Beadle's Dime Novels, No. 91: The Lost Cache — page 52: what you’re looking at

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

54 THE LOST CACHE. Although the young gentlemen treated the Indian-subject rather lightly, they lost no-time in aiding their companions to clear up the camp and prepare their little fort, which Myers declared to be quite a neat and scientific affair, although he had planned it himself. All lights were put out, the horses were brought in and well secured, arms were duly loaded and inspected, and the four men took their positions at the corners of the fortification, to watch for the enemy. They did not wait long, for the night was not far spent when a number of dusky forms were perceived approaching on the north side, crawling over the ridges, concealing them- selyes in the gullies, and gradually, though irregularly, advanc- ing toward the knoll. ~. “ They're comin’,” said Ben Anti 2 from his corner. “ prints man fur himself!” - “ And God for us all!” biotitibded Myers, to whom the situa- _ tion seemed really perilous. . On and up came the Indians, and two shots from each angle of the fort were not enough to defeat or discourage them. The question was then one of closé quarters, with piktols and knives, and then the revolvers of the two young gentlemen played their parts beautifully and effectively. The Crows were not yet educated up to that point of civilization, and thought that the very Old Harry must be in a man who could shoot without stopping to load. Myers soon found his angle clear, and turned around just — in time to send a bullet through a savage who was about to ‘bury the hatchet” in his friend’s brain, and send him to the place where his treasure ought to be laid up. © As the surveyor had discharged all his loads, he then layed about him stoutly with a clubbed rifle, and Harry followed his valiant example: As Pete Green, who had stooped to-pick up his rifle, rose to use it, he found himself confronted by a stalwart individual, dark-skinned and fiercely painted, at the sight of whom he gave a screech ef horrof, and threw up his hands. As he did so, his’ antagonist. struck him twice with a-tavo-edged knife, and would have finished him, if Farrar had not opportunely launched a hatchet at the head of the stranger, which struck him on the cheek, and sent him whirling over the logs. The Indians, terrified by Green’s terrific screech, an d by the