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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

"Hardscrabble; or, the fall of Chicago. a tale of Indian warfare"


"Well done, that!" said the corporal, exultingly, and
half-aloud to himself, as he slapped his thigh, in a
manner to denote his own self-approval. "That's what I
call doing the business as it should be done. The attempt,"
and he smiled at the conceit, "was not a bootless one to
us all, though it has been a BOOT LESS one to ME."
To understand this facetiousness of the Virginian, it
must be understood that on withdrawing his bayonet, the
boot which it had only slightly pierced, had slipped from
the weapon and fallen to the ground simultaneously with
the other heavier bodies, whose more marked sound had
absorbed its own. It therefore escaped the notice of the
Indians.
"Hilloa there!" he continued in a louder key; "there's
no more danger in this quarter, my lads. Show us a light,
and if Cass has that turkey ready, we'll have some supper.
For my part, I'm devilish sharp set. Here, Green, take
my musket, and give me the candle."
Surprised at the corporal's unwonted humor, for they had
been led to apprehend, from the noise made by the falling
ladder, and the excitement evidently prevailing among
the Indians, that some new act of treachery was about to
be tried by them, the men gathered underneath the opening,
Green taking his musket from the hands of the Virginian,
while in return, he mounted on one of the low chairs,
and extending his arm far above, handed him the light.


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