The Yellow Hunter; or, The Winding Trail of Death

Yes, the fearless originator of the greatest Indian conspiracy on record had received a death-blow at the hands of a fellow red-man, and the promise of a barrel of English rum h...

The brushwood which the Indians heaped against the door of Oliver Blount’s home, had been gathered on the edge of the clearing and was quite dry. The bark films were soon ignite...

From a trap-door in the roof of the cottage, Swamp Oak, the young Peoria, had noted the approach of the delivering storm, and had hastened to communicate the joyful tidings to h...

“No, Rob,” was the whispered rejoiner of a herculean man who lay behind the log at the young scout’s side. “Another volley would bring the hull ov the red devils down upon us be...

The Indians, consisting of representatives from each of the avenging nations, had reached the top of the bank in less time than we could record the movement, and gained percepti...

After slaying the Indian who had pursued her from the hunted Peoria’s cave home, Kate Blount continued her flight unmolested. She ran forward quite rapidly until her limbs grew...

The cry of the panther is not heard; the owl seems to be feasting himself upon some delicious morsel won by his prying eyes and sharp claws, for his hoot reëchoes not through th...

“I wonder where Blount and Doc are. But, why do I wonder? I left them ready for that torture, the bare thought of which causes my flesh to creep, and no doubt I am the only one...

“He belongs to the Bloodhound’s party,” said Somerville, and then, in a few words, he told the giant savage how the creole sought for Nogawa when he (the scout) sprung upon him.

Doc Bell the giant scout was well versed in the geography of the Illinois. He had tramped that vast country at the dead hours of darkness, and, whenever pursued by a foe, he kne...

It was far from Coleola’s intention to leave the country when she parted in rage from the war-party on the banks of Cahokia Creek, as described in chapter sixth. She retraced he...

“Here’s a deuced pretty go, ain’t it?” he cried. “What kind of a cave do you call this, anyhow? Git a light; we’ll s’arch this place. We’re not goin’ to let that gal git clean a...

With Kate Blount, the sturdy old scout and Swamp Oak finally made their way out of that gloomy world, now made doubly horrible by the tremendous explosion which they believed ha...

He heard no noise save the voices of his friends below him, and the soughing of the forest trees. The ghostly sounds boded danger. The half-superstitious hunter had noted this,...