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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

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


This being too low, a chair was placed upon it, thus
affording the corporal the advantage of greater elevation
than he had derived from the use of the ladder itself.
Everything was again quiet. Not a sound broke the stillness,
save the howling of a few wolves, which, probably, attracted
by the scent of the human blood that had been spilt that
day, and by the exposed corpse that was now strewed with
white blossoms from the tree beneath which it lay, were,
by the increasing light, indistinctly seen on the opposite
shore. But not their savage cry of hunger alone was heard.
Ever and anon, in reply to their fierce howling was heard
the snappish bark of Loup Garou, as, leaping on the body
of his unconscious master, he lashed his tail, and seemed
to bid defiance to those whose errand he seemed so
perfectly to divine.
"Poor dog! you shall never want a master while I can keep
you," half murmured the corporal, as he now turned his
gaze upon the water, anxious to see if any trace could
be found there of the skiff and its missing occupant.
Nothing, however, came within his view, but just as he
was preparing to descend from the window, the outline of
the boat, for from its peculiar shape he easily identified
it as their own, riveted his attention as it passed
quickly up the river, filled with seven or eight savages
in their war-dress, and having at the bow what had the
appearance of a pole, from the top of which dangled a
human scalp.


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