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Full Title
The Girl Cowboy Captain; or, The Skinners of the Carolina Swamps / by Jos. E. Badger, Jr.
Author
Badger, Jos. E. (Joseph Edward), 1848-1909.
Date Added
9 January 2014
Format
Journal
Language
English
Publish Date
1889-05-18
Publisher
New York : Beadle and Adams
Series
Beadle's Boys Library of Sport, Story, and Adventure > v. XXI, no. 266
Source
Dime Novel and Popular Literature
Alternate Title
Beadle's Boys Library of Sport, Story, and Adventure, v. XXI, no. 266, May 18, 1889. Skinners of the Carolina Swamps.
Topic
Dime novels > Specimens.
About
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Disclaimers
Disclaimer of Liability Disclaimer of Endorsement
OCR
The Girl Cowboy Captain. / 13
ployed in warding off the blows and thrusts that
were aimed at his life.
“ Donot barm bhim—take him alive!” bowled
the Englishman, thoroughly maddened by his
disgrace, as he esteemed being disarmed. ‘A
spy—he must meet the fate of one.”
Arnold sought to cut his way through the
enemy, but in vain. Though one soldier went
down with a cloven skull, and several others
were: wounded, he was thrown heavily to the
ground, disarmed, his arms bound with his own
sword-belt.
“We have him, major,” said the subaltern,
brushing the dirt from his person.
“Very good, Estill, Take bim_ to the house;
wait with him upon the lawn until I come. If
I mistake not, he is a prize worth watching,
His name is on the Black List. Tbat alone
would condemn him, without his being taken
within our lines.”
Half-stunned aud exhausted by his fierce
struggle, Arnold was led away in silence, Then
Major Tracy turned to where Agatha stood,
leaning against a tree, faint and heart-sick.
“Please accept my arm—I will assist you to
the house; do not fear. There is no further
danger. The fellow must have been alone.”
“T was in no danger from him; he is a friend
—I have known him for many years.”
‘© A friend!”
“Yes, sir. But you called him aspy- believe
me, Tracy, you wroug him. He may be an
enemy to your cause, but he is an open one; be
is‘no spy—nothing so contemptible.”
“He was taken within our lines, But you
seem deeply interested ia his fate—may I ask
why ?” and the soldier’s face glowed with
jealousy.
* Because ho is a friend—that is all the reagon
I can give you, sir,” coldly returned Agatha.
‘Ha! a lover—”
“Sir, you are insolent!”
“ Pardon me—I forgot myself. *Tis because I
love you so. But now you must listen to me.
love you—your father bas already given his con-
sent. Will you be-my wife?” rapidly, incobe-
-rently uttered Tracy.
“15 this a time to speak of such matters, sir?”
“Yes—or if no, £ must still beg your an-
swer.”
“Then I say—no.
can. We may be friends,
more.”
“Then listen to me. I remember the name
now—your father bas hinted at your attachment
for this beggarly rebel. As surely as the sun
rises to-morrow, be shall die the death of a dog
—he shall hang as a spy!”
With a low ery, Agatha broke from him and
glided away toward the house, heart-sick and
despairing.
Moodily the major followed after her.
I do not love you—I never
perhaps—nothing
CHAPTER VII.
OLD BEN DUNCAN'S LAST TRAIL,
STEALTHILY, noiselessly, nsthough a phantom
shadow, a mud-begrimed man stole through the
swampy recesses, at times wading knee-deep in
the soft ooze, at others Ieaping lightly from one
grass-grown tussock to another, agile and sure-
footed asa goat. Then slackening his pace, he
proceeded with even more caution than at
first.
“Hes thar by the dead-wood—the stand’s
chose judgmatically, too. Itll be hard to pass
im, but I reckon I kin do’t. The bullet ain’t
run yit that’s to eend my travels, He's the last,
Treckon—then I’mallright. Now, Ham Winkle,
do yer slickest!”
Grouching benvath the ‘bushes, Winkle cau-
tiously removed the rifle from his back and
placed it where, while hidden from all butia
close search, it would be kept dry. Then he
peered through the thick foliage.
A pool of stagnant water lay before him, in
the gloom of the swamp looking almost black.
Beyond this uprose a gigantic cypress, dead and
lightning-scarred, its base surrounded with a
growth of bushes.
Winkle knew that these bushes sheltered a
man—for an hour before he had seen the guard
changed, and since that the clump had ‘never
once left his vision. If at all, Winkle must
cross the pool within fair range of this sentinel,
and, though knowing that discovery would pro-
bably be the signal for a rifle-bullet to pierce his
brain, the squatter resolved to make the ven-
ture. : : .
A. true swamp scout, born and raised within
their confines, Hum Winkle rather loved the
not over-savory mud and slime. Gently turn-
ing upon his back, be sunk down until his body
was entirely hidden, and the stagnant water
mingled with his shaggy beard and matted
locks.
Then he slowly, almost imperceptibly moved
away from the clump of, bushes out: into the
pond, sinking lower, until little more than his .
nose and eyes were above the surface, By the
tree-tons above he guided his course; but never
once forgetting his caution.
You may have noticed, some sultry day in
springtime, while lying upon the bank of a small
Jake or pond, a mud-turtle floating upon the
surface, oply its head and a portion of the up--
per shell visible. It seems stationary, yet, by
close watching, you see that it moves, though
by no effort of its own.
And bad the swamp sentinel keenly scruti-
nized the little pond, he would have believed a
turtle was idly floating there, quietly sleeping.
For so slowly, inch by inch, did Ham Winkle
progress, that he seemed stationary; only by
comparison with a fixed object could his motion
be detected.
Nearly an hour was consumed in crossing the
pond, but the scout did not begrudge that. He
was playing for high stakes; where his life was
set against gold.
“Now I'm all right,” soliloquized Ham, wip-
ing his face and drawing a long breath. ‘‘ Don’t
reckon thar’s any more guards—so now for it!”
He cautiously glided forward, keeping as much
under cover as possible, and in a few minutes
could detect the faint, indistinct hum of buman
voices. His little beadlike eyes glittered keeuly,
at this,and asneer curled his thin lip. e
seemed to despise those whom he could so easily
outwit.
‘T knowed it—’tain’t of'en I’m fooled, Thar’s
the camp,” he muttered, as he crouched beneath