrible weapons and driving me out at the opposite end, where stood an enormous savage with a lifted tomahawk. As he was about to strike me Te earth, however, another Indian, equally powerful, lifted me as if I had been a feather out of the way of-the descendin; instrument of death. ‘I was a prisoner, and obliged to make the best of it.” mee “Oh grandfather !” cried Arty, “ how did you feel 2” nit, “How did I'feel? How would you feel with ten ja 1 ing savages about you, each one looking as if he could e you wEhewt pepper or salt ?” . er 4 - Q = comic oeers