Life — September 25, 1884 — page 10: what you’re looking at

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

- LIFE: HER AMBITION. A SEQUEL TO ST. ROSARY'S RANCH. CHAPTER I. LOVE you!” As Albemarle Van Bumblebug spoke these words, he felt that a decisive moment had come. Not since his first shave, five years before, had he experienced such a thrill, But he paused for a reply. Verbena Cecil Boggs tapped the marqueterie floor with the heel of her slipper, which was situated midway between her true heel-and-toe. This was not nervousness, but Verbena had learned at matinees at the Madison Square that it was the correct thing to do under the circumstances. Albemarle was startled by her silence. But his family had once been in the sugar business, and as he had inherited the sugar he naturally had some grit left. He loved Verbena with that wild, unreasoning love which is characteristic of New York Club men when alone with an heiress. For a moment, therefore, he sank into the maelstrom of despair, but, happening to glance into the console opposite and notice that his bang was unruffled, he controlled himself by a strong effort, and spoke again. “T love you!” Verbena desisted from punishing the floor. “I know that,” she said, in her simple, earnest way ; “ you said so be- fore.” “ “Oh, if he were only a hero!” she exclaimed, wistfully. Just at that moment her eye fell on a scrap of paper. She picked it up—the paper, not the eye—and read the follow- ing lines: “Yesterday, Mustang Bill, King of the Cowboys, while lassooing a Mexican for fun, was shot in seven places and died in six minutes with his boots on. His successor will be hard to find.” Verbena’s eye glittered with enthusiasm. “If Albemarle will come back King of the Cowboys,” she exclaimed, “1 will marry him.” Then Verbena dismissed the subject from her mind and went to bed. CHAPTER III. EXT morning, when Albemarle heard of Verbena’s decis- ion, he fainted. She revived him, and then lovingly they looked over the atlas to find out where Texas was. The betro- thal was announced that same evening in the Telegram. CHAPTER IV. WO months elapsed. It was night on the Pecos River, Tex- as, and the Cowboys were artlessly preparing their frugal supper of jerked beef and whiskey. One-eyed Jim was picket- ing out the mustangs; Red Charley was practicing a new way of | dealing from the bottom of a pack, and Chicago Smith was _ cleaning a revolver which he had inadvertently held too close There was silence again for a moment, so profound that | Albemarle could hear his hair grow. Then she murmured : “Excuse my putting such a New York question, but—” here she remembered the Madison Square again and resumed. the tapping—“ what do you offer me ?” “My hand,” exclaimed Albemarle, passionately, “my heart—my—”" here he faltered. “Well?” she said. He braced up. “My name,” he said proudly. Van Bumblebug.” Verbena knew that already, but she did not comment upon it. “Twill,” she said, her dark eyes shining with the light of decision—* I will—" excl “Tama “Be mine! imed Albemarle, in the tone he had so often rehearsed while planning the thing, and sinking upon his left knee. to a Mexican during a discussion in the early evening. The town of Coyote, near by, still showed in the gloaming where the boys had thoughtfully painted it red the night before. Tanglefoot Jack awoke from a deep refreshing sleep into which he had been plunged by the contents of the bottle which lay beside him, and tried the state of his nervous system by | endeavoring to shoot off the tip of the tail of the hairless dog | which had followed him from the town on the night before. “You are somewhat previous,” replied Verbena, with hau- | teur. “I mean I will give you my answer to-morrow.” At this moment, by a preconcerted arrangement with her maid, Verbena’s dinner bell rang, and as Albemarle wasn’t invited he thought it best not to stay. CHAPTER II. ERBENA gave the matter intense consideration while putting up her bang in curl papers that night. “ Boggs —Boggs—Verbena Boggs,” she iterated again and again. “It is not a pretty name.” Then she wrote upon a card ALR The dog's head was perforated by the bullet, but Tanglefoot felt satisfied. It was close enough. At that moment, a whoop of terror from One-eyed Bill brought every man to his feet. One look toward the road made ‘the cheek of the bravest blanch, and only the fact that bathing is unfashionable in Texas kept it from showing. “ Wot is it, Bill ?” whispered Red Charley, holding his chin to keep his teeth from rattling. “Boys, we ‘re gone,” said Tanglefoot. It 's comin’. “ Halt!" said Chicago Smith, in as brave a voice as he could command. “ Who comes there ?” Still the grisly apparation advanced. “Tt 's got no legs, boys,” whispered Tanglefoot; “It jest— jest floats. 'N look at ther head on it? 'N, dern me ef it aint skinnin of’ its hands.” “Halt!” said Red Charley again, whose knees were giving way under him.‘ Who is it?” “It's me, gentlemen,” said Albemarle, drawing off his gloves and walking into camp. “ You need n't hurry supper,” he added, taking off his opera hat and top coat and sitting on Tanglefoot’s saddle, “ I ve come to be your king.” The camp unanimously fainted. “ There 's no use. ‘ comicbooks.com