The Prairie Detective: Secret Service Series No. 24 — page 41: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE. . 39 their tips were two little tassels of fur standing per- fectly erect. The brute’s tail was short, and adorned with a more luxuriant covering than the remainder of the body. As Dan finished his mental inventory of the pair, which was completed in his accustomed rapid man- ner, he saw a slight smile pass across the stranger’s face. He made a strong effort to rise to his feet, but his exhaustion was so complete that the struggle was a failure, and he sank back upon his elbow. ‘“Mornin’, stranger,’’ observed the giant, as an opening sentence in the conversation. And then, without awaiting a reply, he continued: ‘‘Reckon ye’ve hed a tough racket on’t, hain’t ye? Thet’sa bad clip ye got o’ the craniham. Yere! Take a snifter outen this bottle, an’ ye’ll feel better.”’ Coming forward he placed a flask to the detective’s lips, and poured a long draught down his throat. The liquor had a good effect, and Dan was able to sit up. ‘Who are you?’’ were the first words he uttered. “Whoam I? Oh, well, I ain’t much of anybody. Folks out hyar call me Posey Ryan. I’m a buffaler hunter, an’ I live at Fort Harp. Kin I tell ye any thin’ mower?” All this was spoken with a kind of pleasant sar- casm which pleased Dan mightily, and he laughed outright. “Kum, now,” said Ryan, “quit that laffin’. Ye ain’t in no condishun to cackle just yet. Hyar, let me hev a squint at thet wound onto yer cocynut.’’ And he fell to examining the long gash made by Jim Slavin’s club. — “Hire an’ brimstone!’’ he exclaimed. ‘‘Thet’s a bad one. Reckon I’ll hev to do it up a leetle.”’ gS) (Efe) Eomichoo