Beadle's Dime Novels No. 92: The Twin Scouts — page 54: what you’re looking at

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

56 THE TWIN SCOUTS. de dander up, ef dey dared. He'd mount some ob dem, like twenty streaks of lightnin’, he would.” “ Jist see har’, you puserlanemous red niggers you, does yer tink T's ‘fraid of you? Well I ain’t, now, so dar’. Oh, you needn’t shake dat hatchet at me, you ole yvillain—yer can’t scar’ dis ere chile. Ef yer wants ter fight, jist tek’ dese ere strings off’n my arms, and I kin lick yer likea sack. Tl spile yer beauty, my riproaring catamount. G’ess, I would, now.” The savages grinned, though they could not understand a. word of what he said, with the exception of some half-dozen in the band, who could speak a mixed dialect of the French, En- glish and Indian tongues. These translated what they could of the harangue of Tiny, and he rose at once in their estimation. “No ’fraid, eh?” said a fellow near him. “§’pose me take scalp, eh ?” “ Who's afraid! I ain’t! Who cares fer you, darn ole In- jin. Bu’st yer head in, ef yer dar’ to take dese strings off’n me. ‘Tie one hand ’hind o’ me, an’ lick ye wid de udder. Day’ ye to try it? Take my lef’ hand, an’ lick any two ob you. -You’s cowards, you is. Yer dassent fight far. C’u’d take a ‘hull tribe of darn ole Injins, dat c’u’dn’t fight no wusser dan you, | an’ lick ’em allin free minits. Tie dem up in a string dat w’w’d reach from here to Gorgy. Would so; ’deed would I, jist dat.” One of the Indians, a little angry at the sweeping assertions of the young negro, lifted his hand and struck him in the mouth. Tiny drew up his broad shoulders, lowered his head, and plunged it like a forty-pound ball, full into the stomach of the Indian, who was mounted. The fellow doubled up ane - rolled from his horse, with the most woe-begone expression on his face ever seen upon the countenance of mortal. “See dar’,” said Tiny. “Dat are fellow slap me in de mouf; jist see what he’s got. Now luff me tell you all in dis "nection, dat I sarves de same sass to every one dat runs foul ob me. I'll jump down de froat ob de fust red nigger dat dar’s to ’sult me by any sich contrivances. I ain’t usen to it, an’ I ain’t goin’ ter, stan’ it, so dar’.” All the band raised a roar of approbation as the fealinn rolled from his saddle. Stung to the quick by the outrage, he leaped up, brandishing a hatchet in his hand, | conmitelooolks. con ,