Beadle's Dime Novels No. 96: Little Moccasin — page 87: what you’re looking at

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

A MAN OF IRON. 89 “ Just hear his breathing,” said Gage after awhile. “ How labored and fierce! And then, too, did you ever see more an- guish of spirit in a human countenance ?” The light happened to be very strong just then, as the glorious moon rolled up over a bank of clouds, like a chariot over a thronged battle-field, and then, at the very next breath, all was dark as midnight, where they were sitting on the drifted snow. The sleeper struggled and muttered. ‘“ He must have had a frightful dream, Fletcher—would you wake him ?” said Gage. - “ Not for your life!” said Fletcher. “He knows what he wants, and he must have it. If he were not built of cast-iron, or quarried by a thunderbolt from the granite Hills of New Hampshire, he never wo Id have come out of yesterday’s tramp alive, to say nothing of the death-struggle with that red monster. Ah{!—Grabious God !—what have we here!” In his nightmare struggles, the sleeper had disengaged his right arm—it was bandaged from the wrist up; and thrown off a corner ofhis blanket—it was dark and stiff with what appeared to be blood. The moonlight fell upon his face, and there was no mistaking the horrible significance of such signs. There were cuts and ” gashes, too, along the chest, some of which must haye gone through the undershirt of deer- skin. While they were yet standing over the poor fellow, and shuddering at these revelations, he started up with a faint wailing cry, throwing his arms abroad with his fists clenched, and large glittering teeth set like a tiger’ s. .“ Let us be gone!” said he. “But you haven’t had your nap ve e “Never mind. Tm wanted—I can not sleep—lI was a fool for trying.” And then he stopped suddenly, and gathered up the blanket, and withdrew the bandaged arm, while eying Fletcher askance, as if to see if they had “observed the condition of his blanket; and then, he grew deadly pale—staggered— and would have fallen, but for ‘Gage. “God help us! You are desperately Ee tits, I fear,” said Fletcher. “T hope not—only a few scratches; but the loss of plood has weakened me, and my right arm is getting stiff and Comilcbooksrcom