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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

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

"
"Well, only think how cunning of the fellows," remarked
Weston, "who'd ever have thought they would try that
fashion to get in, cramming an old turkey before them to
clear the way, and get in his craw the first bullet that
might be sent."
"Yes, and the tight grip the fellow had of him by the
leg. Just look, Green, the mark of the devil's hand may
be upon him yet. It was the right leg, and that's it you
have."
"Bosh! what do you expect me to find there but the marks
of your dirty paws while plucking him, I'm too devilish
hungry for such nonsense, Nutcrackers; but show me the
Injin that would venture to touch his legs now. If I
wouldn't mark him, then my name's not Seth Green."
Scarcely had he finished speaking, when a dark naked
human hand was slowly protruded over his shoulder, and
seized not the leg of the turkey, which Green now grasped
with unconscious and convulsive energy, but a brand from
the fire.
In his terror at that strange and unexpected appearance,
he dropped the body of the bird in the glowing embers,
and uttering a faint cry, turned half round and beheld
what filled him with the deepest dismay: his companions,
scarcely less terrified than himself, sprang together to
their feet, with the intention of rushing to their muskets,
but all hope of recovering them was gone.


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