Beadle's New Dime Novels, No. 49 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

THE PERILS OF THE PRAIRIE. 17 the little island, and with eager eyes and motionless forms our four friends watched the bunch of brush. float slowly down the river. As the old hunter had expected, or rather Intended, a canoe with three Indians in it put out from the west shore and approached the brush. The hunters allowed them to reach it—turn it over and examine it thoroughly, then they brought their guns to bear upon them and fired. A death-shriek followed the report of the rifles, and a moment later, when the smoke from their guns had cleared away, the white men saw an empty canoe, three dead bodies, and the bunch of brush floating side by side down the silent current of the river. te J A wild, trumphant Jaugh that rung out oyer the water and echoed and re-ecboed through the valley, burst from Thorn- path’s lips, so shrill, so startling, that his companions started with an involuntary shudder, Perbaps the savages shrunk back with terror when they heard that laugh, for time and again they had heard it to their sorrow, A fierce, revengeful yell was given back hy the Sioux, telling how fearful would be the punishment of the pale-faces when they fell into their power, as they felt cer- tain they would. “Serpent Trail! Serpent Trail must die!” was echoed from a hundred savage throats on either side of the river. Serpent Trail was a name given to Thornpath by the say- ages, from the fact of their inability ever to follow his trail; for, as well as being unequaled in trailing the Indians, the _ hunter was unequaled in hiding his own trail from the In- dians. “T tell ye, boys, the ruse works like a charm,” said Thorn- path ; “reload yer guns, and we'll try "em again.” Another bunch of brush was set adrift, Scarcely had it got seventy-five yards below the islands, when our frienda. discovered several black objects moving toward it from either shore. These objects the hunters knew were the heads of Indians, who, with their bodies submerged, were swimming. toward the brush; and waiting urtil they were ali together, our friends fired. A death-yell and a terrible splashing. in the water told how true again had been their aim, meee Again brush was sent adrift, and ‘this time but a single sav —_— -- o o Wine cComicbooks: com eo