Beadle's Dime Novels, No. 91: The Lost Cache — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

10 _ THE LOST CACHE. The map, or whatever the document should be called, was drawn on a piece of foolscap paper, of which the edges were considerably frayed,sand the folds were so. badly worn, that it nearly fell to pieces on being opened. The drawing had evi- dently been done with very poor ink, for the map had faded so much that sharp eyes were needed to distinguish its out- lines, and the writing beneath it was almost illegible. It was a document of some antiquity, as was shown by its date, and there could be no doubt that it had seen hard service. One of the young men sat at a table, leaning his head on his hand, and poring over the mysterious document. “He was Harry Chenault, son of a fur-dealer in St. Louis, and was a handsome, well-formed young gentleman, with dark hair and eyes, and a liberal allowance of beard. He hada good education, had been brought up to nothing in particular, and was chiefly distinguished for his love of the sports and exer- cises of the West, and for doing as he pleased. His companion was a few years older, and was of a taller and stronger build, with reddish-brown hair and straggling, sandy beard, mild “bine eyes, and a good-humored, pleasant expression of countenance. He was from one of the Eastern States, where he had been educated as an engineer, or land- surveyor. In this capacity he had sought honor and profit at the far West, but had been principally employed by Colonel Chenault, as an assistant and agent in his fur-trading opera- tions, and, as such, had made several journeys over the plains and across the Rocky Mountains. He was named Samuel Myers, and was suspected of a strong liking for Harry Che- nault’s sister, Madeline, which liking, his extreme modesty, or bashfulness, did not allow him to confess to its object, or to any one else. He was stout-hearted and talkative enough with men, but im the presence of Madeline Chenault could only blush like a beet and speak in monosyllables. He was lean- ing back in a chair, with his feet upon the window-sill, smok- ing a cigar, and regarding Harry with an amused smile on his bronzed features. “Well, Harry,” said he, “ you have caught your elephant, and now what are you going to do with it ?” “It is easier to ask questions than to answer them,” replied the other. “ You may well say ‘ well, Sam Myers, for this i is PernicBOoketcom