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Richardson, John, 1796-1852

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

"
"This, indeed, is strange," she returned in faltering
tones, and with ill-disguised emotion, for, hitherto she
had been sustained by the belief that he was merely
lingering behind the party, in order to satisfy himself
of facts, the detail of which could not fail to be
satisfactory to her ear. "How know you this?"
"I questioned Corporal Nixon, who commanded the party,
and who apprised me of Mr. Heywood's having been carried
off by the Indians, for I was deeply anxious, as you may
presume, to know what had become of my friend--and this
far less even for my own sake than for yours."
"And his answer was?" and there was deep melancholy in
the question.
"That no American uniform had come under his notice during
his absence from the Fort, save those of the party he
commanded. These, as far as I can recollect, were his
precise words."
"Mr. Elmsley," said a sentry, who now appeared at the
door of the breakfast-parlor, "Captain Headley waits for
you in the orderly room."
"Is Corporal Nixon there?" asked the lieutenant.
"He is, sir."
"Good, Dixon, I shall be there immediately.


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