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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
More Details Permanent Link
Disclaimers
Disclaimer of Liability Disclaimer of Endorsement
OCR
a
,° with the intention
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24
Too mad with rage and satisfaction to pause
to reflect, Major Tracy drew his sword, and
shouting to his men, dashed toward the smoke-
house, apparently forgetting that stout log walls
protected the objects of his hatred. ,
‘‘ Let ’em hev it, cap’u. Take the ossifer—Dve
got my mark,” coolly muttered Limber-twig,
kneeling at the chink, his long rifle ata level.
The double report rung out, and the soldier
spotted by Max fell dead, his horse galloping
wildly away through the grounds, Major Tracy
reeled in his saddle, but didn’t fall; the pistol-
bullet plowed through his cheek, spoiling his
heruty forever. Though half-stunned, he still
possessed enough consciousness to guide his an-
imal, and the naxt moment carried him out of
sight amid the shrubbery. .
“Curse the Inck! thar goes old Brand!” grit-
ted Limber-tivig, as he withdrew his rifle, .
Such, indeed, was the case. With more agil-
ity than gracefulness, the old man plunged into
a thicket, having tuken advantage of the cover
afforded him by the smoke, to abandon his un-
pleasant quarters. And now not a living foe-
man could be seen, as the suldiers had followed
their leader’s example.
‘*Ha! the imps don’t mean to give us much
rest,” and as he spoke, Limber-twig cocked his
rifle, resting its muzzle in the chink,
Ho bad caught a glimpse of a red-coated figure
crawling along through a line of shrubbery that
lel nearly to the end of the smoke-house, and
his teeth clinched hard as he noticed a tiny curl
of smoke ascending above the bushes, He knew
now what was in contemplation,
“Watch here—P’m goin’ to that eend. The
lobsters mean to try fire. There's a pile o’
shingles an’ boards ag’inst the logs out thar.
Once let .them be touched off, an’ we’re bacon,
sure!”
From the shrubbery before the smoke-house
door, the soldiers now began firing, doubtless
of diverting attention from
‘the point aimed at by the fire-bearer, But they
were a little too late,
“Arnold saw Mathew Brand run hastily into
“the dwelling, seemingly in no little agitation.
Hs saw that the buildinz could scarcely fail
‘ta‘sing” fire if the smoke-house was burned, for
“the wind blew directly toward it; and the ter-
“rifisd servants began
removing the household
goods,
Max Corgeil soon secured a position from
wheace he could overlook the line of shrubbery,
and marking the point whera the fire- bearer
mu3 first fully exposs himsalf, his eye guided
the long tube of death. Tae thin curl of smoke
arising from the blazing bundla of pitch-pine,
plainly marked the progress of tha red-coat, und
as it neared the end, tho ranger’s eyes gleamed
with a ferocious joy. ,
Then, at the last shrub, the smoke-curl
steadied, and Max gently touched the trigger.
Through the nodding leaves a bit of scarlet was
visible, and Limbar-twig was too old a scout
risk a chance when s> much depended upon
it.
Like a shadow the soldier sprung forward, the
blazing torch whirled around his head; but the
first leap was his last! A whip-like report ruog
out, and, stricken in mil-air, the ill-fated soldier
The Girl Cowboy Captain.
fell in a quivering heap, extinguishing the torch
with his own body, .
“Hi-yab! slick asswamp-mud! Fires kin be
put out as well as kindled!” and the ranger
laughed boisterously as he rapidly recharged
his rifle,
‘* Hist—listen—what is it he is crying?” ex-
claimed Arnold, bis sunburnt cheek paling, and
his stout form trembling with a dreadful fear.
Mathew Brand rushed forth from the building,
his white hair fioating wildly in the fresh breeze,
agitated almost beyond speech. But then his
words could be distinguished.
“My child—Agatha! They have stolen her
away—give me back my daughter— God! I
choke—ha!” oo
He sunk to the ground, writhing and quiver-
ing, his features livid and distorted. He was in
a fit.
An old negress, whose fidelity conquered her
fears, ran to his assistance, and with strength,
lent her by the emergency, dragged him toward
the house. Then, encouraged by her immunity,
a dozen slaves rushed to her assistance and the
old man was borne within doors. /
_—
-CHAPTER XIII,
MAJOR TRACY’S REFUSAL.
THE rangers had watched this scene, for the
moment forgetting their own peril. Arnold was’
nearly beside himself. His worst fears were
proven only too well founded. .
“My God! she is lost—lost in the swamp!” ho
groaned, and his very heart bled at the thought
of his darling one being subjected to such tor-
tures of mind—such bodily peril. ~
Knowing how futile would be all attempts at
consolation, Limber-twig turned away, and once
more peered ont toward the line of shrubbery
through which the bold fire-bearer had advanced
to his death. A curious grunt parted his lips.
For a moment he stvod in mute amazement. -
An enigma was before his eyes; and not only
an enigma, but a deadly peril, too,
At first sight a tall, broad, striped slab ap-
peared, slowly advancing diagonally toward the
smoke-house, the lower portion being concealed
behind the line of shrubbery already alluded to.
But from above its upper edge, Corgell could
distinguish a whirl of smoke, He saw the real
danger, then.
‘Cap’n, you’re wanted here,” he quietly called
out, but Arnold knew from his tone that some
new peril threatened,
“Tis a mattress—they’re using it as a shield,
And—see, they’re pushing a wheelbarrow be-
fore them, loaded with pine-knots,” he added, as
the novel fire-machine appeared beyond the line
of bushes,
‘The handles is stuck through the thing—
they don’t show even a toe-nail! Bus if a rifle
kin do it, Pll tickle the varmints, anyhow,” and
with a careful-aim, Limber-twig fired,
As though this was the signal waited for, the
machine rolled rapidly forward, and struck
fairly against the pile of dried bark and shingles.
The acrid smoke oozed rapidly in through the
chinks in the wall, setting the besieged to cough-
ing violently, and before they could find another
a